Lillian Girvan is having a really, really bad time. It’s been three years since her husband died in a car accident, and honestly? She’s still a mess. If you’ve ever picked up The Garden of Small Beginnings book expecting a light, breezy manual on how to grow heirloom tomatoes, you’re in for a massive surprise. This isn't a textbook. It's a raw, funny, and occasionally devastating look at what happens when your life falls apart and you’re forced to plant some vegetables to keep from losing your mind.
Abbi Waxman, the author, has this weirdly specific gift. She makes you laugh at things that should be tragic. It's a difficult balance to strike. Most "grief books" feel like they’re trying to sell you a box of tissues and a hug, but Lillian feels like a real person you’d actually want to grab a drink with. She’s snarky. She’s tired. She has two daughters—Clare and Annabel—who are as chaotic as they are sweet. The book starts with Lillian, a textbook illustrator, being signed up for a vegetable gardening class for work. She doesn't want to go. She doesn't want to do much of anything. But she goes anyway, and that's where the story actually begins.
What Actually Happens in The Garden of Small Beginnings Book?
Lillian’s life is basically a holding pattern. She lives with her sister, Rachel, who is perhaps the most supportive (and delightfully blunt) sibling in modern fiction. When Lillian’s boss tells her she needs to illustrate a book for a seed company, she has to attend a Saturday morning gardening class at a local botanical garden.
Enter Edward.
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He’s the instructor. He’s patient, he’s handsome in a quiet way, and he actually knows how to handle Lillian’s prickly exterior. The class is a motley crew of people who, for various reasons, are all looking for a fresh start. You’ve got the elderly, the lonely, and the just plain confused. Over the course of a few months, as they learn how to manage soil pH and keep pests away, Lillian starts to realize that she might not be as "done" with life as she thought.
It’s not a romance novel in the traditional sense. Sure, there’s a spark with Edward, but the real "love story" is Lillian’s relationship with herself and her grief. She has to figure out how to be a widow and a mother and a person all at once. The garden acts as a pretty heavy-handed metaphor, but Waxman makes it work because she includes actual gardening tips at the start of the chapters. These aren't just filler; they often mirror the emotional state of the characters.
Why the Snark Matters
If this book were 100% serious, it would be unbearable. Grief is heavy. It's thick. But Lillian’s internal monologue is a riot. She observes the world with a dry, cynical wit that feels like a defense mechanism—because it is.
- She describes her kids with a mix of awe and exhaustion.
- She handles her overbearing mother-in-law with a grace that feels earned.
- She talks to her dead husband, Dan, in her head, and it’s not spooky; it’s just sad and relatable.
We see a lot of "strong female leads" in books these days, but Lillian is strong because she’s allowed to be weak. She’s allowed to stay in bed. She’s allowed to be angry that the world kept spinning after her husband's car hit that tree. That authenticity is why The Garden of Small Beginnings book resonated so deeply with readers when it hit the shelves. It didn't offer easy answers.
Gardening as Therapy: Is It Realistic?
You might wonder if a few carrots can actually fix a broken heart. Probably not. But the book suggests that the act of tending to something—anything—outside of your own head is what matters. In the gardening class, Lillian is forced to interact with people who don't know her "story." They just know her as the lady who can't keep a sprout alive.
There’s a specific scene where they’re dealing with dirt, and it's messy, and Lillian realizes she's actually enjoying herself. It's a small win. The book is full of these "small beginnings." It’s not about a grand epiphany where everything is suddenly okay. It’s about the fact that she managed to get through a Saturday without crying in the car.
Abbi Waxman based parts of her writing on the observation of how people interact in communal spaces. The botanical garden serves as a "third place," a neutral ground where the stakes are low but the personal growth is high. For Lillian, the garden is the first place since Dan’s death where she isn't just "the widow." She’s just a student.
The Supporting Cast is the Secret Sauce
While Lillian is the heart of the story, her sister Rachel is the backbone. Rachel is the one who pushes her, mocks her, and loves her without pity. Pity is the enemy in this book. Lillian hates it, and Waxman ensures the reader never pities her either. We root for her.
