...for one US Dollar.
Arrrrgh. What a beautifully frustrating and revealing book. And impossibly well crafted. I want to slap all of the principals, and then hug them, and then get everyone a therapist. I can't possibly have anything new to add to Criticism of Thomas Hardy--threats of bodily harm do not in my view qualify--but his ability to pick out the things we experience as tragic, or joyful, or melancholy, or triumphant and then describe those things poignantly is perhaps unsurpassed. It seems he alone has access to some previously-unknown API that precisely resonates on every page. (Dare I recommend Tess to fans of Neal Stephenson?)
I laughed, I cried...okay, fine, maybe I didn't laugh.
But I was transported.