by Claire Harman
The first few chapters of this book were hard to slog through. I almost gave up. But I kept after it because Stevenson is a favorite author
Harman seems like she is trying to write on the same level as a classical master, and to my mind, she fails. Some might say she is too “uppity.”
It would greatly help, I imagine, if the reader were from Scotland or England. Us Yanks don’t stand much of a chance.
To read this book, it is best for you to have read all the books, poems, plays and writings of Stevenson. Harman writes as though you have. She throws out quotes hither and yon as if testing us. All she does is confuse us.
She also describes various photos at length, but then fails to add those photos to the few that are included. Maddening to read a description, then go to the photos and find it is missing.
I stuck with it to the end only because it was a good book for night-time reading.
It put me to sleep night after night.