1. A good first page.
A main character in denial about the death of a close relative.
A German Partner.
A son estranged from his parent.
An alcoholic 15 years sober.
I like the style of writing, although so far exposition weighs it down like an Airedale in dinghy.
It's both dragging itself along and moving at a comfortable canter - an odd mixture.
I'm just hoping the main character (Kate, Anna, Moon-Unit?) has a notebook in her wardrobe and a friendly psychiatrist because she's already, like me, had some memory problems.
That would be the drink I should think, but there has been so much 'I'm not ready to tell her that' so far that she quite possibly had a lobotomy performed by a blind chimp at some point in her past.
And that's certianly not going to get revealed yet.
A promising start.
Best detail so far, the plastic clips on cafe tables in Paris.
Always good to have something to idly pick at while being fleeced for a branded fizzy beverage in a real glass bottle.
Subtle as a telegraph pole on Wile-E-Coyote's head, there has been a Chekhov's Gun and it has been fired. Still flowing along nicely, like a quickening pool of blood in a Parisian Alley. Now I can remeber the character's names, stage front is Julia, not Juliet (too highbrow, this is not Literary Fiction you know) or Julie (too lowbrow, this is not Chick-Lit you know) and she certainly is an impulsive Miss in a plot propulsion sort of way.