Blech. Everyone’s been reading Susan Hill lately, and her books all sounded so creepy and cool, but I couldn’t finish this. I stayed up late last night reading it, because I kept thinking I would read it until it got interesting and then I would go to sleep and have something to look forward to in the morning. What a stupid idea. I mean, that was always going to be a stupid idea, but it was particularly stupid in this case because the book never got interesting at all. Two-thirds of the way through, I figured out that I was never going to like it, and I chucked it into my papasan chair and went to sleep. Bah. Oh, and then, and then? Instead of getting up at 6:30, and reading the news in leisurely fashion, and watching an episode of Torchwood that seems to have totally stolen its idea from Buffy while working on my cross-stitching, I was so sleepy I reset my alarm for 7:30 and I had to get ready very very fast and go running into work.
THANKS A LOT SUSAN HILL.
So anyway I now feel too cranky to review this book properly. Suffice it to say: it’s about a woman who spends a lot of time being very, very unhappy because her husband has died; and if you are waiting for something interesting to happen, you may be waiting a long time. In addition, Susan Hill’s use of multiple staccato clauses drove me insane.
P.S. I may be being unwarrantedly harsh, because I had high expectations of a particular type, which did not align with the reality of the book. Never a recipe for loving a book you read. Bah.