Any book that involves a character who is a lover of all things literary is a book that I am drawn to. I loved some of the descriptions, such as the one on page 38:
"I mean that reading forms your opinions, your worldview, especially childhood reading, and anything that does that has an impact. So call them friends, call some stories enemies if you want, but don't deny their influence.
You learn drama from the Brontes; sense from Austen; social justice from Dickins; beauty from Wordsworth, Keats, and Byron; patience and perseverance from Gaskill; and don't even get me started pn exercising your imagination with Carroll, Doyle, Wells, Wilde, Stoker-"
Yet I ended this book disappointed. I felt the characters lacked any, well, character. I could barely tell you what they looked like (except for the eyes and the red hair) or even what their personalities really were. The story lines jumped around...the relationships started and ended and then began again without so much as a time line keeping us on track of things.
Dare I admit that I have not read a Bronte book? That may have been an issue too, seeing as some of the "insider talk" very well could not be understood without knowing which books, which scenes are being discussed within this book.
Some of the descriptions seemed overly wordy without saying a thing. The antique store details made me long to picture what items Reay was describing and yet nothing came to mind. Too many colors and abstract details but nothing solid to grab hold of.
I think I was more frustrated with this book than anything else. Parts of the writing clearly show that Reay can interest a reader, can grab hold of the imagination. Yet the story fell flat. Maybe a lover of Bronte books would feel differently.
This book was sent to me by BookLook Bloggers in exchange for my honest review.
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