I couldn’t let go of this book. The story is set in New York. Nick Braeburn leaves his girlfriend Hannah in their tiny apartment. His friend, Jeff has aunts who have a huge late-nineteenth-century apartment blocks, with an elegant roof top garden over looking Central Park. The peacock sisters agree to let Nick stay. He worked late finishing paintings, photographed them, write descriptions of his work and artistic philosophy and sent emails to galleries and studios and magazines. A Portuguese woman lives across the roof garden who Nick gets to know. A crime is going to happen in this page turning book, and during reading my way through I found out why this book is named The Weighing of the Heart. A brilliant story that I recommend about the art world with a crime committed.

A story of paranoia and jealousy; that much I did get but on the whole ... A book I'd file under 'Just didn't get it; was I missing something?' What was reality? What was the result of increasing paranoia; of a character spiralling ever deeper into mental illness? I guess that it could be argued that this not knowing was pure genius on the part of the author but for myself ... What can I say? Come the ending I still didn't know and, quite frankly, I found myself not really caring. Maybe if there had been more of the Peacock sisters but, as it was, I found myself totally uninspired by and unable to connect with any of the other characters. I had hoped that the Egyptology/Egyptian mythology that ran throughout the story might at least prove a redeeming feature but alas, interesting as the Ba, the scarab and the Devourer might have been, in this scenario ... Hmm! As I said I just didn't get it.