But I’ve misliked Geraldine Brooks in the past, so it should have come as no surprise when I misliked her again. Partially because she says ‘mislike’ a lot, as well as a myriad of other old-timey expressions that shouldn’t have gotteth mine goat as much as they did, but I sometimes feel like it’s supposed to excuse excessive verbiage. ‘I perceive I am perhaps coming down with a slight cold, and I will not have you fuss and panic me so! I beg you will strive to command yourself!’ Tha’s a lot of unnecessary words, methinks.
And you only meet up close three members of the village, so when people start expiring left and right you’re all, Ehhh, there goeth another one. Also, there is an Epically Tragic Event that, though it is heavily foreshadowed, catches you completely off-guard so that you’re like Huh. THAT just happened. I think it’s supposed to be stomach-sinky but it’s whip-lashy instead. And then OUT OF NOWHERE the story veers sharply off into Wanton Romance Country, a country I personally have no problem with but for which I do not feel this book held a visa.
So! Not my favorite. If you aren’t allergic to Ye Olde Englisshe or to silken whispers falling on grief like comforting shawls or to pus (there is a lot of pus, because this is the Plague, and at one point something was ‘pussy’ and really? Is that how we spell that?) then I can see you getting down in Plague-town.