Don't Want To Get Tipsy And Break

It's As Though I've Been Sleepwalking And Suddenly Woken To Find Myself Here

I Don't Like Outlining, Because Books Are Organic Things. Sometimes A Book Doesn't Want To Be Written In A Certain Way.

Afterward, I Curl Around Her. We Lie In Silence Until Darkness Falls, And Then, Haltingly, She Begins To Talk...she Speaks Without Need Or Even Room For Response, So I Simply Hold Her And Stroke Her Hair. She Talks Of The Pain, Grief, And Horror Of The Past Four Years; Of Learning To Cope With Being The Wife Of A Man So Violent And Unpredictable His Touch Made Her Skin Crawl And Of Thinking, Until Quite Recently, That She'd Finally Managed To Do That. And Then, Finally, Of How My Appearance Had Forced Her To Realize She Hadn't Learned To Cope At All.

Even When I Look Straight Into The Milky Blue Eyes I Can't Find Myself Any More. When Did I Stop Being Me?

Juliet Is One Of Those Rare Novels That Has It All: Lush Prose, Tightly Intertwined Parallel Narratives, Intrigue, And Historical Detail All Set Against A Backdrop Of Looming Danger. Anne Fortier Casts A New Light On One Of History's Greatest Stories Of Passion. I Was Swept Away.