This week I have just begun A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness.
The leather-bound volume was nothing remarkable. To an ordinary historian, it would have looked no different from hundreds of other manuscripts in Oxford’s Bodleian Library, ancient and worn. But I knew there was something odd about it from the moment I collected it.
And by just started I mean, I have not even finished the first page, so I so not want to pass judgment quite yet.