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The Paper Palace: A Novel Hardcover – July 6, 2021
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INSTANT #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
OVER 1 MILLION COPIES SOLD WORLDWIDE
THE PAPER PALACE IS:
“Filled with secrets, love, lies and a summer beach house. What more could you ask?”—Parade
“A deeply emotional love story…the unraveling of secrets, lies and a very complex love triangle.” —Reese Witherspoon (Reese’s Book Club July ’21 Pick)
"Nail-biting." —Town & Country
“A magnificent page-turner.” —Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney, New York Times bestselling author
“[An] irresistible placement of a complicated family in a bewitching place.” —The New York Times
A story of summer, secrets, love, and lies: in the course of a singular day on Cape Cod, one woman must make a life-changing decision that has been brewing for decades.
“This house, this place, knows all my secrets.”
It is a perfect August morning, and Elle, a fifty-year-old happily married mother of three, awakens at “The Paper Palace”—the family summer place which she has visited every summer of her life. But this morning is different: last night Elle and her oldest friend Jonas crept out the back door into the darkness and had sex with each other for the first time, all while their spouses chatted away inside. Now, over the next twenty-four hours, Elle will have to decide between the life she has made with her genuinely beloved husband, Peter, and the life she always imagined she would have had with her childhood love, Jonas, if a tragic event hadn’t forever changed the course of their lives. As Heller colors in the experiences that have led Elle to this day, we arrive at her ultimate decision with all its complexity. Tender yet devastating, The Paper Palace considers the tensions between desire and dignity, the legacies of abuse, and the crimes and misdemeanors of families.
- Print length400 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherRiverhead Books
- Publication dateJuly 6, 2021
- Dimensions6.29 x 1.35 x 9.26 inches
- ISBN-100593329821
- ISBN-13978-0593329825
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Editorial Reviews
Review
"Beguiling."—Vogue, "The Best Books to Read This Summer"
"Nail-biting." —Town & Country
“This one’s filled with secrets, love, lies and a summer beach house. What more could you ask?—”Parade, “Best Beach Reads”
“The gorgeous scenery of Back Woods (a stand-in for Wellfleet, Mass.) provides an atmospheric backdrop to Elle’s ruminations and revelatory flashbacks.”—Los Angeles Times, “10 best books for your summer beach reading”
"Ensconced in her family’s rustic compound on Cape Cod for an annual summer trip, Elle Bishop is at a crossroads, forced to choose between the two great loves of her life. Should she run off with the longtime bestie she’s secretly been in love with since they endured a ghastly childhood trauma together? Or stay with her cherished husband, a dashing Brit who’s the father of her kids?" —People
“Doubly blessed when it comes to descriptive powers, Heller is as good on nature as she is on interiors.”—The New York Times
"An assured debut. A sultry tale of Waspish New England that captures the spirit of Updike and Cheever."—The Times (London)
"Tightly woven and immediate, The Paper Palace takes us deep into a vivid summer landscape, a family, and a private, longstanding love story, and holds us there from start to finish." —Meg Wolitzer, New York Times bestselling author of The Interestings and The Female Persuasion
“The Paper Palace turned out to be the very page-turner I needed. If you want to learn something about love over a long time—how it can hurt, how it can soar— read this book.”—Mary Beth Keane, New York Times bestselling author of Ask Again, Yes
“Miranda Cowley Heller has written a magnificent page-turner, a love story that shimmers with desire, intelligence, and humor. Lush and gorgeously written, The Paper Palace is as intoxicating as a summer night by the sea. I didn’t want it to end.” —Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney, New York Times bestselling author of Good Company
"It's been ages since I was so absorbed in a contemporary novel. I loved it." —Nick Hornby,New York Timesbestselling author of Just Like You
“Set in the physical and psychic landscape of Cape Cod, The Paper Palace is a fever dream of a novel, luminous with love and shot through with humor and heartbreak. It is a book that explores the indelibility of childhood, what it means to be shaped by place, and all that is unpredictable about the human heart. I couldn’t put it down." —Adrienne Brodeur, author of Wild Game
"A beautifully constructed, wonderfully intelligent and beguiling novel, rich with a multitude of pleasures." —William Boyd, author of Any Human Heart
"It's glorious and gorgeous. I was absolutely immersed and gripped and I'm devastated to have finished it." —Marian Keyes, author of Lucy Sullivan Is Getting Married
