On the back of What I Loved, I picked up this newest book by Siri Hustvedt. The Sorrows of an American is and feels very personal... indeed the "diary extracts" actually come from Hustvedt's father's memoirs. But it manages personal without being self-indulgent or self-aggrandizing.
I was also relieved there was no great sha-shaw of revelation in the plot line; that the two secrets at the centre of the plot petered out gently. Because the drama in life isn't always dramatic in the story-telling sense. It's often in our internal life , our dreams (waking and sleeping) and wishes that our dramas are perpetuated. And these are the tales that Hustvedt is hugely adept at telling.