A truly amazing novel, brimming with intelligence and wit. A Victorian Romance of fiery intellectual passion and physical consummation that pushes beyond the happy ending to pain and regret and loss; and a modern romance of restraint, silence, sensitivity and acute consideration, and the book manages to subtly bring a satisfying conclusion to both in one stroke that, after all the intellectual exercise, the avid scholarly detective work, the admiration for the talent and commitment in resurrecting lost voices through the letters and poems and stories of the long-dead poets, had me bawling like a big flippin' eejit. I'm not sorry, either, or embarrassed, I'm middle-aged, I'm married, I have kids, I write, I read: somehow Byatt brought all these things to a quiet, devastating crescendo. Anyway, even if you don't start blubbering like a sentimental fool, the novel is a richly rewarding experience, and just when you think it has nothing left to say, it delivers a moment of pure grace.