Just finished Alice Hoffman’s The Third Angel last night. Her writing is always magical – very descriptive, very clear and direct, very grounded. Yet magic keeps happening, events of long ago keep spiraling out, affecting today and tomorrow – and perhaps yesterday.
Each of the three stories that are intertwined in this book (with the last first and the first last) are about confusion, and families that don’t quite work – and pain, needless and otherwise. Lots of power, with the women using and abusing and denying it. Great blue herons are nested in each story.
Sorry not to be more clear. It is magical, after all, and weaves it spell around the reader just so. If you like stories of possibility, you’ll like this.