Just finished Beate Sigriddaughter's novel, Audrey—couldn't
put it down it's such a wonderful and philosophical read.
I have to admit, at times I wanted to poke Audrey with a pointy stick—but then I could feel her insecurity, her need to be loved, wholly and conditionally. A contradiction in possibility. True love is un-confining.
It was so sad really, as Audrey had more than that from Andrea, but just couldn't accept it, or believe she was worthy of it. Or, and this is sadder still, did not know what love is. Understandable, seeing her childhood was bereft of it.