There's lightning somewhere in the distance. Strong winds separate the leaves from their trees. Petrichor permeates the air. You close your eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of the earth, unaware of the dark clouds making their way towards you.
The House of Doors was a mix of sweet and sour. The sweetness of cool winds followed by the sourness of thunderstorms and longing.

Trust Tan Twan Eng to beautifully marry fact with fiction. And this is what he did in The House of Doors by using real people (like British writer Somerset Maugham, revolutionary Sun Yat-Sen, and the case of Ethel Proudlock) and fictionalising their stories to an extent in a British-ruled Malay.

Tan's writing is breathtaking, exquisite, and sophisticated. If you've read any of his previous works, you'll know how ruminative his characters are and how they long for the people who were nothing but figures of the past. The characters are deliciously layered, with secrets of their own, adding ample intrigue to the story. It's slow at some places; it's unputdownable at others. You gasp at the revelations. It's everything you want in a historical fiction.

This book still sits heavy in my chest. As I finished the last few chapters, I felt the need to cry, or at the least let out a sob. It made me long for something, too . . .
This book is a thing of beauty. If you're a fan of Tan Twan Eng's work, you shouldn't miss it!