One of the criteria by which I judge my enjoyment of a book is the degree to which I am immersed in it. When the awareness of the words on the page falls away and I’m sucked into the world of the book, the thoughts of the characters, and forget that I’m reading – that is a good book. That is what it’s like to read The Last Painting of Sara de Vos. A winter scene at twilight. The girl stands in the foreground against a silver birch, a pale hand pressed to its bark, staring out
I am not currently accepting independently published books for review.