My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

It had been a lovely surprise to find unexpected friends in a village where a single woman pushing forty was considered a bona fide spinster, someone who should invest in a plaid wheelie bag and a tabby cat.

“You are grossly undercharging, then. Cupcakes the size of a small rodent go for nearly five pounds in London.” “What an unappealing comparison,” Olivia returned with another laugh. “And this isn’t London, it’s the Cotswolds.”

“He’s a bit of a crazy cat.” Which was an understatement. “He’s called Dr Jekyll.” “Ah. The name says it all, really.”

She smiled, or tried to, but she felt strange inside, like part of her had just developed a hairline crack that was surely getting wider and wider.

My Review:

I am decidedly irresolute and uncertain in how to rate this one; I kept waiting for the story to arc and climax and was still waiting upon completion of the tale. The writing and premise were thoughtfully executed and somewhat pensive, although not at all unpleasant. Serious topics and pertinent real-life issues were presented and handled in an informative and insightful manner. The storyline was relevant and realistic, although slowly paced, and featured a gentle and sweet soul named Olivia, who was a cubby bakery owner nearing forty with the dawning awareness of being left behind as her friends were moving on and progressing in their lives, while she wasn’t. Which, naturally, was disconcerting and causing her some restlessness and introspection. In addition to the hideously fatal blow to her ego of realizing she was nearing forty alone, her elderly mother began displaying alarming symptoms. A bright spot on her landscape was a somewhat disheveled yet personable man she dubbed “the cupcake man,” who periodically appeared in her bakery near closing. Although his light was not always bright, he quickly became important and worth the extra care and concern. I greatly appreciated the occasional hits of levity and wit, such as Olivia’s capricious cat who was aptly named Dr. Jekyll.

I did score a new addition to my Brit Word list with bolshie, which Mr. Google informed me was British informal and meant deliberately uncooperative.   But one thing I still just cannot seem to wrap my tiny pea brain around was their Christmas tradition of fish pie.   I fear I may have scorched the little green legume while allowing that to rattle around my cranium.

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