A bit complicated of a story at times but Taylor's exploration of the effects of architecture on people and the relationships between members of a dysfunctional family trying to "make things right" is a great exploration of the human condition. The story was a bit hard to follow at times, but getting to the ending made it worthwhile.

-page 86-87
"I need to tell you something," he said to her, interrupting.
She listened, at least. Graham heard her sit back in what sounded like a soft chair, probably in the club lounge. He pictured her: skin darkened by the sun, now added colour rising in her cheeks as she focused on his next words. Korean features prettier in concentration.
"When I was in L.A.," Graham told her, "I met a man who had a house built by my father. He's a producer. Avi Zweigler."
Esther registered the receipt of data. "Okay," she said.
"Zweigler collects Packer Gordon. Models, tools, blueprints. Amazing."
Still listening. No premature move toward a conclusion. "Okay," she repeated.
"Zweigler bought my father's camera," Graham told her. "The movie camer he used to film his projects. The camera he also used . . ."
"I remember," Esther said, growing impatient. She was expert at remaining calm in the face of an uncertain future, but always less successful hiding her feeling about the dead weight of the particular past. And discussion of this part of Graham's past, Esther had long thought , only revealed Packer Gordon to be (in addition to famous, a philanderer and bad with money) capable of cruelty. And that was a sunk cost, the valuation of which was irrational." ( )

Two half-brothers, Graham and Elliot Gordon, meet in a boxing ring to spar out their problems, their father strangely filming the bout for posterity. Their combat is brief, unexpectedly violent, and poignantly rendered on the page, and up to this point, readers could be forgiven for believing Timothy Taylor’s latest novel is an ode to the sweet science.

As the account unfolds, however, it becomes apparent the Canadian author has a deeper focus to his story. Much as in the manner in which his Giller Award-nominated debut novel Stanley Park employed food as a narrative catalyst, Story House uses the art of architecture to examine the uncertainty of family, attempting, in the manner in which Graham looks at buildings, “to see through the structure to the rock beneath. The roll and shape of it."

As the boys mature, Taylor’s themes take root. Graham, like his father, seeks a career in architecture, trying to gain himself a reputation separate and distinct from his far more famous father. Elliot, “whose world view had evolved into a deadly, deliberate project of hating everything to do with the quest for accomplishment," makes a successful career as an importer of counterfeit products.

Estranged for years, the two are reunited at the site of their past battle, a decrepit edifice now believed to be one of their late father’s unsung masterworks. Teaming up a producer from the reality television show Unexpected Architecture, they decide to restore the building into something of its former self.

Taylor has a knack for imbuing his stories with lyric realism, unearthing beauty in the mundane and trivial. Where Stanley Park effortlessly captured the sweaty splendour of the restaurant kitchen, Story House finds brilliant majesty in the mould and mildew of buildings, explaining through vividly realized discussions of architectural concepts “the dreams that brought them into being."

Yet like the structures he espouses, Taylor has built Story House into a luminous hollow façade, a vacant shell awaiting tenants to breathe life into it. “How do we expose the thing, make it understood?" ponders one character as he examines the ongoing restoration. Taylor has the same dilemma.

There are no revelations in the characters; the brothers’ relationship is summed up in the opening chapter, and never alters further. While the unchanging personality of family is a major theme, it also hinders the author in keeping things interesting. Taylor’s exploration of the bonds of family through architectural structures is a laboured metaphor that rarely digs as deep as it seems.

It’s a shame, as Story House is never less than eminently readable. But Taylor’s tale peaks in its opening chapter as the boys bob and weave and throw clumsy punches that cause as much emotional damage as physical.

This image haunts Story House, two brothers brought to blows by a misguided sense of family honour. The real tragedy is that, for all of Taylor’s architectural skill and tremendous literary dexterity, Story House is ultimately as emotionally resonant as a blueprint. ( )