The House on Fortune Street, by Margot lvesey, has left me with strong memories of its characters and situations. The accounts of different people who share the same event, a la Rashomon, is not a unique way to tell a story. Livesey has taken the concept and given it a twist by recounting the events which bring together several people from the point of view of each one. Abigail has acquired a housel, through inheriting a small fortune, where she lives in the top and lets the lower flat. She is in the theater and shares her life with her lover, Sean, a writer who is working on his dissertation of Keats. Her lodger, Dara, is a friend from St. Andrews, where they met and bonded over their laundry, who counsels abused women. This banal-sounding premise expands to form a small unverse of finding, losing, hiding love. Believe me, this is powerful and riveting.