Family of Liars

by E. Lockhart

Genres: YA Historical Fiction; YA Mysteries & Thrillers; Thrillers

Synopsis

The instant New York Times bestseller and prequel to the TikTok phenomenon We Were Liars. Return to the story of another summer, another generation, and the secrets that will haunt them for decades to come.

A windswept private island off the coast of Massachusetts.
A hungry ocean, churning with secrets and sorrow.
A fiery, addicted heiress. An irresistible, unpredictable boy.
A summer of unforgivable betrayal and terrible mistakes.

Welcome back to the Sinclair family.
They were always liars.

SPOILER ALERT! Read We Were Liars first.
(No word of a lie, it's better that way ...)

Release date: May 3, 2022

Publisher: Delacorte Press

Print pages: 320

Sample

LET ME TELL you more about Penny and Bess. People often comment that we are like princesses in a (Western) fairy tale. Three tall blondes with willowy figures. Copies of our mother. We are appealing to people, that way. They like our serious eyes and our merry laughs. We might be waiting to be rescued, people think. We are white cotton and sandy feet, old money and lilacs, each one.

But we are easy to tell apart.

Bess (Elizabeth Jane Taft Sinclair) is fourteen, always running to catch up with me and Penny. She is the hard worker, the people pleaser, the martyr. She cooks with our mother in the kitchen, churning ice cream and baking pies. She sorts her lip gloss by shade, lining up the tubes on a pretty tray on her dresser. She stacks her shirts and sweaters in color- coded piles.

Bess has acne on her forehead. She can’t leave it alone— smearing creams on it, tonics, alcohol, concealer. She wants to take care of that acne, conquer it. She is like our father that way. She has absorbed his work ethic and his pride in that ethic, but also his indignation when effort isn’t clearly rewarded. Bess is a Liberty print, a jar of sharpened pencils, a weekly organizer filled out in neat handwriting. She isn’t always pleasant—not at all. But she is always good.

Penny (Penelope Mirren Taft Sinclair) has a remarkable ability to make people like her, selfish though she is. They want to touch her. She is the beauty of the family, the one you’d pick out of a photograph. When Granny M was alive, she used to remark on it—the magnetism of Penny’s physical presence. “What a belle,” she’d often say, pulling Penny aside and giving her butterscotch candy.

She labeled me “a good girl” and Bess a “little helper.”

If my hair is the color of butter and Bess’s early spring sun- shine, Penny’s is cream. She is sixteen and a sleek greyhound of a person. She plays hard when she wants to. She works hard almost never. She loves beautiful things and despises the people she despises with an inflexible hatred.

Penny likes order, but in a different way than Bess does. She wants things to happen easily, without conflict. “Just be normal,” she says to me. Meaning, don’t be angry, don’t rock the boat, just go along. Signs of unrest and turmoil bother Penny. She turns cold and quiet, and that cold and quiet pro- tects her from her feelings. What I mean is, she prefers a smooth surface.

Me, I am an athlete and a narcotics addict.
A leader and a mourner.
On the outside, I am gray-eyed and butter blond, with a strong line to my jaw now, and a mouth full of braces. Pale skin, pink cheeks. A little taller than my sisters, taller than a lot of boys my age. I have the confident walk and good shoulders of an excellent softball player. I stand up in front of crowds with a smile. I fix my sisters’ problems. Those are the qualities anyone can see.

But my insides are made of seawater, warped wood, and rusty nails.