This is the one book that my Marian Keyes fans said was their favourite of hers. I ordered it in from my local bookshop. It was published twenty something years ago. Imagine that, it’s been here all that time and I have had no knowledge of it.
I loved this book. It drew me in from the very first sentence and I, who seldom find time to read the book I’m reading, managed this in about a week. It was doable partly because my own writing had been struggling but also because I couldn’t, didn’t want to, put it down.
Marian had me at I’m not a drug-addict. I loved the characters, the setting, the wit. I always love her wit. I’m one of those tall Swedes she’s mentioned in other places. I would gladly do a swap: height for funny bone—in equal measure would be great but if need be I’d settle for 80/20 in her favour.
Marian Keyes has a gift to the world, to make us laugh in her quirky Irish way and Rachel’s holiday, in spite of the hard stuff it deals with, does not let us down. I laughed. And I cried. I took notes all through. To some this is sacrilege I realise, but it’s my book and I’m a writer. That’s how I read books.
What Rachel is up against, why she doesn’t want change, the lies she tells herself, her longing, her struggles made her a three dimensional woman that I could relate to. My heart broke for her. And the bloke, well Luke’s up there with Gabaldon’s Jamie, for me.
Rachel’s holiday is a brilliant example of the hero’s journey. M. K nailed it.