The Lotterys Plus One – Emma Donoghue (2017)

The Lotterys Plus One by Emma Donoghue, published in 2017, is the first book in the family-centered “Lotterys” series. It introduces readers to the vibrant, chaotic world of the Lottery family, a large, diverse household living in Toronto’s Camelottery, a sprawling Victorian home filled with creativity, community, and cacophony. The plot is set into motion when a long-estranged, conservative grandfather moves in with them, challenging the family’s harmony and testing their principles of empathy and acceptance.

Plot Summary

In the kaleidoscopic sprawl of Camelottery – a rambling, many-roomed house in Toronto – a family unlike any other pulses with rhythm, racket, and routine. The Lotterys, named not just for their luck but for their radical reinvention of family, are a tangle of seven exuberant children, four co-parents from varied cultural roots, and a menagerie of pets who blur the line between chaos and home. Into this dynamic bursts a discordant note: Iain Miller, an elderly, conservative grandfather who has never met his grandchild, is suddenly invited into the very heart of a household that seems stitched together with inclusivity and love.

Nine-year-old Sumac Lottery, cerebral and structured, the fifth child named after a tree, feels the jolt of this arrival most sharply. Her summer had been mapped out with precision – one-on-one Mesopotamian learning sessions with PopCorn, her gregarious, slightly scatterbrained father – until a phone call about a house fire and minor burns rewrites everything. PopCorn’s estranged father, Iain, has torched his home in the Yukon by leaving a deep fryer unattended. Now injured, possibly confused, and unable to live alone, he becomes Camelottery’s plus one.

The house that normally hums with laughter and impromptu science experiments must now stretch a little further. With her usual curiosity, Sumac volunteers to accompany PopCorn on the rescue mission. The journey north is long and dull, but Sumac is optimistic. After all, she is the first of the grandchildren this man will ever meet. But Iain, gaunt and rigid, with bandaged hands and a voice like gravel, greets her not with wonder but suspicion. He stares at her – a child born of two other parents, not his son’s wife, and not even biologically related to PopCorn – and says little. Not unkind, but not welcoming either.

In Faro, a near-empty mining town fringed by mountains and silence, the days drag as they shuttle Iain to doctor’s appointments. PopCorn frets over medical charts and mental assessments, while Sumac points out special sheep with curly horns and dreams of seeing the northern lights, only to be reminded that summer skies stay bright this far north. The old man, still smoldering from past grievances and soot, keeps mostly to himself. His views – sharp-edged and stale – hang awkwardly beside the warmth Sumac tries to offer. Even her stories, her tablet full of sibling photos, her family’s lore, bounce off him like hail on a roof.

Still, PopCorn persists. There’s no reasoning with Iain about in-home care or staying behind. So he brings his father home, tucked into the raucous, loving world of Camelottery, hoping proximity will thaw what years of distance have frozen.

The homecoming is far from gentle. Brian, the spirited four-year-old who changed her name from Briar, sizes him up and asks where his eyebrows went. Aspen, dramatic and erratic, throws herself into introducing the house with all the flair of a carnival barker. Oak, the baby who speaks in woofs, babbles from his high chair. Iain, weathered and unwilling, is swept into rooms with names like Spare Oom and the Mud Room. He grunts. He smokes. He calls PopCorn by his given name, Reginald. He recoils from the family rat.

Sumac, meanwhile, grapples with disappointment. Her precious One-to-One Lottafun has been hijacked by a reluctant grandfather who won’t even try to understand them. Lessons in ancient Sumerian fall aside as adult conversations, cloaked in euphemism and whispered stress, circle around the truth: Iain may be entering the early stages of dementia. His cough, his confusion, his silence – all signs that more than just cultural values are slipping.

The parents convene Dull Conversations – secretive strategy meetings with the gravity of wartime councils – debating how to care for a man who never truly cared for them. They take online training modules on Alzheimer’s. They review plans, shuffle rooms, and compile etiquette rules. They argue and worry, and the children, who understand more than they are meant to, begin to drift.

Sumac retreats to her beloved books, to the canopy of her room, to the familiarity of logic. But she is also watching. She sees how her family bends to make space – how CardaMom gently redirects conversations, how MaxiMum sets smoking boundaries with kindness, how even Aspen tries to perform her string tricks for a man who barely looks up. And despite the coldness he exudes, Iain does not lash out. He mutters. He coughs. He does not leave.

