People talk about Jane Austen's small canvas, and then there's novels like this one, in which the stakes are, no kidding, whether a woman takes lunch breaks or not. By the end, she's started to occasionally do so; good for her, I suppose. I did feel quite frequently indignant on her behalf, because almost all of the other characters and most probably the author herself seem to think that her intense need to find some social value in her volunteer work is terribly selfish and self-aggrandising, especially compared to her parents' desire to have her quit her volunteer position solely because her sick father would prefer to keep her at home (not because he wants to spend time with her, but just because he's from an 'earlier generation' and doesn't approve of women working). But I kind of love reading old books where the values dissonance is so stark, and for all that I joke about the stakes I'm really adoring the tight focus.