Don't you just hate it when your beach read turns out to be a somewhat depressing and truthful novel about rape, domestic abuse, and alcoholism, leavened only by surprisingly fun passages about cross-dressing potato farmers? Yeah, me too.
Reluctantly, I have to let go of Marian Keyes the reliable producer of smart-but-sugary fiction and make room for Marian Keyes the mature writer. The end is a bit of a letdown--it falls back into the familiar ending that makes you want to fall asleep in the hot sand and smear the final page with Coppertone. But the good stuff is there, and not always pretty. Be warned--the Charming Man is no Daniel Cleaver. He's the real deal.
Excuse me while I go drown my sorrows in sugar and something light and fluffy.