At 13, I was a girl frantically itching to get out of her own skin. Growing up in Grosse Pointe, a sleepy suburb of Detroit, a place for which the word "serene" seems coined, I was a perpetual yearner. I became a compulsive reader of biographies as a wayof imagining myself into lives more dramatic than my own.
Rebecca Winter is at a crossroads. The famous photographer had been living off of sales of one particular photograph for years. When the money stream starts to dry up, she reluctantly decides to rent out her Manhattan apartment and move to a small, rural town far from her seemingly fabulous New York life. It is here that she tries to map out her next chapter. No longer married, no longer needed as much by her grown son, no longer as successful as she used to be.
That's where we meet the main character in Anna Quindlen's newest novel, Still Life with Bread Crumbs.