Lively serves up a similar stew of family favourites: a good handful of history, a shimmering twist of nostalgia, a pinch of mistrust, but always with a last generous glug of goodwill. Only occasionally does she get over-generous on the eastern sour sweet romantic interest. 'Cleopatra's Sister' isn't too far off the recipe. However, the addition of rather more peril than usual, in turn, along with doe-eyed devotion of two people centripetally drawn to one another like the spiral of an ammonite, makes this read much more like mainstream Hollywood than the usual knowingly worldly internalised monologues she normally treats us to.
Honestly, though, Lively presses as many of the right buttons as a synthpop virtuoso - fossils, questions or fate and destiny, historical geopolitics, introspection and even a pilot who almost shares my name... Like one of those personalised Christmas books that felt like magic as a kid, this feels like it could have been written for me.
That said, it was just denied a Michelin star rating by the slightly overdone romantic interest and detour into taut thriller (something I sense may be neither mine not Lively's home ground, based on its handling here). A lesser jewel of the Nile maybe, but a long way from Nil Points