Rating: 
Summary: Unprecedented Emotional Connection with an Author
Review: My cousin (also a globe-trotting single female) recommended this book to me when I undertook a solo 13-day driving trip around France. I viewed it as a bit of fluff to downshift with every night before sleeping. I intended to zip through it and hand it off to another traveler, perhaps on the return flight. I had not foreseen the grip it would have on me.I revere Peter Mayle and think he is one of our most brilliant wordsmiths. At first, by contrast, At Home seemed pedestrian, but charming enough. I realized the difference between them is that Mayle was a ad-man (flash-boom-bang!) who could make the mundane hilarious and Barry was an editor (who-what-when-where-why-how?) who was a stealth raconteuse who wrapped me in her delicate web. I found myself up reading 'til 1 and 2 every morning, and genuinely felt grief when I read that she had died. Indeed, the book seemed to have ended unfinished. Like another reviewer or two, I yearn to know more about the circumstances of her death, and the disposition of her beloved cottage. What was unprecedented for me was that as soon as I finished it, I began to re-read it, and am I ever glad I did! I'm getting nuances out of it I'd glanced over previously. Ann was a dear companion on my own travels, and my trip was the richer for it. I don't intend to part with this book. I will lend it to friends and reread it again when I, too, get to realize my dream of owning a gite in France. (Unlike Ann, I'm not financially able to just keep it in mothballs between visits - mine will be rented out.) A darling book, though I only gave it 4 stars because it's not a Great Book, but eminently readable - even on the second pass.
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