"In rich and sensuous prose, Cowley Heller, cracks open the human heart and exposes her character's choices: the paths not taken and the devastating consequences. I smelled the old cabins and the backwoods, felt the pond water lapping around my ankles, experienced the love and loss of family. A perceptive and powerful story which will stay with me for a long time." —Claire Fuller, author of Unsettled Ground
"I can't think of a more brilliant debut than The Paper Palace. Enticing, assured and multi-layered, it introduces a major new voice in American fiction . . . A marvel."—Cressida Connolly, auhor of The Happiest Days
"Absolutely phenomenal novel - dazzling writing and utterly addictive. Read it."—Rosamund Lupton, New York Times bestselling author of Sister
"It felt as if I read The Paper Palace in one go. It was completely immersive, and shocking, and utterly alive. I loved it." —Nina Stibbe, author of Love, Nina
"Beautifully written, richly compelling, The Paper Palace is as dark and uncompromising as it is tender and lyrical. Here is a love triangle that keeps you turning the pages, a vivid evocation of place, and an exploration of the one of the most unsettling of secrets." —Rachel Joyce, author of The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry
"Captivating debut… full of lush atmospheric details. This will keep the reader guessing all the way to the end.”—Publishers Weekly
“The moody and atmospheric setting of the shadowy paths and ponds of the Back Woods is described in lush detail that makes a sharp contrast to the colder, sharper elements of Elle’s story…From the first pages of her debut novel, Heller pulls no punches. Some of them just sneak up on you later on.” —Kirkus
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1
Today. August 1, the Back Woods.
6:30 a.m.
Things come from nowhere. The mind is empty and then, inside the frame, a pear. Perfect, green, the stem atilt, a single leaf. It sits in a white ironstone bowl, nestled among the limes, in the center of a weathered picnic table, on an old screen porch, at the edge of a pond, deep in the woods, beside the sea. Next to the bowl is a brass candlestick covered in drips of cold wax and the ingrained dust of a long winter left on an open shelf. Half-eaten plates of pasta, an unfolded linen napkin, dregs of claret in a wine bottle, a breadboard, handmade, rough-hewn, the bread torn not sliced. A mildewed book of poetry lies open on the table. "To a Skylark," soaring into the blue-painful, thrilling-replays in my mind as I stare at the still life of last night's dinner. "The world should listen then, as I am listening now." He read it so beautifully. "For Anna." And we all sat there, spellbound, remembering her. I could look at him and nothing else for eternity and be happy. I could listen to him, my eyes closed, feel his breath and his words wash over me, time and time and time again. It is all I want.
Beyond the edge of the table, the light dims as it passes through the screens before brightening over the dappled trees, the pure blue of the pond, the deep-black shadows of the tupelos at the water's edge where the reach of the sun falters this early in the day. I ponder a quarter-inch of thick, stale espresso in a dirty cup and consider drinking it. The air is raw. I shiver under the faded lavender bathrobe-my mother's-that I put on every summer when we return to the camp. It smells of her, and of dormancy tinged with mouse droppings. This is my favorite hour in the Back Woods. Early morning on the pond before anyone else is awake. The sunlight clear, flinty, the water bracing, the whippoorwills finally quiet.
Outside the porch door, on the small wooden deck, sand has built up between the slats-it needs to be swept. A broom leans against the screen, indenting it, but I ignore it and head down the little path that leads to our beach. Behind me, the door hinges shriek in resistance.
I drop my bathrobe to the ground and stand naked at the water's edge. On the far side of the pond, beyond the break of pine and shrub oak, the ocean is furious, roaring. It must be carrying a storm in its belly from somewhere out at sea. But here, at the edge of the pond, the air is honey-still. I wait, watch, listen . . . the chirping, buzzing of tiny insects, a wind that stirs the trees too gently. Then I wade in up to my knees and dive headlong into the freezing water. I swim out into the deep, past the water lilies, pushed forward by exhilaration, freedom, and an adrenaline rush of nameless panic. I have a shadow-fear of snapping turtles coming up from the depths to bite my heavy breasts. Or perhaps they will be drawn by the smell of sex as I open and close my legs. I'm suddenly overwhelmed by the need to get back to the safety of the shallows, where I can see the sandy bottom. I wish I were braver. But I also love the fear, the catch of breath in my throat, my thrumming heartbeat as I step out of the water.
