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Millions adored Daphne Fields, for she shared their passion, their pain, their joy, and their sorrow. But America's most popular novelist remained a closed book to the world — guarding her life with a fierce privacy no reporter could crack. Her life hides a myriad of secrets. The husband and daughter she lost in a fire. The son who barely survived it and would be deaf forever. The victories, the defeats, the challenges of facing life as a woman alone and helping her son meet the challenges of his handicap. A strong woman, she would not accept defeat, or help from anyone... until she found she could no longer face it alone.
Published: Romance At Random an imprint of Random House Publishing Group on
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    This was on a recommendation list for women's fiction, so, despite Steel's reputation, I decided to give it a try. Unfortunately, I found this book confirms her reputation for writing forgettable trash. The novel is fronted by a truly treacly poem of the author that makes the text of Hallmark Cards seem Shakespearean in comparison. The heroine, Daphne Fields, is an obvious Mary Sue (glamorized projection of the author.) Beyond the similarity of names, she's described as a "notoriously prolific" and popular novelist. The prose commits the sins of designer-label name dropping, is cliched and melodramatic. Within the first five pages we have sentences like this: "She was quieter, the laughter of the past only showed now in glimpses in her eyes, its echo buried somewhere in her soul." "There was a loneliness in the woman's eyes, which tore at your very soul." Truly--this is a wretchedly written book and I will never understand why the author has such a following.more

    Reviews

    This was on a recommendation list for women's fiction, so, despite Steel's reputation, I decided to give it a try. Unfortunately, I found this book confirms her reputation for writing forgettable trash. The novel is fronted by a truly treacly poem of the author that makes the text of Hallmark Cards seem Shakespearean in comparison. The heroine, Daphne Fields, is an obvious Mary Sue (glamorized projection of the author.) Beyond the similarity of names, she's described as a "notoriously prolific" and popular novelist. The prose commits the sins of designer-label name dropping, is cliched and melodramatic. Within the first five pages we have sentences like this: "She was quieter, the laughter of the past only showed now in glimpses in her eyes, its echo buried somewhere in her soul." "There was a loneliness in the woman's eyes, which tore at your very soul." Truly--this is a wretchedly written book and I will never understand why the author has such a following.more
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