Etta’s Fishing Ground is one of those rare novels that quietly takes hold of you and refuses to let go. I began reading with the intention of dipping in for a chapter or two and found myself still awake hours later, utterly absorbed, turning pages long past when I should have been sleeping.

At its heart, this is a deeply human story — rooted in place, memory, and the fragile misunderstandings that shape entire lives. Eva Pasco paints rural Rhode Island with a patient, observant hand, allowing the rhythms of small-town life to unfold naturally. The landscapes, the social dynamics, and the unspoken tensions all feel lived-in rather than constructed.

Etta is a compelling central figure — resilient, thoughtful, and quietly strong. Her life is shaped not by grand declarations, but by moments of chance, misinterpretation, and loyalty. Pasco explores how false assumptions can ripple outward, leaving lasting consequences, particularly within marriage and friendship. The tragedy at the heart of the novel never feels sensationalised; instead, it emerges with a heartbreaking inevitability that mirrors real life.

What struck me most was the novel’s emotional intelligence. Pasco has a remarkable ability to capture how people convince themselves of truths that may not be true at all — and how those beliefs can persist long after the facts are gone. Themes of love, loss, creativity, and perseverance are woven together with a light, confident touch.

Etta’s Fishing Ground is not a book that shouts for attention. It earns it. It lingers. And when you finally close the book, it leaves you reflecting on the quiet forces — timing, circumstance, and human error — that guide us all more than we care to admit.

A beautifully observed, deeply satisfying read, and one I won’t soon forget.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

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