Throughout this novel, massive in its eloquence, time is bent like a Slinky toy.
You’d have to have a heart of stone not to love this novel. Three young women lounging in an ancient graveyard in the Yorkshire sticks that Gardam knows so well have all received good news.
Reading The Maids is like eavesdropping on an intimate Japanese conservation.
Javier Marais is fond of laying out all the possibilities: of what might have happened in the past, of what might be going on now, not in general, but line-per-line as the story unfolds.
The End of Eddy reads like an extended, intense essay, dashed off in white heat.