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Painful pre-Pollifax book, not helped by a sentimental performance by Bresnahan. It has the ring of springing from Gilman's own experience, but unalloyed self-searching doesn't make for an engaging book. Maundering interior monologue rehashes, circles, and never seems to end; nothing happens for hours of audio, except an extended and a tedious semi-affair that's mostly a walking tour of Copenhagen; and worst of all, the heroine is a dolt. It's not that I mind silliness in a spy plot, but this one is a practice book for Mrs Pollifax, without any of Mrs Pollifax's charm or modesty. Thank goodness Gilman got over herself—I enjoyed the Pollifax books very much, at least the first four or five, and several of her other books (Incident at Badamya, The Clairvoyant Countess, Kaleidoscope). But don't waste your credit on this one.
6 of 6 people found this review helpful
Such an annoying psychological examination of the 'heroine' of herself. It did not move well.
1 of 1 people found this review helpful