Recently
I finished a pretty good story. It is making the rounds of my friends
who love literary fiction, and I'd gotten at least three
recommendations, which made me reserve it at our library.
It's a debut novel by M.L.Stedman, called The Light between Oceans.
Gorgeous
title and very interesting premise--a lighthouse keeper and his wife
who live on a remote island off the coast of Australia find a baby in a
boat that washes up on shore. The wife, desperately childless after
three miscarriages, argues to keep the baby. The husband wants to
contact the mainland and let them know, thinking that some mother there
will be equally desperate. But the wife wins, they keep the child, and
their world cracks in unexpected ways.
Although
I love reading just for reading's sake, I have a writer's high
expectations. I found the writing lovely, with generous use of images
and tense character interaction. The setting of the rocky island and
its isolation, the keen details about the lighthouse, were amazingly
crafted.
The thing that really bothered me was Act 3--the way the writer wrapped up the ending of this marvelous story.