This felt a little heavy-handed and melodramatic at times, but I still enjoyed it. I haven't read The Scarlet Letter in decades, so any aspects that bothered Hawthorne afficianados were pretty much lost on me.
Beautiful. Distressing. Vexing. The line between real and imagined things is quite blurry for Tom Kettle, who often refers to himself as old, though he’s only 66. I found not knowing what was real frustrating as a reader, but I was also captivated by Barry’s language and drawn into the often terrible story. Gorgeous writing about “egregious” things and the solace of knowing love and safety.
Fabulous. Just when I thought it was moving a bit too slowly, French picked up the pace, and the revelations. She also left me hopeful that she might return to these characters and Ardnakelty again.