Her novels derive their length from endless conversations and, as far as incidents go, successive abductions of the heroines, conceived and told decorously.
It proceeds decorously in and around the house, largely through conversations, some broken off just before a promised revelation, others overheard and tantalisingly unfinished.
Are we not permitted to simply be indifferent - if not outright decorously hate - random public figures on the grounds that it's actually quite unnatural to love everything, everyone?