In her brief afterword to Cursed Bread, Sophie Mackintosh tells of a small French town that, in the early 1950s, succumbed to a mass poisoning. The case has never been solved. It’s this historical curio that serves as inspiration for Mackintosh’s tale of lust, obsession and murder. Elodie is the baker’s wife. Trapped in a sexless marriage, she watches his powerful hands knead the dough, and fantasises about what could be. When they attend a party to welcome a new ambassador, Elodie almost immediately becomes fixated on Violet, the ambassador’s wife. What follows is a dark, hyper-sexual and entirely beguiling novel that I came out of none the wiser for what actually went on but quietly in awe of its opaque splendour.
I have to admit that "quietly in awe of its opaque splendour" is such an apt description of my reaction to so many books. Though I think my definition of "awe" may differ from yours.
Have just read to the famous dinner party and the accounts of how they met - are they all lyin’ feckers?
I have to admit that "quietly in awe of its opaque splendour" is such an apt description of my reaction to so many books. Though I think my definition of "awe" may differ from yours.