As I’m not a fan of historical fiction I wasn’t quite sure how long I would last with this latest release by Martin Cruz Smith. And – although it wasn’t a riveting read – I found myself quite enchanted by the story of the Italian fisherman Cenzo, and Giulia… the girl he found in the lagoon.
Regular visitors to my blog will most certainly have realised that I’m an unadventurous reader. I stick to my favourite genre of mysteries / thriller / suspense / crime fiction, occasionally tip-toeing into more lofty ‘literary fiction’… but try to stay away from other genres which I suspect I won’t do any justice. Like historical fiction.
And although we’re (only) flashing back to the 1960s here, I suspect I requested Emma Chapman’s The Last Photograph because I was attracted the blurb, liking: that it’s partially set in the ‘now’; and that it’s steeped in the notions of regret and redemption.
I’ve already admitted I don’t read a lot of historical fiction. In fact I tend to avoid it like the plague. Once I see reference to anything pre 1950s, my eyes glaze over and I lose all interest.
There are – however – a few exceptions. One of those is anything written by Kate Morton. Her books usually alternate between the then and now, and are somehow more palatable. And The House between Tides by Sarah Maine reminded me very much of Morton’s work.
I confessed in my Sunday Post that I downloaded this book accidentally. I had no quarrel with the book itself or its Australian author, Natasha Lester. Rather, I’d assumed it to be a combination of two genres I just don’t read: romance and historical fiction.
I’ve talked before about why I don’t read romance (relationship-envy, cheesy sex scenes) but reasons for my lack of interest in historical fiction aren’t really obvious to me. And yes… I’m such a navel-gazing, self-absorbed introspective type you’d think I would have analysed that little foible. But alas… I usually just find I can’t relate so don’t even try.
But yet again… I’ve surprised myself.
