I've read too many books by McEwan, Greene (I'm afraid), and possibly even Paul Auster - somehow I still haven't had enough of Beryl Bainbridge.
The Dressmaker is probably her most famous work, and at the start that I just found its oppressive atmosphere a bit too oppressive. As the love story between Rita and "her" soldier takes off alongside her illusions and self-deceptions though, so does the book.
Much like with every Bainbridge novel, the reader braces him/herself from the start for what is bound to be a dramatically twisted end. And much like with every Bainbridge novel, no matter how prepared I thought I was, the last few pages still caught me off guard.
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