A Love Letter to the Past

I don’t know that I can really explain this book. It has a plot, of course, and I like to think it is one that will entice and draw you in. If you find the first chapter boring and pretentious, don’t worry, it is meant to be. Why? Because Victorian novels tend to be a bit like that, in my experience. Thereafter, you should be carried along on a narrative tide of everyday routine and drama.
There is certainly nothing “clever” about the story. You won’t get to the end and find that the characters were dead all along. Nor will you have to wrestle with constant flashbacks, wacky punctuation or any other tricks that make me look smarter than you. I have dropped in some diamonds along the way but this is so that I can share the delight with you, not impress you.
The plot, though, is not what the book is “about”. Time has something to do with it, the idea that there are periods in our lives that become split off from our main histories. Those of you who have spent time abroad, served in the forces or remember a childhood holiday romance may know what I mean. Those periods seem to remain forever in our lives but never compete with it, like a parallel existence. Perhaps that’s why we keep them secret, because no one else would really understand.
If this book is about anything, then, it is giving life to those memories. It is me saying, “I know you!”. It is a love letter to the past.

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