The mood is this novel is powerfully established from the start: An overwhelming sense of imminent disaster, beautifully interwoven with an intense portrait of the small Greek island where the story is set, including its very food, animals, spills, and smells.
The narrator, Elizabeth Clarke, an assistant museum curator specializing in ancient Greek artifacts, has arrived on the island to inspect an unusual statue that has too-conveniently washed ashore--which, if it's authenticated, could ensure her promotion in a toxic workplace of sexual harassment.
Add to that fraught mix hints of Elizabeth's troubled past, sexual abuse by her stepfather, the loss of a beloved sister, overreliance on prescription pills, guilt, and the seductive allure of a young Greek couple.
With the vivid writing and page-turning tension, why don't I rate the novel higher?
Because the plot relies too much on hard-to-believe lapses by Elizabeth.
She is supposedly dedicated to her work and desperate for the promotion. Yet she keeps delaying obvious and important actions, such as looking at crucial photographs, checking in with her boss, and ensuring basic security for the statue, even after a serious breach at the gallery where it's being stored.
I understand that Elizabeth undercuts herself by her bed-hopping and pill-popping, and suffers from (literally) blinding migraines. But we're also supposed to believe that she's pulled herself up in a cutthroat career by her savvy, determination, and strength.
For me, the mix didn't gell. Perhaps the problem is that there was too much self-destruction and gloom from the start, rather than building over time.
Still, this is a beautifully written and impressively researched novel. If you're willing to suspend your disbelief, you can immerse yourself and all of your senses in the island.