Far From Brooklyn

Bailed at page 110.

I had never read Elizabeth Bowen after all these years, and I pulled this one off the shelf (stole it from my parent’s apartment, actually – sorry, Mom!) because I thought it was supposed to be her best.

Maybe it is, but I thought it was a bore, and at a certain point I couldn’t really bear any more closely observed prose about a loveless and by and large inarticulate group of upper class Londoners, and so I set it aside.

The Death of the Heart by Elizabeth Bowen