I wring as much as I can from my long hair, grab a threadbare towel from the clothesline my mother has strung between two scraggly pines, lie down on the warm sand. An electric-blue dragonfly lands on my nipple and perches there before moving on. An ant crawls over the Saharan dunes my body has just created in its path.
Last night I finally fucked him. After all these years of imagining it, never knowing if he still wanted me. And then the moment I knew it would happen: all the wine, Jonas's beautiful voice in ode, my husband Peter lying on the sofa in a grappa haze, my three children asleep in their cabin, my mother already at the sink washing dishes in her bright yellow rubber gloves, ignoring her dinner guests. Our eyes lingered one beat too long. I got up from the noisy table, took my underpants off in the pantry, and hid them behind the breadbox. Then I went out the back door into the night. I waited in the shadows, listening to the sounds of plate, water, glass, silver clunking together beneath the suds. Waited. Hoped. And then he was there, pushing me up against the wall of the house, reaching under my dress. "I love you," he whispered. I gasped as he shoved himself into me. And I thought: now there is no turning back. No more regrets for what I haven't done. Now only regrets for what I have done. I love him, I hate myself; I love myself, I hate him. This is the end of a long story.
1966. December, New York City.
I am screaming. I scream and gasp until, at last, my mother realizes something is wrong. She races with me to the doctor's office, imagining herself Miss Clavel as she runs up Park Avenue, terrified, clutching her three-month-old baby. My father is racing, too, briefcase in hand, up Madison Avenue from the Fred F. French Building. Thoughts stammering, afraid of his own impotence, now, as in everything he does. The doctor tells them there's no time-if they wait, the baby will die-and rips me from my mother's arms. On the operating table, he slices me open across the belly like a ripe watermelon. A tumor has snaked itself around my intestines, and a toxicity of shit has built up behind its iron grasp, pushing poison into my tiny body. The shit always builds up, and surviving it is the key, but this I will not learn for many years.
While the doctor is inside me, he cuts off an ovary, careless, rushing to carve the death out of life. This, too, I will not learn for many years. When I do, my mother cries for me for the second time. "I'm so sorry," she says. "I should have made him be more careful . . ."-as if she'd had the power to change my fate, but chosen not to use it.
Later I lie in a hospital cot, arms tied down at my sides. I scream, cry, alive, livid with rage at this injustice. They will not let my mother feed me. Her milk dries up. Almost a week passes before they free my hands from their shackles. "You were always such a happy baby," my father says. "Afterward," my mother says, "you never stopped screaming."
7:30 a.m.
I roll over onto my stomach, rest my head on my forearms. I love the salty-sweet way my skin smells when I've been lying in the sun-a nut-gold, musky smell, as if I'm being cured. Down the path that leads from the main house to the bedroom cabins I hear a quiet slam. Someone is up. Feet crunch on dry leaves. The outdoor shower is turned on. Pipes groan awake for the day. I sigh, grab my bathrobe from the beach and head back up to the house.
Our camp has one main building-the Big House-and four one-bedroom cabins along a pine-needled path that hugs the shoreline of the pond. Small clapboard huts, each with a roof pitched to keep the snow off, a single skylight, long clerestory windows on either side. Old-fashioned, rustic, no frills. Exactly what a New England cabin should be. Between the path and the pond is a thin windbreak of trees-flowering clethra, bay and wild blueberry bushes-that protects us from the prying eyes of fishermen and the overenthusiastic swimmers who manage to make it across to our side of the pond from the small public access beach on the far shore. They aren't allowed to come aground, but sometimes they will tread water five feet away, directly in front of our tree line, oblivious to the fact that they are trespassing on our lives.
Down a separate path, behind the cabins, is the old bathhouse. Peeling paint, a rusted enamel sink covered in the beige flecks of dead moths drawn to the overhead light at night; an ancient claw-foot tub that has been there since my grandfather built the camp; an outdoor shower-hot and cold pipes attached to a tupelo tree, water pooling straight into the ground, runneling the sandy path.
The Big House is one large room-living room and kitchen, with a separate pantry-built of cinder blocks and tar paper. Wide-board floors, heavy beams, a massive stone fireplace. On rainy days, we close up the doors and windows and sit inside, listen to the crackle of the fire, force ourselves to play Monopoly. But where we really live-where we read, and eat, and argue, and grow old together-is on the screen porch, as wide as the house itself, which faces out to the pond. Our camp isn't winterized. There would be no point. By late September, when the weather turns chilly and all the summer houses have been shut down for the season, the Back Woods is a lonely place-still beautiful in the starker light, but solemn and sepulchral. No one wants to be here once the leaves fall. But when summer breaks again, and the woods are dense, and the blue herons come back to nest and wade in the bright pond, there is no better place on earth than this.
