Good god I hated this book. It is a good thing that the front flap told me that father-daughter incest was involved because I never would have figured that out. When I got to the part where it was revealed I had to read it three times because the reference was so opaque that I never would have realized it was incestuous love. I am not unused to books from this period being full of protestations of love that seem over the top by today’s standards but certainly don’t indicate incest. And then once the incestuous fascination of father with daughter is revealed about half way through, the rest of it was just lots of hand wringing and anguish.
Incest is one of those taboos that really makes my flesh crawl. (Are you listening Penelope Lively?) I just don’t want to read about it. But I could have gotten over it if something had happened in this book that would have made it less tediously overwrought.
Jessica from Virtual Margin explains the overwrought part perfectly.
Nicole at Bibliographing is more appreciative of the swooning Romanticism.
The Verdict: Hated it for so many reasons. Go read Frankenstein instead, fewer monsters in that one.