I drifted towards the back of the workshop, my attention caught by a menagerie of shorebirds – a godwit, several sandpipers, curlews, dotterels, herons and varities of plover. For a heart-stopping moment the display tricked my eyes. It seemed the birds had flown into the room via a secret passage and, like children, settled before the warmth of the flames in the hope of being treated to a story. But as I drew closer I could see that the birds were perched on wooden boards, each miming its own dramatic scene. The sandpiper probed for molluscs. One of the plovers preened his shoulder. The heron reared to strike. The curlew held a shell in the barber’s tongs of its beak. The darter had drawn his long neck into a loop. (4)

This passage, early in this first novel by Melissa Ashley, displays Elizabeth Coxen’s keen imagination, sensitivity, and observational skills. The reader quickly realises she is a singular figure, a woman of warmth, sympathy, artistic ambition, intelligence. Coxen goes on to become the previously little known wife of John Gould, the famous English ‘birdman’ and naturalist of the nineteenth century. Ashley, a published poet and scholar in creative writing, has given us a picture of what she imagines Elizabeth to be as a human being and a skilled and dedicated artist, and it is a magnificent achievement.

The author has researched her material thoroughly, even becoming a volunteer at the Queensland Museum and learning how to prepare ornithological specimens. This makes her descriptions of the preparations of the birds in her novel thoroughly convincing, as when Elizabeth is required to prepare the body of a brush turkey for its skeleton to be displayed. And the descriptions of her drawing and painting the prepared birds sometimes take the breath away, as with the quetzal, who ‘sported iridescent sheens in its plumage, like silk from China, gossamer and spider’s webs, droplets of water catching the light’ (94). The details of how the work was done, and the ingredients used, remind the reader of how difficult it was: ‘… my powders spilled across the table and I poured in the wrong amounts of water. …. For the yellow I used an Indian pigment made by feeding Brahmin cows the leaves of mango trees, then intensifying the colour of the animal’s urine by adding chemicals’ (96). The hours of work strained her eyesight, made her body ache; her husband drove himself from dawn to dusk as well, but she notes that he sometimes forgot that others did not have his stamina. These personal aspects of her characters are well described throughout.

The author explains at the back of her book why she became fascinated by the subject, which began with a poet and his poem about a particular bird, that eventually grew into an interest in Elizabeth Gould through being loaned Isabella Tree’s biography The Birdman: The Extraordinary Story of the Victorian Ornithologist John Gould (1991). Here she learned how important Elizabeth was to Gould’s ambitious goals: she ‘designed and completed some 650 hand-coloured lithographs of the world’s most beautiful bird species’ (378) while also raising a large family, and travelling to Australia for two years to work with her husband on compiling specimens and illustrating them for The Birds of Australia, that extraordinary multi-volumed work of scientific and artistic excellence. But her name and her work were not fully recognised, the lithographs usually being co-signed with her husband, and his name was more prominent generally. He apparently exploited Edward Lear, erasing his name from plates he reproduced for his publications, according to Peter Levi in his Edward Lear: A Biography (1995). But Ashley does not overplay this, preferring to imply the less attractive aspects of Gould’s character and practice through neat and gentle exchanges of dialogue, or the more robust scene towards the end of the novel, when Gould disapproves of the portrait of his wife executed by Richard Orleigh (an invented character as the real portraitist was unknown). It is implied he fears social approbation for allowing his wife to appear in a more active, less feminine role, of earning a living by art, something that might also affront his idea of himself as the provider for the household. This is skilfully accomplished, and shows the reader Elizabeth’s frustration and disappointment with her husband’s attitude, but also her resolution to deal with it by affirmation of her vocation: ‘In my heart, I knew I was an artist, no matter the appearances my husband needed to keep up to meet social conventions’ (327).

The novel follows the life of the couple from 1828, from the moment they meet in their early twenties. Edward Lear features as a much loved drawing companion and friend to Elizabeth, as well as a revered artist, and Charles Darwin praises her work, using a number of her lithographs for his book on the Beagle expedition. We follow them through the major episodes of their life together, including that perilous and demanding trip to and within Australia, but also see the private life through the eyes of Elizabeth. The descriptions of them eating cakes during their courting, the passages showing Elizabeth’s grief at the loss of loved ones, the sheer terror of a storm at sea, the friendship between Elizabeth and Lady Franklin, engender feelings of delight, sorrow, pathos, horror. Ashley knows how to tell a story, develop characters, write involving and natural-sounding dialogue, describe the unusual and the everyday alike.

