Seth Greenland began his career as a screenwriter and it’s apparent in Shining City. The story follows a strict three-act structure with the requisite plot twists and Hollywood ending. Freed from the austerity of the spec script, Greenland’s prose is peppered with figurative language that sometimes feels heavy-handed:

“… he was found the next morning by a Salvadoran pool man in a tableau that so upset the poor net-wielding illegal that he took the rest of the day off and spent it praying in Our Lady of the Freeways.”

But Greenland just as often drops pitch-perfect one-liners that are laugh-out-loud funny:

“… the owner of a large vineyard in Napa and his wife, who had been a movie star in the eighties and now devoted herself to animal rescue and drinking.”

While Greenland will never be confused with Nabokov, Shining City is an enjoyable read.

The most compelling moments for me, however, are the glimpses into the Ripps family: the kabuki of a “macro-marital conversation,” the internal worries of being a parent and a spouse, and the undeniable effect money can have on familial bliss. Even the sexiest scenes, in a book ostensibly about prostitution, are between Marcus and Jan. Among the parade of quirky-for-quirky’s-sake characters, I still find myself caring about Marcus Ripps and his family. I want them to have the Hollywood ending. During these moments, Shining City eschews sex-and-crime sensationalism and embraces something more authentic, culminating in a heartwarming sermon given by Marcus’ son at his Bar Mitzvah where he recalls the lesson of Abraham and Isaac and the duty of a parent to his child. It’s an unexpected climax. Even in a crazy imaginary city called Los Angeles — a city full of shining stars — the family still shines brightest.