The Story Collector

Evie Woods

Having read it

★★★☆☆

A book given a go based on its title and possible intrigue but, on starting, I wasn’t quite sure of its purpose, initially its past and present switching, but once the story seemed to find its feet about a third of the way in and despite parts being (and continuing to be) somewhat overdone, it was actually a readable tale of life, grief, Irish folklore, comeuppance and possibility; some skipping and skimming occurred if only to keep interest by sustaining a steady pace and of finding out how it all ended.

A good passage

The back porch served as a kind of tack room, filled with every kind of Wellington and coat known to man. This led to the kitchen, an inviting space that blurred the line between well-appointed and cluttered. If there was a rescue centre for abandoned chairs, this was it. The table was surrounded by two carver chairs, a bistro chair, chairs with cushioned seats, various stools and a bedraggled wicker chair painted bright pink. To say nothing of the mismatched Queen Annes that faced each other at the end of the room, providing the perfect spot for reading the books and papers that sat on low tables around them.