“I thought, how magical, the first glimpse of snow. By March I would be sick of it, but here in this November instant those tiny flakes swirled with the unspeakable purity of a divine gift.”
About the title of this review – I read this book before I jumped on the Hamilton bandwagon, but when I went to write this and saw Schuyler Sisters as a label on it on Goodreads, I couldn’t resist the reference.
I already knew I enjoyed Beatriz Williams’ prose, though I haven’t reviewed the other book of hers I’ve read just yet (A Hundred Summers). This is no exception. Williams has a gift for language that is both timely to the period her characters occupy, and timeless in its accessibility.