44%
13.04.13
Late-blooming love is rarely examined in modern fiction but it is badly served here. Self-absorbed middle-class Londoners cocooned in their privileged world are annoying enough without the poor quality of the prose to mire it further. Any book that includes a description of a "glass-fronted dresser painted in National Trust Woodlawn Charm blue" needs a decent edit, quite frankly.
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