A feature I noticed was the inclusion, every now and then, of Elizabeth’s reservations about the numbers of birds (and other animals) killed by her husband and his assistants in order to preserve and examine and record them. Another character may remind her that it is for science, and she agrees, but the uneasiness remains. And it passes on to her daughter Lizzie who expresses disapproval at the dead birds arriving at their home after the two year long adventure in Australia. I do not know if the actual Elizabeth Gould expressed these concerns, but it is entirely compatible with her character in this novel that she would. And an interesting reminder, or stretch out to the present times, of our impact on the world and its creatures.

The other novel that I kept thinking of in relation to this one is Mrs Cook: The Real and Imagined Life of the Captain’s Wife (2003) by Marele Day, but of course there are many fictional works written around real figures in history, such as Hilary Mantel’s Thomas Cromwell series, and Peter Carey’s True History of the Kelly Gang (2000). Some are more fictionalised than others, but Ashley has chosen to maintain the facts as they are known and to give the reader a possible, plausible, and beautifully crafted intimate portrait of Elizabeth Gould, and her vital part in the production of the books under her husband’s name.

Not only is this book fine fiction, but it is a thing of beauty as an object. It will beckon the reader from the shelves with its pale blue cover featuring fairy wrens, and the surprises when the book is opened and dustcover removed. A fitting production for an outstanding first novel.

http://www.compulsivereader.com/2016/11/05/a-review-of-the-birdmans-wife-by-melissa-ashley/

About the reviewer: Sue Bond is a writer and reviewer living in Brisbane.

http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/review-the-birdmans-wife-by-melissa-ashley-and-the-atomic-weight-of-love-by-elizabeth-j-church-20161103-gshg3x.html
The first point I noted about The Birdman’s Wife is that Elizabeth Gould, not her husband John, the famous ornithologist, painted the pictures of birds I knew and loved as a child. While Elizabeth was credited by her initials, alongside John’s, for creating over 650 hand-coloured lithographs for a number of publications, including The Birds of Australia, very little is known about the artist; she was overshadowed by her larger-than-life husband. Melissa Ashley’s task, as she says in an author’s note, is to bring to life, through fiction, what the factual accounts have overlooked.

The Birdman’s Wife is written in the first person and Elizabeth’s interior life is well, at times poignantly, expressed. Readers first meet her in 1828, at the Zoological Society in London, where John Gould has rented rooms and Elizabeth’s brother, Charles, is working for him as a stuffer. Elizabeth and John, who has invited her to sketch from his collection, immediately strike a rapport. Meeting in the workshop is significant because the narrative is full of descriptions of killing, dismembering, stuffing and displaying birds and other animals. Elizabeth mainly draws from dead ones, though the times when she does manage to sketch from life are a joy to her. Not only killing, but capturing and attempting to keep wild creatures as pets – almost all of them die – is related as a common and unquestioned practice. Though Elizabeth shows more compassion than most, these scenes reveal her as a woman of her times. Her marriage to John, however, is depicted as a genuine partnership and collaboration.

All the female characters in The Birdman’s Wife are delicately and sensitively drawn, from Elizabeth’s mother to Daisy, her first maid after she is married, to Lady Franklin, wife of the Governor of Van Diemen’s Land, who befriends Elizabeth, recognising a kindred spirit, after the Goulds arrive at Hobarton. At the end of Elizabeth’s life – she died aged 37, of puerperal fever after the birth of her eighth child – she comes to realise what being an artist has meant to her, in lyrical passages that combine her love of nature and keen observance of bird life with the special place she has created for herself. “I painted and I studied and, in this constant striving, became me.”

Elizabeth’s curiosity about the natural world links her, across more than a century, to Meridian Wallace, the main female character in The Atomic Weight of Love, who goes bird-watching on her own and is not the slightest bit interested in playing with dolls. Meridian is a brilliant student who falls in love with a physics lecturer 20 years her senior, marries and then follows him to Los Alamos, postponing, then finally abandoning her graduate studies in ornithology. In the middle decades of the 20th century, Meridian is not forced to endure successive pregnancies – she never has children of her own – but she submits to the husband with whose intellect she first fell in love.

