Usually the star count is the toughest part of a review. Not this time. More on curmudgeons and star counts later. Let’s get to the good stuff, Farran’s work.
Jenny, the chief protagonist, is having a bad day in a dull life. The opening chapter sets up the novel so cleverly you don’t notice until you re-read it. To quote, “It was as if she didn’t want anyone to know there was a lonely pulse in her heart. Easiest way to avoid pain is to not be alive.”
Farran’s descriptions are fresh and vivid, for example “only the stark trees that stood like a regimented picket fence. They had been planted at precise intervals and as a result had a lifeless kind of cold about them. The branches unfolded high up, leaving the slender trunks like exposed, coarse stork legs. It was like a Brueghel painting without the peasants – was that even conceivable?”
Jenny goes into another world when she finds a poem on a park bench: “All movements faded. It was as if one could snap an old fashioned Polaroid picture and as it developed, moving from opaque to hazing images, one could move through or even live within it.”
The basic plot is a love story, or more accurately, Jenny’s desire for, but awkwardness, for a relationship. How this plays out is amazingly well done. Back to the star count boilerplate.
My personal guidelines, when doing any review, are as follows: five stars means, roughly equal to best in genre. Rarely given. Four stars means, extremely good. Three stars means, definitely recommendable. I am a tough reviewer. I try hard to be consistent. Roughly equal to best in genre? This is a novel, covering a significant interval in one life. Five stars feels right on, even to this curmudgeon. Extremely recommended.