Kin by Tayari Jones

There are books that I can recognize as beautifully written while still admitting that I simply did not enjoy reading them, and unfortunately, Kin by Tayari Jones landed firmly in that category for me.

I went into this one with fairly high expectations. Tayari Jones is the author of An American Marriage, which I enjoyed, and Kin had all of the ingredients of the kind of character-driven historical fiction that I usually find compelling. The story centers on Annie and Vernice, two girls who become friends while growing up in 1950s Louisiana, and follows the very different paths their lives take as they move into adulthood. Their friendship remains an important thread throughout the story, even as their circumstances, opportunities, and choices pull them in very different directions.

The premise alone should have been enough to keep me invested, but I struggled with this one almost from the beginning.

My biggest problem was that I never felt particularly connected to the characters. Annie and Vernice are both dealing with difficult circumstances, and I could understand why their experiences shaped them the way they did, but understanding a character and feeling invested in a character are two very different things. I kept waiting for that emotional connection to develop, and it never really happened for me.

That made the pacing considerably harder to tolerate.

This book is slow, and normally I don’t necessarily consider that a criticism. Some of my favorite books take their time, particularly when the story is focused on relationships, family history, or the complicated ways people become who they are. A slower pace can give a reader room to understand a character rather than simply moving from one plot point to the next.

With Kin, though, I frequently found myself wondering when the story was going to pick up.

I wasn’t looking for a thriller. I didn’t need constant twists or some dramatic event every few chapters. I just needed something that would make me feel compelled to keep going. Instead, I found myself reading because I wanted to finish rather than because I desperately wanted to know what would happen next.

There are certainly things about the book that I can appreciate from a literary perspective. Jones is exploring some complicated ideas through Annie and Vernice, particularly around motherhood, friendship, race, class, identity, and the way childhood experiences can follow us long after we have technically grown beyond them. Their lives demonstrate how two people can come from the same place and experience the same world in dramatically different ways.

I also liked the concept of seeing these women’s lives from different perspectives. Their stories don’t exist independently of one another, and watching their paths unfold made it possible to see how differently people can interpret the same history. What one person remembers as one thing can become something entirely different when viewed through someone else’s experiences, and that idea gave the novel some of its strongest moments for me.

Unfortunately, appreciating what a book is attempting to do doesn’t always translate into enjoying the book itself.

And I think that’s where I landed with Kin.

I don’t need characters to be likable in order to enjoy a book. In fact, some of my favorite novels are filled with people who make terrible decisions, behave selfishly, or are downright difficult to understand. I just need to find something about them that makes me want to stay with them. I need to care about what happens to them, even if that feeling is complicated or uncomfortable.

I never got there with Annie and Vernice.

Instead, I felt like I was watching their lives from a distance, and that distance never really closed. The further I got into the book, the more aware I became of the pacing because I wasn’t emotionally invested enough to let the slower sections carry me along.

That was particularly disappointing because I really wanted this to be a book I loved.

I’ve read plenty of books where I can see why other people adore them even though they didn’t work for me. Kin is one of those books. I can understand the appeal of the writing, the historical setting, and the exploration of these complicated relationships. I can understand why readers would become emotionally attached to Annie and Vernice and their shared history.

I just wasn’t one of those readers.

By the time I reached the end, I was more relieved to have finished than emotionally affected by where the story left me. That isn’t necessarily a reflection of the quality of the book, but it is a reflection of my experience with it, and I think it’s important to acknowledge that distinction when talking about books that receive a lot of praise.

Because sometimes a highly rated book simply doesn’t work for you.

And that’s okay.

I wouldn’t tell someone not to read Kin. If you enjoy historical fiction that focuses heavily on character development, relationships, family dynamics, and the ways that race and class shape people’s lives, I can absolutely see this being a book that you connect with. If you prefer a faster pace or need a strong emotional connection to the characters to stay invested, though, this may require a little more patience.

For me, it was simply too slow, and I never found the characters relatable enough to make me want to overlook that.

So, unfortunately, this is another case of me saying, “I know people love this one, but I just wasn’t one of them.”

I didn’t hate Kin, and I don’t think it’s a bad book. I actually think there is quite a lot to discuss here, which makes my lack of enjoyment a little frustrating. I just spent too much of the book waiting for the story to give me a reason to care as deeply as I wanted to.