In Home of the American Circus, Allison Larkin returns with a poignant, lyrical, and character-driven novel that expands on the emotional territory she charted in her previous work, The People We Keep. Here, Larkin deepens her exploration of fractured families, inherited trauma, and the slow, difficult work of forgiveness and redemption. Set in Somers, New York—the self-proclaimed birthplace of the American circus—the novel masterfully uses place and memory to trace the journey of its protagonist, Freya Arnalds, as she reluctantly returns to her childhood home and faces both her literal inheritance and the emotional wreckage of her past.
This is literary fiction at its finest: a luminous, intelligent narrative steeped in both wit and sorrow, told through a voice that is as vulnerable as it is quietly fierce.
Plot Summary: When the Past Refuses to Stay Buried
At thirty, Freya Arnalds is scraping by as a bartender in Maine, disconnected from her family, disillusioned by her life, and numbed by emotional scars that haven’t fully healed. An emergency appendectomy leaves her penniless and nearly homeless—until she remembers the house she’s inherited from her estranged parents in Somers, New York.
Dragging herself (both figuratively and literally) back to a town she swore she’d left behind, Freya intends to briefly reclaim the house before selling it. But Somers is not just her hometown—it’s a place heavy with old betrayals, decaying memories, and buried truths. The house, once quaint and full of potential, is now crumbling and overgrown. And inside it, Freya finds an unexpected and heartbreaking surprise: her 15-year-old niece, Aubrey, secretly living in the derelict house after her own painful fallout with Freya’s sister, Steena.
As Freya and Aubrey reconnect, what emerges is a slow, achingly human restoration—not just of the house, but of two lives long fractured by grief, misunderstanding, and unspoken truths. The novel unfolds as a mosaic of memory, healing, and the quiet heroism of showing up—for yourself, for others, and for the future.
Character Study: Complex People in a Tangled Web
Freya Arnalds: A Masterclass in Nuanced Narration
Freya is a narrator crafted with the utmost care. Her voice is bruised but bracingly funny, observational but tender. She speaks in the rhythms of a woman who has lived with pain long enough to make jokes about it but still flinches at the rawness. Her reluctance to engage with her past is believable, and her slow evolution—from defensive drifter to someone willing to love again—is gracefully rendered.
Freya’s perspective is deeply interior, yet never self-indulgent. Larkin does not sanitize her. She’s cranky, wounded, sarcastic, self-sabotaging—and yet utterly lovable. Her relationship with Aubrey adds a much-needed sense of stakes and urgency. It’s not just about healing herself anymore; it’s about breaking a cycle before it repeats again.
Aubrey: The Emotional Core
Aubrey is, in many ways, the heart of the novel. She is fifteen, cynical beyond her years, and deeply damaged—but still clinging to hope. Her dynamic with Freya oscillates between guarded sarcasm and aching vulnerability. Watching their trust rebuild, in hesitant steps and occasional regressions, is the emotional highlight of the novel.
Steena and the Shadow of Motherhood
Freya’s older sister Steena exists more in memory than in present-day scenes, yet her influence is felt everywhere. Their mother, too, haunts the pages even in death. Both are painted not as villains, but as flawed women shaped by their own disappointments and unspoken damage. The portrayal of intergenerational pain is delicate and honest.
Writing Style: Lyrical Without Sentimentality
Allison Larkin’s prose is crisp, emotive, and sharply intelligent. She has a gift for metaphor that feels lived-in rather than labored, and her sense of humor—often dry and dark—is an essential counterpoint to the more somber elements of the story.
Here are a few hallmarks of her style in this novel:
- Dialogues that feel organic and specific, avoiding melodrama even when tensions run high.
- Descriptions rooted in tactile, sensory memory (the scent of cold cigarette smoke, the crunch of ice under tires, the mustiness of a decaying home).
- Structural pacing that mimics memory itself: drifting, circling, revisiting moments until their meaning unfolds.
Larkin also weaves local history—the American circus, the lore of Old Bet—into the novel with finesse. These interludes don’t interrupt the narrative; rather, they add a kind of mythic echo to the story of a woman returning home to tame her own beasts.
Themes: Trauma, Family, and the Geometry of Love
1. Coming Home to Heal
Freya’s journey is less about renovation than excavation. She’s not returning to build a future so much as to make peace with the ruin of her past.
2. Intergenerational Trauma
Larkin skillfully explores how families carry damage like inheritance—and how hard it is to break those cycles when the blueprint for love has been warped.
3. Redemption in Small Acts
Rather than grand reconciliations, this is a novel of small redemptions: a meal shared, a memory unpacked, a wound acknowledged. These are the real markers of healing.
4. Love Beyond Romance
Although there’s a tender and subtle romantic subplot involving Jam (Freya’s old friend and perhaps-more), Home of the American Circus is more interested in familial and platonic love—and the ways we love people not despite their scars, but because of them.
Critique: Where the Book Stumbles
Despite its many strengths, Home of the American Circus is not without minor flaws:
- Slow Burn, Sometimes Too Slow: The novel’s pacing, while intentionally meandering, occasionally drags in the middle third. Some readers may crave more external plot momentum.
- Emotional Density: The novel is emotionally heavy throughout, and while cathartic, it can feel oppressive at times. A few lighter moments are offered, but perhaps not enough to offset the emotional gravity.
- Underutilized Side Characters: While Larkin beautifully renders Freya, Aubrey, and Jam, some secondary characters—particularly Freya’s coworkers from Maine—fade into narrative clutter.
Comparative Titles: For Fans of Literary Coming-of-Age Fiction
If you loved:
- The People We Keep by Allison Larkin
- Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane
- This Is How It Always Is by Laurie Frankel
- Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng
…then Home of the American Circus will resonate with its emotionally rich, voice-driven storytelling and exploration of difficult but redemptive love.
Final Thoughts: A Tender, Broken Triumph
Home of the American Circus is not a flashy book—it’s a quiet triumph, a story that earns its emotions honestly. Larkin trusts her characters to be complicated, her readers to be patient, and her story to unfold in all its messy glory. The result is a deeply moving portrait of what it means to come home—not just to a house, but to yourself.
This is the kind of novel you carry with you. It leaves fingerprints on your heart and echoes of conversations long after the final page. A haunting, heartful story of resilience and rebirth. Slightly uneven in pace, but emotionally devastating in the best way.