This was my second Virago, and quite a different novel from the first VMC I read, The Way Things Are. The tone of this story was much heavier, the tragic elements not hidden in humor or satire. The whole novel had a thick, languid, hot summer feel, which was very appropriate to the story. A newly married woman has moved to France, to live with her husband's family while he tries to rest and recuperate from the genetic bone disease he inherited, and for which there is no cure. Bridget loves her husband, Nicolas, very much, but soon begins to think that moving back to his homeland was a mistake, as Nicolas becomes increasingly bitter and despairing. The sickness that is wasting away his bones is also seeping into his soul, and he blames everyone around him, especially his family.

The beginning of the book was slow going. The author writes in vivid detail, with words like strokes of paint, and she has a very lyrical style. It's beautiful. Some of her descriptions are so unique, describing people and trees and hats and skies in ways I never would have imagined. However, the first few chapters are more scene description than story, and I was worried that I wouldn't enjoy this book. Once the characters begin to interact, though, and the plot unfolds, I was drawn in to the very serious heart of the novel. By the conclusion, I felt I had just devoured a lovely painting, heart breaking and beautiful simultaneously, and furthermore I highly esteemed her writing abilities. I can't say enough about how perfectly suited are the plot, tone, and themes. Well worth the slow start.

Boyle juxtaposes the cheerful French family, who take everyday life one step at a time and are happy with everything exactly as it is, with the unhappy couple, who feel entrapped by the very good natures around them, and desperately want a change. The mask slowly slips, and we learn that the young daughters are also seeking an escape from their fates, which are apparently set in stone. Boyle works with the ideas of fate and freedom, escape and entrapment. The nightingale is a wonderful metaphor ... and I am embarrassed to say that I kept wondering at its significance until about halfway through, when I remembered the fairy tale and smacked myself on the head for not seeing the connection sooner.

Not a pick me up read, but a beautiful story, and the ideas and characters will leave a haunting echo in your mind afterward. I highly recommend it. ( )