The UK's Jodi Picoult. A type of book I usually avoid because while I can deal with some depressing stuff - WHIPLASH!- these sort of tales mess with my head. The book got to me. Last night my Husband was eating ice cream and offered me a bite. I recoiled. Then I got my act together, reminded myself this was FICTION and had a nibble. Can't say I enjoyed it.

The press, and the UK press, can be vicious. Amanda Knox being labelled 'Foxy Knoxy' was sitting in the back of my mind the whole time while reading this book. I don't know if Amanda did the crime or not, but what was very clear was she was a young beautiful woman and being punished for being (or had been) unabashedly sexual. Like a man often is, but praised for.

This book is a wee bit more complicated because UK's age of consent is 16, which creates a haze. The myth of the seductress's powers against the can't-help-myself man still holds strong in popular news, books and mindsets. Just look at rape conviction numbers. The book sweeps along these uncomfortable lines and makes a chilling point.

I'm not sure if calling it is good is appropriate. But it can put you off ice cream.