During decades of frustration and regret, Meridian does not abandon scientific study, but faithfully observes and records an extended family of crows. Her description of a crow funeral is particularly moving. Both authors are skilled at depicting their protagonists as many-layered, complex women, whose thirst for knowledge, and for the creative expression of that knowledge, survive against overwhelming odds.

John Gould is sufficiently present in Ashley’s novel, a believable mixture of qualities, beside whom Alden Whetstone in Elizabeth J. Church’s novel seems an enigmatic character. Whetstone is invited to work on the Manhattan Project, then stays on at Los Alamos after the war. Of necessity, his work is secret, but his change from the scientist who delighted in teaching and sharing his ideas, to a grumpy, punitive husband, is harder to fathom.

Meridian finally finds fulfilment in helping young women realise their potential. The Atomic Weight of Love spans tumultuous decades – Hiroshima, the Vietnam War, the women’s movement – but the author glosses over the many changes these events brought to people’s lives, not only those people who were involved in them directly.

Both novels contain many fine descriptions of the natural world, and are beautifully produced. The Birdman’s Wife is a delight to handle, a hardback with the endpapers displaying some of Elizabeth Gould’s finest work.

Dorothy Johnston’s latest novel is Through a Camel’s Eye.

What AusRom Today thought:

Detail rich, and perhaps rather heavy at times, The Birdman’s Wife is overall a rather compelling read which highlighted the historical tendency for women to be relegated to stand behind their husbands regardless of how much they contributed to his fame. Throughout the novel it is clear that Melissa Ashley’s research is comprehensive and extensive and this extends from her depictions of life in the 1800’s in both London and Australia, life as a woman, wife, and mother during these times, the discoveries made by husband John Gould, and Elizabeth’s life as a professional illustrator and wildlife pioneer in what was essentially a man’s world.

A fascinating read that will endear itself to those interested in historical fiction, issues faced by women historically (arguably still today), ornithology, and the creative arts.

A simply stunning debut novel from a novelist, who given how little Elizabeth Gould was acknowledged in her lifetime, has posthumously shone the spotlight on Gould celebrating her personal and professional achievements in a touching and considered manner.

What a delight it is to read stories of historical figures passed over by history probably because they were women. An even greater delight when they are told well, as is very much the case with Melissa Ashley’s The Birdman’s Wife.

Elizabeth Gould was indeed a remarkable woman. “Inspired by a letter found tucked inside her famous husband’s papers, The Birdman’s Wife imagines the fascinating inner life of Elizabeth Gould, who was so much more than just the woman behind the man.

Elizabeth was a woman ahead of her time, juggling the demands of her artistic life with her roles as wife, lover and helpmate to a passionate and demanding genius, and as a devoted mother who gave birth to eight children. In a society obsessed with natural history and the discovery of new species, the birdman’s wife was at its glittering epicentre. Her artistry breathed life into hundreds of exotic finds, from her husband’s celebrated collections to Charles Darwin’s famous Galapagos finches.

Fired by Darwin’s discoveries, in 1838 Elizabeth defied convention by joining John on a trailblazing expedition to the untamed wilderness of Van Diemen’s Land and New South Wales to collect and illustrate Australia’s ‘curious’ birdlife.

From a naïve and uncertain young girl to a bold adventurer determined to find her own voice and place in the world, The Birdman’s Wife paints an indelible portrait of an extraordinary woman overlooked by history, until now.”

It is only the hardboiled cynic who won’t fall into this story as though in love, won’t be seduced by the intimate narrative style. Here is a story, articulated in a voice commensurate with the era, of a life acutely observed, the sort of story that seems to flow from the pen, belying the many hours and months if not years of research that went into it. It isn’t easy to breathe life into history in fictionalised form. Too often the reader will sense contrivance, or stumble through an unconvincing scene. It’s a fine balance between fact and narration every step of the way and Ashley pulls it off with aplomb.

This is a work imbued with optimism and hope. There is an almost playful romantic quality at first, as a flirtation between Elizabeth and her soon to be husband evolves, yet the story soon departs from romance, as the practicalities and the tragedies of her life unfold, along with what can only be described her life’s work.

The Birdman’s Wife is a story of passion and depth of thought told with an empathy so deep the reader may look up from time to time to find herself in a room filled with specimens, the floor littered with sketches, and Elizabeth herself seated nearby.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Affirm Press for my review copy.

