I took an ill-advised break from my deep dive into 20th c literature (Richardson, Woolf, etc.) to snap up the words from this book that I first saw at Bluestockings in the Lower East Side. It passed the first line test, was by a woman author I hadn’t heard of, and off to the races I went. The story holds up fairly well for the first 180 pages of Brooklyn adventure and then lags and drags and you yearn for the snip of an editor’s scissors. Part 2 sees the action unfolding oh so dramatically in Bangladesh (killing off the parents with the stampede of two cows? Really?), and is an unfortunate mess. Skip at all costs, although perhaps the author would do well with a less ambitious project.