I don't always have to like the main character, but I enjoy unlikable main characters who DO things, as opposed to the unnamed first-person narrator here, who doesn't have much agency and doesn't take much initiative and doesn't seem to know who she is and what she wants and who is just a hot mess. The narrator is an American young woman who is newly widowed and shows up in England in 1986 with a lot of exalted, romantic notions of England and what she'll find there. She gets involved with a truly messed-up aristocratic family, which in the 1980s consists of a tough, elderly mother who is a researcher, an adult daughter who is a professor, an adult son who is just an asshole, and another adult daughter who struggles with extreme mental health issues. First the narrator is in a truly awful live-in relationship with Julian, then she seems to have a not very enjoyable but still somehow worth it to her in ways I don't understand friendship with Isabel, and then she still seems to go on obsessing about the family in a helpless sort of way. I found it to be a depressing book, and I think what kept me reading was that I (sadly) recognize my younger self in the main character. I kept wanting some personal growth for her and it never seemed to happen. I left the book feeling that she's just going to go on following her husband around for the rest of her life, without ever figuring out what she really wants. I think a lot of women fall into similarly hampered lives and this was realistic to me in that way but I kind of hated it and liked it at the same time. This review is also a hot mess. But that reflects the main character, so.