I saved this book up for my holiday and was looking forward to savouring it as I absolutely loved A Song For Issy Bradley, one of those rare books that remain with you long after the reading is over.
This one has all the right ingredients: gorgeous, understated writing, her usual flair for description, believable and sympathetic central characters, a comic elderly neighbour prone to malapropisms, sensitively drawn family relationships, a burgeoning friendship between two solitary pre-teens, a girl’s exploration of her dead mother through her belongings, a harshly realistic and utterly sympathetic portrayal of post-natal depression… but the book was a miss for me, perhaps because my expectations were so high.
Carys Bray is such a beautiful writer that I’m at a loss to explain why I didn’t love this book and why it failed to grab me. I persevered with it out of loyalty to her wonderful first novel, but I’ll continue reading whatever she writes because she’s so talented.
