Recommended by Jo Walton (an author I like and whose recommendations I trust), it’s a somewhat quiet story about a British family who goes to France for a vacation, immediately lose their mother to hospital convalescence, and hang out for the summer in this hotel pretty much on their own, over the objections of the women who run the hotel. The oldest is 16 and is sick for the first half of the book, so basically not a character until later, and the narrator is the next oldest, at 13. There are shenanigans going on the background that the narrator doesn’t understand completely. It’s good, it’s disturbing at times – I think I liked it. It definitely makes me want to go to France.