The story of this green paradise of love Outlander and small soft and sassy girls, curious about their sexuality and that of "big people" was a bestseller for 70 years , both in publishing and club in hand. One may wonder, in the twenty-first century, if such a novel is acceptable. The publisher made the bet, did they win?
This "confirmation" has nothing to do with the Holy Spirit. What we reveals the author, the juvenile mystery lurking beneath the veil and tulle adolescents. We talked about to paradise and disorders of childhood loves. They are here "clearly expressed" by the Stranger, the Other, the Offeror in such well-known story which is no longer scandalous.
You know that secondhand angst you feel when somebody in a book or film accidentally kills someone and frantically tries to cover it up and make their newfound problem go away? That suspended waiting for comeuppance? Like: >You idiot, why would you do this? >You're going to hell bud. >You're not going to get away with this for long. This whole book is like that. The unnamed pro(an?)tagonist appears to be an upstanding and well-liked foreign visitor in a small Galician village, but he's got some unspeakably *ulterior* motives for being there. I understand where the Nabokov comparisons come from, but this shouldn't be directly compared to Lolita. It's not as "literary", not so much of a character study. A bit uncomfortable in parts but could be worth reading if you've got the stomach for it. Subject matter aside, the setting in a small Atlantic fishing village is quite cozy.