Jessie's mother has cut off her index finger with a meat
cleaver. Thus begins a tale of
mysterious penance, forbidden love, and a healthy dose of YaYa-type
friendships, including secrets kept from a daughter who could shed some guilt
if she knew the truth. Jessie herself is
the one indulging in forbidden love—with a handsome monk who has not yet taken
his final vows. She's the stereotypical
empty nester who needs to find herself.
Ironically, her husband Hugh is a psychiatrist who is oblivious to his
wife's mid-life crisis, until she goes to the aid of her troubled mother,
refuses Hugh's help, and refuses to come home.
Hugh knows that something is up other than concern for a demented
parent, because Jessie and her mother have had a turbulent relationship ever
since Jessie's father died in a boating accident while Jessie was a child. This book was a pleasure to read, even if the
subject matter was a little tired and uninventive. The mystery of the finger lopping is what
kept me reading. The author drops broad
hints that are not lost on the reader, or Jessie, for that matter, leading us
to believe that perhaps Jessie's mother also had a furtive romantic
relationship with a monk. Alas, this is
not a tale of history repeating itself, although there are some mother-daughter
parallels. Both have major guilt to
contend with, even though both were following their hearts when they did the
dastardly deeds. This story is more
about releasing one's demons by revealing them to loved ones so that the
forgiveness and healing process can begin, especially forgiveness of oneself.
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