This is the first book I've read by this well known Canadian writer, and I can't say that I'm impressed. She has a great tendency to wax much too lyrical. I have no interest in reading all her artsy fartsy mumble jumbo, and she has no write to impose it on her readers, wasting their time with it.
Bronte, Withering Heights, Tintoretto, weather, obsessive imaginary love... Those are the themes of this book.
P.S. I'm reading books by this author to prepare myself for listening to her talk during a CFUW fundraiser.
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