I think a lot of my reading enjoyment has to do with the expectations I have for a book. I was hoping that The Cactus would contain the next Eleanor Oliphant or Ove, quirky curmudgeons who both made me laugh out loud and reduced me to tears. Unfortunatly this was not that book. I didn't find Susan's interactions with the world humorous and there wasn't enough to make me like her. Instead of a lovable grump or a damaged but hopeful spirit, she just came across as petty and mean.

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