I loved The Reader. But I’ve found Schlink’s subsequent novels disappointing. Olga has moments that shine, but on the whole I found it a sad story about a woman who wasted her love on a man who didn’t return it in kind. She just kept making excuses for his selfishness, and waited for him, and waited for him, and waited for him!
The blurb promotes their love as ‘a love against all odds’, but it wasn’t really a love story at all. In fact, it could be seen as a cautionary tale to women not to waste their lives, and their love, on a man who is narcissistic and unable to return their love.

I found this latest book from Bernhard Schlink tedious. I had high expectations as I found The Reader so moving and profound. This is neither.
I did not warm to the un-named narrator, who was unappealing: self centred, pedantic, a borderline stalker and ultimately unbelievable.
The woman on the stairs, Irene, was never fleshed out as a real woman and was a barely veiled device to drive what little narrative this novel had. What was the point? If I want existential angst, I will return to a master, such as Albert Camus.
The language was pedestrian - perhaps not a good translation? I couldn’t say.
By the time I forced myself to finish this, I’d already forgotten how it had started, and frankly didn’t care! At least it was short - but not so sweet!