The Old Wives' Tale Book

I recall intensely that The Old Wives' Tale had me weeping silently into my mug of tea on more than one occasion as I followed raptly the ordinary tedious lives of two more than a little irritating women from youth to addled toothlessness, whence are we all doomed, although, one hopes, these days, with more humane dentistry and superior bridgework. Ah, humanity! Is it ever thus? Yes, thus it was, thus it is, and thus is to be. Here is a symphony of domesticity, panopticon of disappointment, spouting jugular of forgiveness; and now, this novel sits on my shelf, long untouched but never to be donated to oxfam. It glows faintly and casts a golden deliquescent shimmer on the surrounding brattier volumes.