As a writer for NPR's Car Talk, first-timer Franklin seems particularly qualified to pen a rollicking road-trip novel—but a smooth ride requires more than just a basic familiarity with mechanics. Fresh out of grad school, Laney can't wait for a cross-country drive to a new job in her hometown of Boston. To Laney's horror, however, her mother—in for a visit and in remission from non-Hodgkin's lymphoma—decides to come along. The narrative moves unswervingly forward, toward home and a friendship between mother and daughter. From Carmel, Calif., through Tulsa, Okla., to Graceland and home, Laney and Annie grow closer. Readers learn about Laney as she chats in the car, filling her mother in on all she missed while she was ill and reminiscing about summer camp and old best friends. These flashbacks depend on a heavy-handed and not entirely effective gimmick: each recollection is sparked by a mix tape. Laundry lists of chart-toppers, cult hits and novelty songs spanning the cassette era—"Dancing on the Ceiling," "Burning Down the House," "Blister in the Sun"—are offered as road signs to Laney's feelings. Said signs may be indecipherable to all but the most reverent fan of 1980s music, however, and the string of titles fails to tie Franklin's scattered anecdotes together. The book's romantic element, telescoped into a few final chapters, turns on a long-lost mix and a happy coincidence. It's wildly unlikely, but so heavily foreshadowed that readers won't put up much resistance. (Oct.)
