I was waiting for the oven timer to go off yesterday with ten minutes left. Not enough time to walk the dog or settle into writing, so I decided I’d read the first few pages of a book instead. Poor dog. It was over five hours later that she finally got her walk, because once I started Folly, I didn’t stop reading until I reached the end.
I’m not sure why it caught me so thoroughly. It has more description than I usually like, plus very in-depth details about wood-carving and building, and the basics of the story seemed potentially more depressing than enjoyable. But the narrator had an absolutely compelling mix of fragility and strength. She’s an unreliable narrator who knows she’s unreliable, who’s unreliable even to herself, and yet who is persevering in the face of devastating losses. I did guess basically every element of the mystery long before I’d finished reading, but it didn’t matter — the story had me and I kept going until it was done. A very satisfying read.