This dreamy literary tale starts off with the discovery of Janet’s dead body, and the absence of a murderer. However it is not a detective story, but rather the lonely tale of the oldest daughter of Vera and Hector. Janet never follows convention, and is happiest when buried in a book of mythology or poetry.

The novel is peppered with quotes from the classics she loves. The references were a bit lost on me although they underscore’s Janet’s deep love of language and literature.

Her descriptions of the Scottish landscape north of Edinburgh where the family lived was the highlight of the book.

Winter descended on the glen; in mid-October came the first thin fall of snow, gone an hour later in the wet wind. The deer ventured down from the hills at dusk, tawny owls shrieked as they hunted through the darkness and shooting stars fled across the night sky. Leafless, the beeches and ashes shivered; the grass was parched with cold; pine and monkey-puzzle stood black and dominant. Only the red earth of the hill tracks retained its colour; the puddles looked like pools of blood.

I give this book 4👍 out of 5👍.