Rating: 4 out of 5

Sarah Waters has a great way with descriptions. They’re so rich in detail that I find it impossible not to get sucked in to the theatres, the houses, the areas. Not my favourite of her books, but still good and a worthwhile read.

Highlighted passages:

Like our oyster-house, it had its own particular scent – the scent, I know now, of music halls everywhere – the scent of wood and grease-paint and spilling beer, of gas and of tobacco and of hair-oil, all combined. It was a scent which as a girl I loved uncritically; later I heard it described, by theatre managers and artistes, as the smell of laughter, the very odour of applause.

we would carry the tunes away with us. We would sing them on the train to Whitstable – and sometimes others, returning home from the same show as merry as we, would sing them with us. We would whisper them into the darkness as we lay in bed, we would dream our dreams to the beat of their verses; and we would wake next morning humming them still.

she had a voice as damp and fruity as a piece of Christmas cake

Originally posted to my Goodreads account