The performance was in the spirit of the book but the book was so slight that the mysterious reading was just silly.
There was nothing at its core. There was no story and no secret. It was like Northanger Abbey without the wit. The author made up a mystery about a frankly very unpleasant and unappealing aristocrat. There was nothing interesting about him except his title.
I learned how the English pronounce Belvoir, Drogheda and Buccleuch.
I wouldn't have written the book! It wasn't substantive in any way.
I don't know. Kate Reading has a lovely French accent, but her manner of reading is horribly affected.
I would have cut everything involving the characters. The house sounded pretty nice, if it had been empty.
I kept waiting for the main character to have an epiphany about her shallow, snobbish life, but in the time I wasted listening, she didn't. So I stopped.
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