I read a review of this book, a month back, in the newspaper somewhere. I cannot recollect even a bit about what the critic had to say. The name of the author and the cover of the book stayed with me, unconsciously.
While browsing through a roadside bookstore, I picked up this book and bought it for cheap.
Once I started reading, I could not let go. I like her style. Pacy and the word play is interesting.
It was well written. Upto some point before the climax began.
A story that could have been told in a better way. Or rather in could have ended in a better fashion. The characters, the two sets of twins, the secrets and lies, all seemed real. And believable. The story seemed true, happening. Even Elspeths ghost was amusing.

I guess the author got bored, towards the end. She gave up imagining and simply delivered a hasty culmination of a depressing, hurried kind. The characters all showed unreal traits, suddenly.
A ghost mother entered her daughters body, killing her for good and resurrecting herself. A girl who found comfort and peace in her identical twin for 20 years, suddenly detested their mystifying relationship.
A young lover; well, not very young, mourned for his love and then fell for her daughter, their resemblance being the catalyst here. But then conceives a child with his dead lover’s ghost residing in her daughters’ body.
A man suffering from OCD, refused to leave his house, even for one second, finds himself making a journey to another country.

Ah! If only she could have continued writing the way she began. I would pass of this book as entertaining. It makes me sad. A waste of a book that showed much promise

A strong sense of déjà vu clutched me while reading this part where Martin talks about Marijke to Julia.
Maybe I read this bit in the review.
Maybe not.