I've read Geraldine Brooks' nonfiction, but never her fiction before now. I must say that not even two pages in, I was stunned by the beauty of the language. I was particularly struck by this:
It was supposed to be spring; down in the small garden by the bank's entrance, the crocuses were blooming. But it had snowed earlier that morning, and the bowl of each small flower brimmed with a foam of snowflakes, like tiny cups of cappuccino.
I don't know why I love this so much, but with these words I can see those crocuses, feel the spring air, and imagine exactly what Hanna sees and feels as she presses her hand to the cold glass and looks down from the window.
Alright, back to my reading. I hope the Buddies are enjoying this as much as I am.