**A poignant, mysterious, and unforgettable* *****story of love, and of the happy endings we conceive for ourselves.* * Baptiste Molino has devoted his life to other people’s happiness. Moored on his beloved houseboat on the edge of Toulouse, he helps his clients navigate the waters of contentment, whilst remaining careful never to make waves of his own. Unlike those who come to him for help, Baptiste is more concerned with his past than his future: particularly the mysterious circumstances of his birth and the identity of his birth mother whose only legacy to her orphaned son was a violin, a wooden statuette, and a word inked into the skin of her arm. But Sophie, the young waitress in his local bar, believes it is time for Baptiste to raise his aspirations and rediscover passion . . . and she thinks she can help. She talks of striving for something more and leads him into the world on his doorstep he has long tried to avoid. However it is Baptiste’s new client who may end up being the one to change his perspective. Elegant and enigmatic, Amandine Rousseau is fast becoming a puzzle he longs to solve. As winter approaches and tensions rise on the streets of the city, Baptiste’s determination to avoid both the highs and lows of love begins to waver. And when his mother’s legacy finally reveals itself he finds himself torn between pursuing his own happiness and safeguarding that of the one he loves.
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Renita0 (verified owner) –
I absolutely LOVED this book. I read and loved this author’s debut but this book… Wow! A masterpiece. Every word beautiful, every passage poetry. From the title, which is just perfect, to the beautiful depictions of birds at the beginning of each chapter, to the awe-inspiring writing, this book is a treasure. I will be re-reading this amazing story to pick up any nuance I have missed and to savour again the stunning prose. A sensitive, lovely and emotional read – one that will stay with me for a very long time.
A few of the lines I absolutely loved:
‘We are made of nothing but elements and the stories they hold: the stories we have told ourselves and the stories we have been told.’
‘At that moment, my eyes were at the waist of a vast hourglass, the infinite universe expanding out and away from me in one direction, and, in the other, the explosion of galaxies in my mind. Every grain of sand could be a star. Every grain a memory. This is why we hold stories so dearly. This is why we cling to gods.’
‘Winter is the sharp smell of snow and soups that simmer so long that everything around takes on their warmth. Summer is the smoke-tang of charring meat. Spring smells yellow-green, a fresh salad of scents that rise and fall like a wind-blown veil. Autumn smells of wet earth, red wine and burning wood.’
‘As if we had half the time we need to live before we die.’
‘…sunbeam crow’s feet and the deeply etched valleys of long gone smiles.’