The moment I step back inside, onto the porch, I'm hit by a wave of longing, a quicksilver running through my solar plexus like homesickness. I know I should clear the table before the others come in for breakfast, but I want to memorize the shape of it-re-live last night crumb by crumb, plate by plate, etch it with an acid bath onto my brain. I run my fingers over a purple wine stain on the white linen tablecloth, put Jonas's glass to my lips and try to taste him there. I close my eyes, remembering the slight pressure of his thigh against mine under the table. Before I was sure he wanted me. Wondering, breathless, whether it was accident or intention.
In the main room, everything is exactly as it has always been: pots hanging on the wall above the stove, spatulas on cup hooks, a mason jar of wooden spoons, a faded list of telephone numbers thumbtacked to a bookshelf, two director's chairs pulled up to the fireplace. Everything is the same, and yet, as I cross the kitchen to the pantry, I feel as though I am walking through a different room, more in focus, as if the air itself has just awakened from a deep sleep. I let myself out through the pantry door, stare at the cinder-block wall. Nothing shows. No traces, no evidence. But it was here, we were here, embedding ourselves in each other forever. Grinding, silent, desperate. I suddenly remember my underpants hidden behind the breadbox and am just pulling them on under my bathrobe when my mother appears.
"You're up early, Elle. Is there coffee?" An accusation.
"I was just about to make it."
"Not too strong. I don't like that espresso stuff you use. I know-you think it's better . . ." she says, in a false, humoring voice that drives me insane.
"Fine." I don't feel like arguing this morning.
My mother settles herself in on the porch sofa. It is just a hard horsehair mattress covered in old gray cloth, but it's the coveted place in the house. From here you can look out at the pond, drink your coffee, read your book leaning against the ancient pillows, their cotton covers specked with rust. Who knew that even cloth could grow rusty with time?
It is so typical of her to usurp the good spot.
My mother's hair, straw-blond, now streaked with gray, is twisted up in an absent-minded, messy bun. Her old gingham nightgown is frayed. Yet she still manages to look imposing-like a figurehead on the prow of an eighteenth-century New England schooner, beautiful and stern, wreathed in laurels and pearls, pointing the way.
"I'm just going to have my coffee, and then I'll clear the table," I say.
"If you clear the table, I'll do the rest of the dishes. Mmmm," she says, "thank you," as I hand her a cup of coffee. "How was the water?"
"Perfect. Cold."
The best lesson my mother ever taught me: there are two things in life you never regret-a baby and a swim. Even on the coldest days of early June, as I stand looking out at the brackish Atlantic, resenting the seals that now rear their hideous misshapen heads and draw great whites into these waters, I hear her voice in my head, urging me to plunge in.
"I hope you hung your towel on the line. I don't want to see another pile of wet towels today. Tell the kids."
"It's on the line."
"Because if you don't yell at them, I will."
"I got it."
"And they need to sweep out their cabin. It's a disaster. And don't you do it, Elle. Those children are completely spoilt. They are old enough to . . ."
A bag of garbage in one hand, my coffee cup in the other, I walk out the back door, letting her litany drift off into the wind.
Her worst advice: Think Botticelli. Be like Venus rising on a half shell, lips demurely closed, even her nakedness modest. My mother's words of advice when I moved in with Peter. The message arrived on a faded postcard she'd picked up years before in the Uffizi gift shop: Dear Eleanor, I like your Peter very much. Please make an effort not to be so difficult all the time. Keep your mouth closed and look mysterious. Think Botticelli. Love, Mummy.
I dump the garbage in the can, slam the lid shut, and stretch the bungee cord tight across it to keep out the raccoons. They are clever creatures with their long dexterous fingers. Little humanoid bears, smarter and nastier than they look. We've been waging war against each other for years.
"Did you remember to put the bungee cord back on, Elle?" My mother says.
"Of course." I smile demurely and start clearing plates.
Product details
- Publisher : Riverhead Books; First Edition, 6th printing (July 6, 2021)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 400 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0593329821
- ISBN-13 : 978-0593329825
- Item Weight : 1.32 pounds
- Dimensions : 6.29 x 1.35 x 9.26 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #14,148 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #516 in Women's Domestic Life Fiction
- #963 in Family Life Fiction (Books)
- #1,558 in Literary Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
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Top reviews from the United States
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I was a bit off put by other reviewers declaring that the book had no defined ending. The author’s notes at the end of the book explain this. I had figured it out, but then again, I am a stickler for details.
