As much as I like Rachel Cusk’s writing, her earlier work is not as good. This was her third novel, a bizarre tale of a woman fleeing her week-old marriage by taking a job as an au pair in the country, leaving her entire life behind. She quickly gets sunburned, falls down stairs, nearly gets heatstroke, almost dies of hunger from not being fed properly, drinks large quantities of wine and gin. All the markings of a proper country tale, indeed. Her name is given as Stella Benson, which is odd, and then later she discovers a book by the real Stella Benson in the cottage she’s living in. Attempts at creating some sort of mystery about the farm she’s on arrive in furtive bursts, pamphlets pushed under her door, whispers at the post office (by something called the Creature that daubs her sunburn and fixes her bruises). It may have all been a clever joke that I missed the point of. The writing shines briefly and patchily, but I suppose it’s a comfort that even the best writers had to have their years of practice and mediocre books.