The results are invigorating and while the plot does run a little top-heavy on coincidences, Kinsella pulls it off. A two-part book (that reverses the traditional movement, as old as the first British novel, Tom Jones) action moves from London to the countryside. Things are not what they seem, and no one learns that better than Cat when she winds up living an uncomfortable and humiliating lie. She reflects, “If you saw us from the outside, you’d have no idea. Katie’s bond with her out-of-sight but never out-of-mind father is also far-reaching and tangible. It all adds up to some real difficulties, with the solutions becoming more tangled and complex by the minute. Life is heading in the opposite direction of the glamour she dreamed of, and her Instagram posts begin to look fake even to her. Her commute takes forever, she can barely afford those networking pub nights she’s been dreaming of, and her boss doesn’t remember her name. She stays in an apartment room so tiny that her belongings are contained in a hammock, and the arrangements with her flat- mates are even more unorthodox. She’s intent on losing her provincial accent and her naturally wavy hair to fit in with the swish set of London girls. She has turned her back with regret on her loving and clumsy father and the family farm. Hi, I’m Catherine, but call me Cat.” Cat’s agenda is forged in fire when the novel opens.
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