The opening images of Kate and her friend Lynne, naked in the sea and on the beach, in a photographic exhibition, are exquisite. The writing, from the point of view of the older woman looking back on her life, is measured, intelligent and passionate. For thirty pages, this assured voice drives the powerful narrative. At this point, Kate looks back at her writing from the time she was trying to have a child. From here, the story alternates between the first-person account by the older Kate, and a third-person narrative, Writing Sarah, based on her earlier writings.

The interweaving of these two narratives is seamless, although the initial switch from first to third person is a shock. The voice of Writing Sarah is more distant, less intimate. If the earlier episodes of her life had been recalled by the older Kate, the sad tale of repeated pregnancies might have been even more effective.

Kate searches for the truth behind the myth of her life, the reality behind the photographs that form a central motif. As the strands of the story come together, and the emotions suppressed over half a lifetime surface, the writing recalls the elegance and maturity of the opening pages. Enza Gandolfo’s novel is a beautiful tribute to womanhood, exploring the changes that happen over a lifetime from the onset of fertility to an age when healing can begin.