Isobel Blackthorn

The spoiler alert in this book review is that it is based on a real-life woman: Elizabeth Gould, the wife of an eminent ornithologist / taxidermist, John Gould. If you look up John Gould, you’ll find his Wikipedia entry, which says, “A bird artist”, describing his monographs as “illustrated by plates that he produced with the assistance of his wife, Elizabeth Gould”.

Further enquiry into Elizabeth’s life yields an Australian Dictionary of Biography entry, written by A.H. Chisholm in 1944: “It would appear that the strain of motherhood, together with the executing of approximately 600 drawings for publications, had sapped her vitality.”

600 drawings? Executing? Not merely assisting? In addition to ‘motherhood’, without explanation that this meant eight births.

Too often I hear (usually from men) that women never did anything in history to write about. What they are generally referring to are those ‘great deeds’ of men who were able to dedicate their lives to and sustain an uninterrupted focus on their area of specialisation. Women’s yearnings were sidelined and their lives circumscribed by multiple childbirth.

A.H. Chisholm wrote a ‘complete’ biography of Elizabeth Gould in 1944. In contrast, Melissa Ashley has written a fictional biography, or biographical fiction, of her in The Birdman’s Wife, which revitalises Elizabeth, colouring in her passions, her struggles, her continual negotiation of the demands of being a working artist and a mother.

This beautifully written novel presents a ‘complete’ picture of a family unit—that one man’s crowning achievements were in fact a family enterprise. John Gould may have been able to strut about like a peacock, but his ‘story’ his more complete when put in context alongside the female of his species, their young, and the materials from which he made his nest.

Early in the novel, approaching her first childbirth, Elizabeth muses:

“I would line the nest for our future collaborations. I was made for foraging. I would gather reeds and sticks, bits of straw and cobweb, mosses and grasses, insect wings and shell particles, torn petals and seed husks, all of which I would weave and press into place. My role for now was to assemble a dwelling in which we might raise our complementary talents. What did it matter if I were the nest-based hen, while John flared his pretty peacock’s tail strutting about Regent’s Park?”

As a work of historical fiction, The Birdman’s Wife does not attempt to make Elizabeth a ‘feisty heroine’ anachronistically questioning the gender inequalities of the day. Instead, her voice feels authentic, and Elizabeth wants to be able to raise a family, make a home, and to draw. But she is conscious that she has ambitions, pushing gently against the gender norms. “By my works, I stood apart. As did Lady Franklin… a woman who, like me, was not following the path society had set out for her, but rather forging her own way.”

Statements by her husband, such as “I have a bird-sketcher of my very own. Trained, talented. And she costs nothing at all” do not have the same effect on her that they would on a modern-day woman. She does not see herself as on a par with Edward Lear, whom her husband employs, rather she is excited at the opportunity for professional development by working alongside the noted lithographer.

Ashley has done Elizabeth Gould a great service for imagining her life within the parameters of what would have been possible in her circumscribed life of multiple childbirth and limited professional opportunities. It is because of these parameters that the reader perceives how incredible it was for Elizabeth to venture with her husband to Australia, making personal sacrifices in leaving the children behind.

This sacrifice is a constant sore spot for Elizabeth, as preoccupied as she is with sketching birds in Australia, bearing more children, raising her eldest, and making friends with Lady Franklin. On more than one occasion she questions: “Did obtaining the one set of observances, for the betterment of natural history, justify the negligence of the everyday milestones reached by my own children?”

This conflict is at the heart of women’s stories, whether historical or contemporary fiction.

“It was an exciting thought that the hen had never been drawn by an illustrator. As if the beauty of the male overwhelmed any interest in the mundane, domestic aspects of the species as a whole. But that was my husband, who never viewed the more spectacular sex in isolation from its mate. John wished to know the behaviour of the entire family, of the larger tribe, and how each individual’s role played out.”

Melissa Ashley’s The Birdman’s Wife, shows how historical fiction can somehow be more ‘complete’ than a biography. As so few women’s lives, inner or outer, have been documented historically, it is critical that fiction enters the interstices of archives, to render in full colour an understanding of the past. That men’s great deeds were interdependent on the women and families around them.

My copy courtesy of Netgalley.

