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390 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2023
‘When I regained consciousness, I had been placed in the sunroom, a parlour at the back of the house with large glass panes looking out on to the riotous colour of a wildflower garden. Two large mirrors hung at angles reflected the garden view and encouraged the light to flutter around like a caged bird. Mother crouched in front of me, flapping like a moth. In her panic, her dress had been hitched up above her knees, the gunmetal satin puddling. She brought her face very close to mine, studying my eyes like a particularly eager lepidopterist inspecting a butterfly that might vanish. [...] My throat was dry and my head was thumping and there was thick crusted blood around my nose and on the side of my head. The intricate beading on the chaise longue dug into me. I pulled myself into a sitting position and my stomach swirled. Just past mother, my tutor Geoffrey stood, coming into focus like a photograph. As if he could read my mind, he reached for a glass of water and held it to my lips. I gulped greedily, as though I’d been lost in a desert.’Some of the turns of phrase are bizarre, and at times Askwith is heartlessly abrupt and insensitive toward her characters. Often, it seems like the author has forgotten what age her narrator is – 17 or 70? The first-person narrative did not serve this novel well as a style choice.