Page 74, and really being drawn in, maybe that’s the Leprosy element. It’s intriguing, and the scene is being set, just fast enough so I’m happily turning the pages. Win…so far
I wasn’t sure when I was given this book to read, that it would have been a natural choice of my own. However, over my years as part of our BC, I’ve had that premonition before, and ended up being truly grateful that somebody revealed a genre, subject or author, to me that I’d previously dismissed, preferring to stay safely in my reading chair comfort zone. I have had my literary eyes opened and consequently have read some of the best books ever. The Island is not one of these new found idols. It rushed from person to person, and the years stampeded past and were glossed over, as though Mrs Hislop lost enthusiasm for the plot, it’s characters and just needed to get Ian’s supper made before he rushed out to the ‘Have I got news for you? ‘studios. It’s not the worst book ever, but I wonder, is it a lesson to us all on piety and abstinence or actually a bit of a smouldering bodice ripper, without enough ripping?
Let me know.