Kali Napier

Inspired by a letter found tucked inside her famous husband’s papers, The Birdman’s Wife imagines the fascinating inner life of Elizabeth Gould, who was so much more than just the woman behind the man.

Elizabeth was a woman ahead of her time, juggling the demands of her artistic life with her roles as wife, lover and helpmate to a passionate and demanding genius, and as a devoted mother who gave birth to eight children. In a society obsessed with natural history and the discovery of new species, the birdman’s wife was at its glittering epicentre. Her artistry breathed life into hundreds of exotic finds, from her husband’s celebrated collections to Charles Darwin’s famous Galapagos finches.

Fired by Darwin’s discoveries, in 1838 Elizabeth defied convention by joining John on a trailblazing expedition to the untamed wilderness of Van Diemen’s Land and New South Wales to collect and illustrate Australia’s ‘curious’ birdlife.

From a naïve and uncertain young girl to a bold adventurer determined to find her own voice and place in the world, The Birdman’s Wife paints an indelible portrait of an extraordinary woman overlooked by history, until now.

Genre: Historical fiction, faction, literary fiction.

MY THOUGHTS:
I requested this title not knowing what to expect. It turns out to be faction novel based on the life of nature artist Elizabeth Gould, and told in her own voice. Elizabeth was married to British ornithologist John Gould, and produced hundreds of scientific illustrations for his works, most of which were birds. This novel is not only thick but dense with detail, so don’t start it if you’re not committed. Having said that, here are all my reasons for ranking it 5 stars.

1) The cameo appearances from other famous historical figures of their time are great fun. There’s Edward Lear, shown as a clever, talented young man with a flair for the comical, and Charles Darwin, a celebrated scientist recently returned from his collecting expedition on the HMS Beagle. He inspires John to want to embark on their own, once in a lifetime Australian expedition. There’s Sir John Franklin, the governor of Tasmania, and his powerful and scientific wife Lady Jane, who even leads expeditions of discovery.

2) Elizabeth’s voice always comes across like that of a nineteenth century woman. She notices the things they’d notice, and doesn’t notice things a more modern woman might. This shows how deeply immersed in her character the twenty-first century author must have been while writing it.

3) The husband/wife partnership is interesting to read, and their essential character differences are highlighted. John is depicted with a good natured manner, yet he’s still a driven fanatic, and taxing task master to his staff of helpers, including his wife. Elizabeth is kind hearted and endlessly grapples with guilt about having to kill birds and animals in the name of science. ‘Few creatures were spared my husband’s ambition.’ She also admits that even though she’s a woman of science, she still enjoys what she calls the ‘myths of unenlightened men’ including stories, legends, folklore and symbols.

4) It’s good to learn the difficulties and expenses nineteenth century artists faced, so we can give them the respect they deserve. Elizabeth used all sorts of rare and wonderful ingredients to make her palette mixes accurate, including the imported urine of Brahmin cows which had been fed special mango leaves. Seriously!

5) The pages of notes by Melissa Ashley at the end shows how this project became her consuming passion. She was already an avid birder, but set herself the task of learning the different, complex art techniques and lithography, to help bring Elizabeth’s voice to life. She even became a volunteer trainee taxidermist, to add authenticity. That’s commitment!

6) I recorded heaps of quotes, but will choose to share just this one, about our passions and how the things we spend our days doing end up becoming our identity. Elizabeth said, ‘I painted, I studied, and in this constant striving, became me.’ Although she died sadly young, it can be argued that she’d lived a fuller life than many ladies in their eighties or nineties. Also, I’ve got to appreciate the way Melissa Ashley gave a voice to this remarkable lady whose name had been eclipsed by her husband’s fame for over a century.

7) One of my favourite features of this book is that it helped cure my own wanderlust and discontentment. The Goulds sacrificed so much to travel to Australia, a journey many thought they were mad to undertake. Elizabeth’s maternal heartstrings were torn when she had to leave her three younger children with relatives for two years, since the gruelling voyage would likely have proven too taxing for them. Yet when they arrived in Australia, their wonder and delight with the flora and fauna which is so familiar to me is described brilliantly. Nowhere else in the world is like it, and I don’t have to go through all they did to appreciate it, since I’m already down here.

