I wish I knew how to capture or even quantify the quality that makes some books just so darn beautiful. Like dipping my toes into water that is just the right temperature I knew right away that I would relish swimming through this book (am I stretching this metaphor too far?!). It’s similar in feel (I thought) to the lovely ‘Where The Crawdad’s Sing’ although it’s set in England with the riverboat community rather than in the swamplands of Florida. The book examines the complexities of family relationships, specifically mother/daughter relationships and the unreliability of memory – one character trying to piece together the truth from her patchwork of childhood memories, and another losing perspective as alzheimer’s steals an ‘orange sized chunk’ from her own mind. Themes of gender and language and fate pervade with different strands of the plot nibbling at the reader’s consciousness like fish nibbling a lure before being reeled in and slotting into place with a satisfying clunk. I really loved this book.