Shelley

Stretching the limits of your belief in the name of fiction is all peachy but when a conclusion goes this far I tend to feel a bit patronised; it's like the author said " It's fiction ...just go with it - believe it because I say so" Hmmm?

I'm really annoyed because up until that point I was really enjoying this book. I liked the writing (despite a couple of editing hiccups) and admired the development and depth of realism in Con's recovery/ acceptance of his life After his Fall and waking up with retrograde amnesia.

There are some nice twists and the narrative is emotive even though I experienced this book as if I was on the outside looking in.

I can't say I connected with the characters but I had a really good view of what Con was going through. His grim reality of life on the dole, scrounging for change for chips is another all too real scenario. I know, I've been there! The author deserves big time kudos for this, the realism here is truly commendable so I'm buggered when I'm forced to stretch my belief across a flippin' Canyon when the final axe falls.

Beyond that, it's a healing is a process, learning who you are is another, when lovers are strangers and your disability is seen as opportunity, who do you trust? Plenty of food for thought here ... 

The ending also felt like a couple of threads had been left unattended, such a shame because this author is one to watch. I like her, she has something but ....yeah. But.