The chapters in the story are all named after the different birds that surround me each day. Superb fairy wrens, sulphur crested cockatoos, red wattlebirds, willy wagtails, honey eaters, zebra finches, Major Mitchell cockatoos, just to name a few.  There’s some touching reminders that the nation must remain poles apart from the rest of the world. On the way back, the Goulds’ healthy specimens perished in transit, including kangaroos, wombats, koalas and possums, as well as birds. Once again, what a wonderful ecosystem we Aussies get to enjoy. I wouldn’t have expected a novel named ‘The Birdman’s Wife’ to give my patriotism a boost, but that’s just what it did.

Thanks to Simon and Schuster (Australia) and NetGalley for my review copy.

5 stars.

Paula Vince 

Paper, Ink and Glue.

Note: I got this book as a netgalley advance copy and I’m exceedingly grateful for that.

Some of the books I get as advanced reading copies are nice. Some I can’t bear to finish. Some, I can’t put down and I want to shout about them from the rooftops. The Birdman’s Wife is one of the latter.

So while I know who the Goulds were, I have no more than a passing interest in ornithology and have never looked at their works. After reading this, I went and googled the lithographs and they are just as exquisite as the novel makes them sound. If you’re not a bird-lover, this book will make you interested in them. If you are, I imagine this book will absolutely enchant you.

It’s the story of Elizabeth Gould, a governess who meets and soon marries ornithologist John Gould, a curator and preserver at the Zoological Association of London. In 1830, John starts on a project to catalog and publish a collection of bird specimens from the Himalayas and Elizabeth agrees to do the illustration. After another four works (and six children, two of whom sadly don’t survive), Elizabeth, John and their eldest child Henry join Elizabeth’s brothers in Australia where they study and collect the local wildlife. Back in London two years (and another child) later, Elizabeth works on ‘Birds of Australia’, an epic work of 600 lithographic plates. This contribution to ornithology (including 328 new species) is what the Gould’s are most know for. Elizabeth then unfortunately dies of childbed fever shortly after the birth of her 8th child, in 1841.

That’s the basic premise of the book and outlined as such, looks stiff and boring.

Luckily, the prose is gorgeous, the flow fast paced and eager and the characters beautifully rendered. Ashley has done an amazing job of getting the reader to dive deep into Elizabeth’s world – not only do you go on her journeys with her, but you do so as an intimate friend. I felt like I was immersed in her life, following along as if Elizabeth herself was talking to me over tea (or a nice port), and the tragic ending caught me a little off guard.

But it’s not just a wonderfully written and easy to read story – it’s a very well researched work, with impeccable science to back it up. Ashley wrote the novel for her PhD, and spent four years doing the work, including becoming a volunteer taxidermist and avid birdwatcher. Science doesn’t make the book boring, instead it enriches it. I knew this was a first novel when I requested it, but Ashley writes as a master (which she indeed is, having received several awards and scholarships for her prose) and effortlessly integrates her research with her storytelling. She is currently (according to her website) researching a book on the “scandalously audacious life of a seventeenth-century French fairy tale writer” which I’m sure will be every bit as delicious as her debut.

I loved the setting of this book, early to mid 19th century Britain and Australia, and I loved even more when birds were mentioned that I knew about. I loved the diary style writing, including the daily ephemera of every day life and conversations with her husband. I loved that Ashley delves into the process of artwork, the vagaries of the muse and the excitement of new technology. I loved the dilemma of leaving her children behind, which is heartwrenching and real and beautifully written. I didn’t love that the book starts when she meets Gould, as I see that as taking some of Elizabeth’s extraordinary personhood away (although, it is called the Birdman’s Wife, so I guess it makes sense to start when she becomes that). I didn’t love that the book wasn’t a million pages longer (although I see the need to keep it under 400 pages). Also, goddammit, I didn’t love that she up and dies. It’s actually quite devastating, which shows Ashley’s skill as a writer – not only do you enter the world of the Gould’s, but you become friendly with them. You forgive John his never ending drive, seeing it as passion. You think fondly of Mary and Daisy, their devotion to Elizabeth. You look forward to seeing the children blossom and grow. And you come to love Elizabeth as a cherished friend, one whose untimely passing is deeply mourned.

To write a book based so heavily in a narrow branch of natural sciences where you still fall in love with the characters is surely the sign of an accomplished and amazing author – Melissa Ashley is certainly that.

5/5 stars

By Shannon