A Week in Winter- Maeve Binchy's posthumous novel is achingly beautiful, so well written, a gift to any reader, and a sad goodbye to one of the world's most talented writers. Binchy has always held her readers gently in her grasp, telling them stories of people and places that capture our interest from the first few lines, and keep us fixated on her tales til the last page. I could not put this one down, and yet I dreaded finishing it, knowing there will be no more novels to follow. Binchy finished this one last summer, and then died, unexpectedly, a few weeks later. Each chapter is connected to the others, yet concentrates on the life of a different character, all of whom end up, in some capacity, whether as owner, staff or guest at Stone House, an old home, turned bed & breakfast, set high atop a cliff in small town Ireland, far from the bustling life in Dublin. Brothers and sisters, husbands & wives, children, friends, lovers and scoundrels all fill the pages to keep us glued to the words until the book is closed, and the story becomes a happy memory. Every character has some adversity to overcome (don't we all?) and most have love to give. I envy anyone who has not yet read this novel, because so much joy and beauty awaits them. There are not enough stars for me to give to A Week in Winter. Binchy has never disappointed me, from her first, Light a Penny Candle, which I remember reading in my 20's, in 1982, until the last sentence in her final novel. I remember saying something similar in 2010 when I finished reading Minding Frankie. Binchy just "gets" people, and always makes me yearn for hot tea, a roaring fire, and a cat in my lap.