You will enjoy this book: it takes you away and leaves you quite satisfied in remembering that everyone has a secret!
I absolutely loved this book (other then the end). This was a book with so many lessons and so many hardships. While going through the past you get to enjoy watching characters blossom. With that there was a lot of pain in so many characters lives throughout. It was necessary. I can see why this book was chosen as a book of the month club book there is ALOT to discuss. Shoot I am discussing with myself nonstop.
I think my favorite part is jumping from past to present. I needed that. It was all perfectly placed as well. It gave you background on why you ended up here with these characters. I mean I was in the Paper Palace with all the girls and I grieved with them. It was not all about negative stuff there was a lot of growth and love. It felt like a true story. Like was this someone’s life because I’ll be damned if it didn’t feel like it. And so I give you my second favorite thing is the characters. Omg I love everyone of them and despise many others too. You cheer them on and you cry with them. You second guess everything and wonder what could have been as well. This book was deep for me.
Be aware there is a lot triggers and that comes with people writing all these negative reviews. What I say to that is know your boundaries and what you are comfortable with. There are warnings and people say I can’t handle child sexual trauma and that’s understandable. But it’s a part of a story. It builds this story. The pain, the strength, the hopelessness leads to the growth. I don’t think it was done poorly either this is real to some peoples life and I think it felt like it could have happened to anyone. Sadly it has.
Now my only critique and the reason I could not give this 5 stars is because the damn ending. She left me. She has me mind boggled. And in some case that’s good.
I guess it made me think non-stop about this book, so yea, that’s good. But I need more!! I told my hubby about it because even the next day I am frustrated. He says “is there a part two?” No dang it there is not!!!
Get ready to ride the rollercoaster of emotions with this book. I think it is a fabulous summer read.

Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on June 10, 2022
I absolutely loved this book (other then the end). This was a book with so many lessons and so many hardships. While going through the past you get to enjoy watching characters blossom. With that there was a lot of pain in so many characters lives throughout. It was necessary. I can see why this book was chosen as a book of the month club book there is ALOT to discuss. Shoot I am discussing with myself nonstop.
I think my favorite part is jumping from past to present. I needed that. It was all perfectly placed as well. It gave you background on why you ended up here with these characters. I mean I was in the Paper Palace with all the girls and I grieved with them. It was not all about negative stuff there was a lot of growth and love. It felt like a true story. Like was this someone’s life because I’ll be damned if it didn’t feel like it. And so I give you my second favorite thing is the characters. Omg I love everyone of them and despise many others too. You cheer them on and you cry with them. You second guess everything and wonder what could have been as well. This book was deep for me.
Be aware there is a lot triggers and that comes with people writing all these negative reviews. What I say to that is know your boundaries and what you are comfortable with. There are warnings and people say I can’t handle child sexual trauma and that’s understandable. But it’s a part of a story. It builds this story. The pain, the strength, the hopelessness leads to the growth. I don’t think it was done poorly either this is real to some peoples life and I think it felt like it could have happened to anyone. Sadly it has.
Now my only critique and the reason I could not give this 5 stars is because the damn ending. She left me. She has me mind boggled. And in some case that’s good.
I guess it made me think non-stop about this book, so yea, that’s good. But I need more!! I told my hubby about it because even the next day I am frustrated. He says “is there a part two?” No dang it there is not!!!
Get ready to ride the rollercoaster of emotions with this book. I think it is a fabulous summer read.

Top reviews from other countries

Too many characters, too much flitting back & forth in time (every section like this lasted a couple of pages that was all then you're back in another time). Then one long chunk that oddly went on too long to set up the great awfulness that has caused all the trouble in this book.
No one was worth caring about not even the main character (despite everything that happened to her), apart from the older sister Anna who is refreshingly herself, and Jonas who doesn't get nearly enough space in the book and was the reason I thought I'd love this book. He's kept far too much in the background, I suppose like a siren call but really the author squandered what might have been a USP for this book. The husband Peter was nauseatingly a stereotype of Hugh Grant - an American's idea of what a posh Brit is like - and actually rude & dismissive. Why stay married to this man? The sex scenes were well described.
The ending was a terrible zero. I get that it was supposed to be mysterious & ambivalent it just felt like an under-cooked roast chicken.
