"Hotel Nantucket"

Elin Hilderbrand's novel shares nothing with the previous entry, except for also being set in New England coastal zone.
I checked out of it way before all the hotel guests did so. Some parts are so cliche-laden and heavy-handed that I look for a sendup, but alas no.

• Privately, Jordan Randolph suspects that the Hotel Nantucket will be like a work of art by Banksy—after it is unveiled, it will shine for one glorious moment and then self-destruct.
• Ghosts are souls with unfinished business on earth, and such is the case with Grace. She has tried to just “let it go” and “move on” to her eternal rest—but she can’t.
• Grace suffused the hotel with the smell of rotten eggs. Management suspected the cesspool and called the plumber, but nothing could eradicate the stench. Sorry, not sorry! Grace thought.
• She steps out of the car, so excited she could levitate. She feels like a living, breathing inspirational meme. She has stopped fighting the old and started building the new! She’s weathered the storm by adjusting her sails! She is a pineapple: standing tall, wearing a crown, and sweet on the inside!
• Not only is Alessandra gorgeous and multilingual but she’s a walking, talking Pinterest board... She’s wearing white eyeliner and has a tiny crystal pressed under her right eye.
• Every guest is a potential influencer.
• Still, Chad knows that gossip flows fast along tributaries slicked by money and privilege.
• And she would be safe; the waters surrounding the island would be nearly amniotic, protecting her from Graydon.
• Alessandra popped behind him in line and ordered the same. She took a seat one row over facing him and pulled out her well-worn copy of The Sun Also Rises. She drank her beer, let her chowder cool, and—surprise, surprise!—caught Michael staring at her.
• She made Michael milk-braised pork with hand-rolled gnocchi in sage and butter and a salad of bitter greens. She made coq au vin. She made scrambled eggs the way her mother used to make them for other women’s husbands—with double the yolks (double-the-yolk scrambled eggs after a night of whiskey, Valerie used to say, felt a lot like love).
• But will he notice the Chanel eye shadow that Alessandra left in Heidi’s makeup drawer in the bathroom? (Heidi wears Bobbi Brown.) Will he check the shoe tree in Heidi’s closet, where Alessandra has left a pair of size 6 crystal-studded René Caovilla stilettos winking coyly among the size 8 Jack Rogers sandals and Tory Burch ballet flats?
• The outside of the milk bun was crisply toasted while the inside was fragrant and pillowy; the lobster meat had been mixed with lemon zest, herbs, crunchy pieces of celery, and just enough tangy mayo. The lobster slider was so…elevated that Chad went back to room 105 feeling inspired.
• Mario leads Lizbet past the dining-room entrance to the hostess station and Lizbet feels herself hanging back like a child who doesn’t want to start kindergarten.
• And here was this…mermaid among us. I asked her all about Nantucket and she lent me a Nancy Thayer novel, which I devoured.
• He’s a beautiful kid, at that most photogenic age for babies—what is that, six months, seven? Alessandra waggles her fingers at him. She’s so unmaternal that this feels campy,
• Yolanda emerges from the Blue Bar holding a tiny pavlova on the flat of her palm like it’s a baby bird. She shows it off to Lizbet and Edie. It’s filled with rose-scented pastry cream and topped with candied rose petals.
• But Chad is going to keep at it anyway. He likes living a life of purpose. <> He wraps his mother’s belt around his fingers like brass knuckles and heads down the hall to hide in his room.
• THEN a couple days later I heard from classmate Chayci Peck (’21), who’s the concierge at Round Pond in Kennebunkport, Maine. Chayci had a woman come in with an ID that said Miranda Priestly and who went through the same motions with room upgrade, list of requests, and sourcing questions in order to get free merch.
• When Edie told Graydon, she expected him to pick her up and swing her around like it was the end of the war in a movie; she thought he’d take a selfie with her and post it on his Instagram with the caption #girlboss.
• This is Nantucket in a nutshell. She’s in emotional hell but at least the surroundings are charming, the service impeccable, and the food maddeningly delicious.
• But every inspirational meme that Lizbet has stuffed inside her hollow places like a girl desperately padding her bra tells her to move forward.
  Not on fighting the old.
  But on building the new.
• When deep August arrives, a certain melancholy sets in, the kind people get on a Sunday afternoon.
• She wrote it, and our guests have raved about it. It’s something that sets us apart from the island’s other luxury hotels.” Alessandra tries to radiate virtue: See how I prop other women up and polish their crowns?
• Ms. English lays a cool hand on his arm. “But you corrected course on your own,” she says. “You came to me and I put you to work in a place where we don’t sweep anything under the rug.”
• Lizbet’s and Mario’s bodies move over the bed in a darkness that’s briefly illuminated by flashes of lightning. It’s cinematic, she thinks; how beautiful they are in those split seconds when their bodies are silvered by the electrical charge in the air.
• Well! Grace thinks. This is something of a reprise—the owner of the hotel with the housekeeping staff. Except Magda isn’t merely “housekeeping staff”; she is, in modern parlance, a “girl boss.” No one pushes Magda around or tells her what to do, not even a man with as much money as Xavier Darling.