Salubrious is a word my father used for some incongruous reason, but it always worked.
And it’s a word that works for for Joanne Harris’ novel, Five Quarters of the Orange. Delicious. But fiercely delicious. I loved every bite.
Here is a woman, Framboise Simon, recalling herself as a wild and willful tomboy, raised in a little French town, occupied by the Germans during World War II by a strange, and sickly mother. There are marvelously developed secrets and bizarrely formulated interplays that can hardly be anticipated.
But now she, as an elderly woman, has returned to the town, unrecognized, opens a restaurant and puts the whole thing together. Believe me, my Kindle got its workout.
This book never moves slowly; You delight in the child and fear for her just as you do for her as the old woman. It makes you long for the food, the smells, the sights, the sounds.
It even teaches. War is Hell. But it is fought with and around people who love, feel, suffer, live, long and certainly have to deal with the consequences for the rest of their lives.
This book was yummy. Wish I could read it fresh and new again.