Then there are the kids. Annabel and Clare feel like real children. They aren't "movie kids" who say profound things at the exact right moment. They are messy, they ask weird questions about death, and they want snacks. Their presence reminds Lillian (and us) that life is relentless. You can't just stop because your heart is broken; someone still needs a peanut butter sandwich.
The classmates provide a lot of the comic relief. You have characters who are there because they’re bored, and others who are clearly looking for a connection. This ensemble cast makes the world feel lived-in. It’s a community. It’s a reminder that everyone is carrying something heavy, even if they’re just standing there holding a trowel.
Comparing the Book to the Genre
A lot of people lump this into "Chick Lit" or "Women's Fiction." Honestly? Those labels feel a bit reductive. It’s a contemporary novel about human resilience. It shares DNA with authors like Katherine Heiny or Maria Semple. If you liked Where’d You Go, Bernadette, you’ll likely vibe with this.
It avoids the "magical healing" trope. You know the one—where the protagonist moves to a cottage, starts a business, and suddenly her trauma is gone? That doesn't happen here. At the end of The Garden of Small Beginnings book, Lillian is still a widow. She still misses Dan. But she’s also someone who can grow a radish. And sometimes, that’s enough.
Navigating the Emotional Arc
The pacing is interesting. It doesn't follow a standard "rising action/climax" structure. It feels more like a series of waves. Some days are good. Some are terrible.
- The Resistance Phase: Lillian goes to the class because she has to. She's cynical.
- The Awakening Phase: She starts to see the beauty in the process. She notices Edward.
- The Relapse Phase: A memory or an anniversary hits, and she slides back.
- The Integration Phase: She accepts that Dan is gone but that she is still here.
This structure mimics the actual process of mourning. It’s not a straight line. It’s a circle that slowly gets wider until you have room for other things again.
Why You Should Actually Read It
If you’re looking for a plot-heavy thriller, keep moving. This isn't that. But if you want a book that feels like a conversation with a smart friend who has been through the wringer, this is it. It’s about the mundane reality of moving on.
It’s also surprisingly educational about plants. You’ll actually learn about companion planting and soil drainage. Who knew marigolds were so useful?
People often ask if they need to be a gardener to enjoy it. Absolutely not. I can barely keep a succulent alive and I still loved every page. The gardening is the backdrop, not the requirement.
Common Misconceptions
One big mistake people make is thinking this is a romance novel. If you go in expecting a steamy "enemies-to-lovers" plot, you’ll be disappointed. The romance is a slow burn—a very, very slow burn. It’s a side dish, not the main course.
Another misconception is that it’s a "sad book." While the premise is sad, the experience of reading it is actually quite joyful. It’s empowering. It’s about the realization that you are sturdier than you think. You’re like a weed—hard to kill and capable of growing in the cracks of the sidewalk.
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Practical Insights for Readers
If you're planning to dive into The Garden of Small Beginnings book, here's how to get the most out of it:
- Don't skip the chapter headings: The gardening advice usually provides a thematic hint for the chapter ahead. It's clever.
- Keep a notebook: You might actually want to plant some of the things Lillian discusses.
- Prepare for a mood shift: You’ll be laughing on page 10 and tearing up on page 12. It’s a roller coaster.
- Check out the audiobook: The narrator usually does a great job with Lillian’s dry delivery.
The book is a solid reminder that "starting over" isn't a one-time event. It happens every morning when you get out of bed. It happens every time you try something new, even if you’re scared you’ll fail. Lillian Girvan reminds us that even if your life has been mowed down, the roots are still there. You just have to wait for the next season.
Next Steps for Your Reading Journey
If you’ve finished the book and want more, Abbi Waxman has a whole "Garden of Vane" universe. You can check out The Bookish Life of Nina Hill, which features some crossover characters and the same witty tone.
For those actually inspired to garden, start small. Buy a pot, some soil, and a packet of easy seeds like radishes or lettuce. You don't need a backyard to experience the "small beginnings" Lillian finds. Just a windowsill and a little bit of patience will do.
Ultimately, this story is about the fact that life is messy and beautiful and rarely goes according to plan. And that’s okay. You just have to keep planting.