Susan, her twin sister Millie, and their triplet brothers, are treated as drudges by their stepmother Hannah whenever their father is away on business, which is most of the time. It's not clear what he does for a living, but given we seem to be talking about the late forties or early fifties--certainly not later--traveling salesman is a likely possibility.

When he dies, things get even rougher for the kids, and the contrast with how their two half-sisters are treated grows even greater. It's not long before, one by one, the kids start taking off to live their own lives. Susan is the last to leave, marrying a high school classmate who helped her stay in touch with Millie by agreeing to be the address Millie could send the letters to.

But he's no prince, either. He drinks, he goes off on binges, as first one and then the second daughter are born, he is no help at all.

We follow Susan, who eventually starts going by Bella, through her friendship with her mother-in-law Doris, her move from Utah to Arizona, trying to find her way in a church community, supporting and loving her daughters.

And it's all very, very banal. This isn't a failure of the writing; it's the point. Susan/Bella is a loving mother and a good-enough person, but her flaws are on display in a way that makes her not so much more convincing as a rebuke to anyone who thinks they're aiming to be any better than that. She "wins tickets" to gala charity fundraising ball, and it turns out she's been set up, because of her looks, to be the "dance for donations" woman this year.

And she meets, her last dance of the evening, a man named Hal Prince. The strap on one of her high heeled shoes breaks, and Hal helps her make an escape via, not a pumpkin coach, but the "drunk taxi."

Of course that's not the last she sees of Hal Prince. And he's a very good guy,could be even better than he is, but he's a good guy. And yet very mundane.

If there's a point here other than the mundanity of life, and undermining the Cinderella story, not in a way that's liberating, and not in a way that makes it evil, but simply in a way that says dreams are for fools and life is banal. There's one strand of the story that might be read as undermining that, but it's a minor strand, not the main story.

At no point was I tempted to throw this book against the wall (just as well, because I got an electronic galley), but neither do I anticipate rereading it, or looking for more by this author. Lovers of pure literary fiction may feel differently. It's well-written; I just don't care for the story, or care as much about these characters as I'd like to.

I can't recommend it, but I can't say it's particularly bad, either.

I received a free electronic galley from the publisher. ( )

From grim past to struggling present, and from betrayals familial and religious, Julie Ann Wambach’s Games of Make-Believe follow the path of a wounded Cinderella whose fairytale ending is rooted in feet of clay. The story swerves like a conversation, with the reader’s words unrecorded. Each chapter easily read on its own, so the reader can return next day and pick the book up again, nicely reminded of what went before.

Biblical quotes give way to spiritual affirmations followed by the reading of cards. Meanwhile protagonist Bella switches churches again, first blind to falsehood then equally blind to truth, until an ending where she finally sees other people’s points of view. Meanwhile family pains continue, especially in a blended family where parents try too hard without learning to listen, and the music plays like a classical orchestra trapped in a drinking hall.

Even as Bella complains, “I want to embrace compassion the way Buddhists manage to do,” she’s wondering if “this is all an illusion created by my ego to attack God.” But this story strips illusions away, leaving the reader to ponder possibilities of healing without forgiveness.

Games of Make-Believe feels very personal, as if the characters are real and struggle to find meaning in their tale. But perhaps meaning is as elusive as fairytale endings, and the author offers instead a final scene both broken and complete, and oddly true.

Disclosure: I was given a copy by a publicist and I voluntarily offer my honest review. ( )