T. Kingfisher's A House With Good Bones is not a novel I would recommend widely among my cohort; it has a lot going against it: I found the main character's quirky banter to be repellent, the plot involves the hated "a character discovers they are the heir to magical power, which they suddenly and conveniently wield to make things right" convention, and the horror is so light in this novel that it fulfills the milquetoast dreams of those who demand "cozy horror."
Despite all that, there are some high spots. I was surprised that Jack Parsons and Aleister Crowley figure into the backstory, for example. That lent the book some surprising and interesting texture. Also, I can fully admit that even though a novel isn't for me, there are readers out there who would love this. Your maiden aunt who finds Stephen King too scary, but still wants to read horror, might get a real kick out of A House With Good Bones.