Another peek at a work in progress.

Barbara is sitting on a cushion in the corner of the room. Cold air from the draughty sash windows is drifting down her back, but she won’t move just yet. She’s determined not to make a sound. Between her legs, her son is playing with a bright yellow submarine, driving it along the lines of the rug making spluttering, farty engine noises through pursed lips.
The purple sofa, a recent (second-hand) acquisition via a work colleague of Tony’s, is occupied by four tightly packed friends from his new photography class. They are, from left to right, dark-haired Dave – in a thick, off-white, Arran jumper – pretty hippy Alison, quiet-as-a-mouse Wendy, and sensible Malcolm.

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First Norwegian review of Hannah!

“Hannah” is a very good book. It is reminiscent of chick-lit, without actually being of that category. In fact, it reminds one a French film, where perhaps not much action happens, but a deep insight into human nature is still conveyed.
The characters feel both plausible and real.
The story is about so much more than just the return of lost love. It’s about family and friends, personal interaction and dwells on what might lie beneath the surface of a successful facade.
The author uses both past and present to build a complete picture.
“Hannah” is unpredictable, and the story is character driven from first page to last. Nevertheless, it has the ability to hold your attention.
And it has a wonderful ending that completes the story in a satisfactory manner, while also allowing for more …
This is a real page turner, and it is at all times exceptionally beautifully written. It is almost impossible to put down, and the story contains several unexpected twists.
I had not expected such a wonderful and emotional novel.
This is a very compelling and emotional tale of family secrets. And a book I highly recommend, perhaps especially for those who enjoy family dramas.
Nick Alexander has with “Hannah” not only written a very good and entertaining novel, but also a book that will get the reader to reflect on their own choices in life.”

From Michael Cunningham – The Hours. One of my favourite novels ever.

““This morning she may penetrate the obfuscation, the clogged pipes to reach the gold. She can feel it inside her, an all but indescribable second self, or a parallel, purer self. If she were religious, she would call it the soul. 
It is more than the sum of her intellect and her emotions, more than the sum of her experiences, though it runs like veins of brilliant metal through all three. It is an inner faculty that recognizes the animating mysteries of the world because it is made of the same substance, and when she is very fortunate she is able to write directly through that faculty. Writing in that state is the most profound satisfaction she knows, but her access to it comes and goes without warning. She may pick up her pen and follow it with her hand as it moves across the paper; she may pick up her pen and find that she’s merely herself, a woman in a housecoat holding a pen, afraid and uncertain, only mildly competent, with no idea about where to begin or what to write.”