The protagonist prattles on about being fat, boring and plain, ignored or pitied depending on the circumstance, but… well, I like her. You probably would too. She’s reunited with her long lost son who is terminally ill, but he’s both handsome and charming. And they love each other despite their circumstances, and continue to love each other throughout the book. I like you. I like you too. Oh, good, sorted then. None of this makes sense.

At the same time, it’s not at all boring for all it’s lack of conflict. I don’t know what that statement says about me, but I’ll go on: It’s uplifting and heartwarming and happy.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s great, but barring the apocalyptic visions, it could totally be made into a movie which would be played on ABC, perhaps on a Sunday night when “Desperate Housewives” goes into reruns.

I really am rubbish at reviewing books. I would say, I started it late last night, slept for a few hours, and just finished it a few minutes ago. I’m sure that means something.