I was approached recently by a publisher asking me to review one of their books. This was unusual in a number of ways. For one thing, I have never been asked to write a review before and for another, publishers tend to approach with rejections, if they approach at all. Here was a title that I had been privileged to read chunks of back in its early drafty days. I’d been longing to get my hands on the full novel ever since. Of course I said ‘yes’.
The pdf duly popped into my inbox and I viewed it with some trepidation as the questions and the imposter syndrome mounted. What if the excerpts I had read were the best bits (knowing the author, this was impossible but the niggles sprouted)? What if I couldn’t get it read by the deadline? What if I couldn’t do it justice in my review? What if I couldn’t measure up to the other star-studded reviewers?
I’m a bit of a Luddite where books are concerned. I like the feel and smell of books. The illusion that I’m diving between the pages and disappearing from reality for a while. As a result, I was not looking forward to reading the manuscript on a screen. My printer however was out of ink, the one at work not functioning and I didn’t have time to get to a copy shop. Staring at a screen for the duration was the only course open.
Taking a deep breath I opened the file.
The first thing that struck me was the gorgeous cover. I’m a visual person. I also get to see a lot of book covers daily, through my work. Many of them are ho-hum; this one was outstanding.
I scrolled down and dove in. And surfaced many hours later. A glance at the time revealed it was well past midnight and I was due at work in a few hours, where I was expected to be vaguely competent. The story stayed with me through the day and that night, there I was right back at it, junketing between the barely remembered world of Edinburgh and the unknown delights of a children’s home in Bangladesh; each location with its vibrant scenes, peopled by endearing and finely drawn characters. I felt bereft when it ended.
Time for reading is not all that plentiful. I spend my days surrounded by tempting titles. If a book doesn’t engage me in the first chapter, it’s toast. I never read a book twice. There are too many in my towering TBR pile. But as I clicked save and consigned the pdf back to my desktop I realized I would break my rule for The Almost Truth by Anne Hamilton. I will read it again, treasuring the subtle layering and seamless flashbacks but most of all, greeting all the wonderful characters like old friends.
https://www.legendpress.co.uk/the-almost-truth
and furthermore…
Clo Carey Feb. 2024
@clocarey.writer #AnneHamilton #LegendPress #WritersInk
Teetering on the Edge 