Slowly, the family’s gravity begins to pull him in. A mug of tea placed beside his chair. A quiet breakfast tray carried to the attic. A moment in the garden with Oak on his lap, both of them silent and sun-dappled. The change is not seismic. There is no grand gesture, no tearful reconciliation. But there are glimmers – enough for Sumac to revise her mental labels. Perhaps he is not a dormant volcano, but a glacier: slow, recalcitrant, yet still capable of movement.

The summer unspools with all its usual messiness. Aspen hurts herself while doing a Scottish accent. Brian invents new rules for the breakfast table. The parents work and fret and hug. Camelottery remains Camelottery – loud, loving, imperfect – and somehow larger now, with one more story woven into its fabric. Sumac doesn’t get her Mesopotamian puppet show, but she gets something else: a front-row seat to the work of empathy, the strain of making space for someone who doesn’t yet know how to belong.

One evening, after another round of failed Hula-Hoop lessons and rat chases, Iain asks for a second cup of tea. Not dramatic. Not transformative. But enough to suggest that maybe, just maybe, something inside him has softened.

And that, in Camelottery, is how things change. Not all at once, but slowly, gently, one bewildered grandfather at a time.

Main Characters

• Sumac Lottery – A nine-year-old girl who thrives on order, planning, and intellectual exploration. She is the emotional center of the novel, navigating the tension between her desire for structure and the unpredictable nature of her sprawling household. She’s fiercely intelligent, reflective, and empathetic, especially as she tries to welcome her grandfather into their home.

• PopCorn (Reginald Miller) – Sumac’s father, a jovial, lighthearted figure who becomes a bridge between his old life and new one. He is generally upbeat and creative but deeply conflicted about reuniting with his estranged father. His relationship with Sumac is tender and collaborative.

• Iain Miller (the Grandfather) – PopCorn’s elderly, cantankerous father, who moves in with the Lotterys after suffering burns in a house fire. He is conservative, bitter, and prejudiced, clashing with the inclusive values of the Lottery family. His gradual integration into the family forms a subtle arc of tension and cautious reconciliation.

• Aspen, Brian, Oak, Sic, Catalpa, Wood – The other Lottery children, each with distinctive personalities and quirks. Aspen is impulsive and eccentric; Brian (formerly Briar) is a headstrong four-year-old; Oak, the baby, is developmentally delayed but adored by all. Their interactions add depth to the family dynamic.

• MaxiMum, CardaMom, PapaDum – The other three co-parents in the Lottery household. Each brings unique traits: MaxiMum is the rational scientist; CardaMom, the spirited legal advocate; and PapaDum, the nurturing home-maker and gardener. They embody the family’s philosophy of collective parenting, love, and non-traditional structure.

Theme

• Family and Belonging – At its core, the novel is an exploration of what makes a family. It challenges conventional notions of lineage, gender roles, and blood ties, presenting a loving, functional family that thrives on diversity and emotional bonds.

• Change and Adaptation – The arrival of Iain forces each member of the Lottery family to confront discomfort, prejudice, and disruption. The novel emphasizes the necessity of growth through change, both at the personal and familial level.

• Identity and Acceptance – Characters in the novel grapple with gender identity, cultural heritage, and personal eccentricities. These are met with support and celebration within the family, creating a motif of acceptance that contrasts starkly with Iain’s rigidity.

• Generational Conflict – The story juxtaposes the progressive ideals of the younger generation with the deeply ingrained prejudices of the past. This theme is embodied in the uneasy relationship between PopCorn and his father and reflects broader societal conversations.

• Learning and Curiosity – Education—formal and informal—is a recurring motif. From One-to-One Lottafun lessons to spontaneous historical inquiries, learning is depicted as both a joy and a family value, particularly through Sumac’s endless curiosity.

Writing Style and Tone

Emma Donoghue adopts a richly textured, playful writing style filled with neologisms, slang, and familial in-jokes that reflect the world of the Lottery children. The narrative is filtered through Sumac’s perspective, lending it a childlike clarity and earnestness. This limited third-person viewpoint enhances intimacy with the protagonist while also revealing the layered complexity of the adults around her. The use of invented family terms and inside jokes contributes to the authenticity of the family’s world.

The tone is whimsical yet grounded, laced with humor, sensitivity, and warmth. Donoghue balances the buoyancy of childhood wonder with serious undercurrents of conflict and emotional growth. Her narrative voice is inclusive and compassionate, reflecting the book’s themes of diversity and empathy. There’s a gentle didacticism in how issues are explored—never moralizing, but always nudging readers toward greater understanding.