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There is no question about it: Sarah Hall is an incredibly gifted writer. My only regret with this title is that I choose to listen to the audiobook rather than read it. And if there’s one thing you know about Sarah Hall, is that she is a writer for readers. What do I mean by that? Simply that her prose is elegant, visual, and visceral.

The only way to truly enjoy the marrow of such fiendishly good writing is to immerse yourself - not unlike noise cancelling headphones - into the book. It means to cut yourself off from the outside world. It means to divest yourself of sound and distraction. For this is the kind of writing that demands, no, deserves your undivided attention. Do not listen to this book. Do not pick it up if you’re looking for a light read. Do not expect a casual dalliance. This is a commitment. It will ask of you your naked vulnerabilities, your lowered guard, your open wounds.

This writing is resplendent and rich with the soil of what it means to be human. And what it is to love and live that love with every breath. Rarely do you come across the kind of passion that is shared between Janet and Jack - rarely in life, rare in fiction. Rarely are you drawn in by the shifting landscape of a place that is foreign to you and now feels like your own. It pulses and pulls. A book to take your time with, to nurse as you would an old single malt perhaps. Sit with yourself, be still, and immerse yourself into this absolute beauty.