Adoption, Motherhood, Broadway Dreams, and Family Family

If Laurie Frankel’s This Is How It Always Is cracked open the door to what modern family looks like, Family Family blows it wide open with flair, wisdom, and a sharp wit that is distinctly Frankel’s signature. I devoured this novel—raced through it, really—not only because of its compelling plot and unforgettable characters but because of how Frankel writes: with rapid-fire repartee, smart banter, and enough heart to make you pause, breathe, and then laugh again.

India Allwood, the novel’s unapologetically theatrical protagonist, is an actress first and foremost. From her earliest days, her heart belonged to Broadway, but life reroutes her from stage to screen to a kind of celebrity she never exactly signed up for. Still, what grounds India isn’t her fame or her career trajectory—it’s the deeply personal, messy, beautiful decisions she’s made about family, particularly one she made as a pregnant teenager.

Frankel doesn’t write about adoption in the way most writers do. This isn’t a story about a girl backed into a corner with no other option. It’s not about shame or desperation. India chooses to place her child because she wants to give someone else the joy of parenthood. It’s intentional. It’s generous. It’s radical in the quietest and most profound way. And because of that, Family Family becomes a novel about agency—about making choices, and standing by them even when others don’t understand.

One of the most memorable early scenes takes place between a young India and her mother, Sarah, when India rants about the uselessness of high school. It’s one of those pitch-perfect moments Frankel does so well—layered with humor, truth, and that delicious mother-daughter friction. That moment sets the tone for the entire novel. It’s clever, it’s quick, and it tells you exactly what kind of ride you’re in for.

The narrative unfolds in a braided timeline, shifting between past and present, from India’s high school days to her adult life as a mother (again), an actress, and someone constantly being confronted by the choices she’s made—especially when those choices resurface in unexpected ways. The pacing is seamless, the transitions smooth, and the POV shifts handled masterfully, adding depth to a motley crew of diverse characters who feel remarkably real.

What truly distinguishes Family Family is the way it refuses to moralize. There’s no “right” way to do family here. There’s only love and commitment and showing up. Over and over again, in flawed but fiercely human ways. Frankel presents a kaleidoscope of family structures—biological, adoptive, chosen—and lets each shine without hierarchy. She bluffs. She distracts. She introduces you to people you think are peripheral until they turn out to be pivotal. And in the end, just when you think you’ve figured it out, she brings it all full circle—to India’s very first love.

This isn’t just a story about adoption. It isn’t even a story solely about Idia. It’s a story about the many shapes love can take. It’s about motherhood, about identity, about trauma, about embracing the chaos that comes with forming—and reforming—your family. And yes, it’s about theater. Because Frankel knows that life, like the stage, is all about the performance…and the truth behind it.

Family Family is heartfelt, whip-smart, and wholly original. Laurie Frankel has done it again.