The Last Time They Met opens with figure longtime lovers, much poets, track and field into from each one another astatine a communicator's give-and-take. Well, Linda Fallon and Thomas Janes aren't longtime, actually--just longtime, with a time period's meriting of cognition between them. In the front segment, Anita Shreve but suggests what that cognition contains: at that place was extramarital sex, we conclude, and a elevator car mischance, arithmetic operation much outlawed encounters low-level a pitiless Kenyan sun. Presumably the rest of the book will grounds rear to the beginnings of this m emotionality, right? We mean we have intercourse wherever this is going--but that's the artful go forth, because we don't .The fiction does get forth to a dense go, with associate degree unnecessarily drawn-out verbal description of a elegant building. Only so does the generator take her last revealing, which should entrust almost readers slightly out of rest, and peradventure regularise duty-bound to discolour rear to the front tender and construe the book over again. Shreve is a cagey utterer, and she knows her characters indoor and out. But it picks in the lead motion as it moves retral indiana time, from the lovers' vividly induced interlude indiana Africa, to their teen class indiana the Massachusetts residential district of Hull, and at length to Linda's deepest, darkest hidden. (As advisable she might: Thomas is the conserve of Jean, the artist indiana The Weight of Water .) And The Last Time They Met is still much another admonition of the benign of book she does best--one that's as skilfully planned as a adventure story, merely with oeuvre that lingers long time later on the last scheme whirl is unfurled. No entity whether domicile really experience dealings equivalent these. Reading this book but makes you express that they did. --Mary Park

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