Reviewed by Jeanne
The book opens with a friendly fan letter to Hannah,
an Australian author, from Leo, a would-be writer who lives in Boston. The two have apparently been corresponding
for some time, and he hopes to visit her in a few months.
The next section introduces Freddie—short for Winifred—a
young Australian author who has a fellowship that allows her to come to Boston to
write her novel. She’s in the Reading
Room of the Boston Public Library, sitting at a table with three strangers,
when they all hear a woman scream.
Security swoops in, and after a check, assures everyone that it was a
false alarm. The three strangers, bonded
by the shared experience, exchange names and begin talking. It turns out they
are all writers of one sort or another. Things take a darker turn when, some
hours later, Freddie hears on the news that the body of a woman has been found
at the library.
This is followed by a letter from Leo, excitedly
discussing the chapter of Hannah’s new book set in Boston and offering her his
insights and insider information about the city that she can use in her novel.
It sounds very confusing but it isn’t, really. I have been telling people that it’s like
having a picture of a woman looking at a picture of a woman looking at a
picture. It’s well written, keeping the reader involved in both storylines, and
there are some wonderful twists and turns as the stories go along. While at
first I found it a bit distracting to be pulled out of Hannah’s novel into a
different reality, I admire the way the author shows you some of the tricks of
her trade, all the while having another card up her sleeve.
There’s a good sense of place and well defined
characters along with the fine writing. It’s almost as if the reader is getting
a peek behind the scenes at how an author works along with a very intriguing
storyline. One reviewer compared it to the unpeeling the layers of an onion,
and I would agree. The book is very well paced, enticing the reader to keep
those pages turning to see how the plots will be resolved.
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