A very episodic read, emotionally & intellectually unsatisfying it was a jumble of good ideas badly executed.
And then there's all the gushing blurbs from authors who are clearly pals - this author is well connected.
Not worth the money, could have been so much better.

Ever since she was a child, "The Paper Palace" had been a place where Elle and her family would spend their holidays. Now married and with children of her own, it is still a place she visits with her family and friends.
Following a rash decision made in the heat of the moment, the story jumps between the past and present, revealing generations of complicated relationships and some questionable, heartbreaking decisions...
OK, so I went in with no expectations and knowing next to nothing about the plot, but I never imagined how invested I'd become in the story. This is compelling, domestic drama at its absolute finest. 👌🏻
One thing that stood out to me was how certain traumatic events can happen to a member of one generation and indirectly affect another. Additionally, without going into too much detail, there were some prime examples of how (in my opinion) parents can fail at protecting their children.
Miranda has nailed everything here from the absolutely stunning imagery to a captivating story. Her writing is fantastic and I just cannot fault it. Put it this way, I loved this book so much I've already ordered a physical copy.
Granted there's some pretty heavy topics I wasn't entirely prepared for, so do be aware of the trigger warnings:
*Some triggers to be aware of in this book are: child abuse, sexual assault, infidelity and non-consensual incest.

It is a perfect July morning, and Elle, a fifty-year-old happily married mother of three, awakens at "The Paper Palace"—the family summer place which she has visited every summer of her life. But this morning is different: last night Elle and her oldest friend Jonas crept out the back door into the darkness and had sex with each other for the first time, all while their spouses chatted away inside. Now, over the next twenty-four hours, Elle will have to decide between the life she has made with her genuinely beloved husband, Peter, and the life she always imagined she would have had with her childhood love, Jonas, if a tragic event hadn't forever changed the course of their lives. As Heller colours in the experiences that have led Elle to this day, we arrive at her ultimate decision with all its complexity. Tender yet devastating, The Paper Palace considers the tensions between desire and dignity, the legacies of abuse, and the crimes and misdemeanours of families.
This is a book that will stay with me for a long time. So many issues were dealt with in this book, both emphatically and thoughtfully. From the outset, everything looks completely fine, and everyone is happy going about their lives, but a ‘chance’ meeting at The Paper Palace leads to everything precariously hanging in the balance, and the will they / won’t they decision is left right until the last page, to keep you completely engaged and wanting to read to the very end.
This book is up there within my books of the year and it certainly got me out of a bit of a reading slump too and I was completely immersed in this book for several days, I even took it to work to try to read some during my breaks which I haven’t done with a book for quite a while.
I say this very rarely, but this is a book that I would like to see as a movie or a TV series, it would just work so well.
I highly recommend this book, but I suggest you might want to check the trigger warnings first, as this book doesn’t mince its words and is very descriptive.

In the first 45 pages the author mentioned casual adultery, sexual abuse of children, maternal neglect and animal cruelty with no more sensitivity than I would put into a shopping list. By all means write about these topics but treat them seriously.
The author follows a fashionable trend of writing in the present tense. The idea is that it gives your writing a sense of urgency but as the beginning is deathly slow it's not well used in this book. She also follows a popular style by zig zagging across the timelines but she doesn't spend enough time in each period to make it work. Her writing isn't very vivid either; there wasn't much to distinguish the children going swimming at Camp from the grandmother swimming in the lake.
I always try to give a book a serious try but this one defeated me and I returned it for a refund.

💭: Initially I thought this book would solely focus on Elle's inner turmoil, the choice between her devoted husband and the man she has loved since she was a child; which didn't appeal to me. The very short snappy sentences irritated me and the constant switching of timelines and numerous characters confused me a little and I found it hard to get into. That was until I got passed the first section and into the secrets of Elle's past. This book is not lighthearted as I first thought. The topics are disturbing, the characters are unlikeable and the ending unclear.


Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on August 24, 2021
💭: Initially I thought this book would solely focus on Elle's inner turmoil, the choice between her devoted husband and the man she has loved since she was a child; which didn't appeal to me. The very short snappy sentences irritated me and the constant switching of timelines and numerous characters confused me a little and I found it hard to get into. That was until I got passed the first section and into the secrets of Elle's past. This book is not lighthearted as I first thought. The topics are disturbing, the characters are unlikeable and the ending unclear.
