Sometimes one reads a book at precisely the proper time. And sometimes one reads a book and the proper time doesn't matter, nothing at all matters except the book and the self and the ways the two merge and tumble and meld. This book was like that for me. Brunt evokes an era of uncertainty and fear with precision and a haunting nostalgia and then paints a complex and nuanced story on top of that background. It's so well-done that one falls in, rapt.There are no perfect people herein. In fact, there's nobody to really like- but oh, there are people with whom one can identify. The writing is powerful, the prose is beautiful and the story, oh, the story is so real. So true. So hard.One could call it a coming-of-age story, and that's probably closest to a capsule description. It's more than the story of how June finds out, at least a little bit, who June is. And who she is in relation to her sister, to her parents, to her recently dead uncle. It's many layers deeper than that.So very well done it's hard to grasp that it's a first novel.ETA: You know how, this time of year, sometimes you see that certain slant of light hitting a gnarled old tree, and each leaf is illuminated and different from every other leaf and the whole thing glows like the end of the world? That's what this book is.