It opens with a flashback to 1999 that pulls back to 2002, from which vantage point the main character tells a story set in 1988, which serves to comment on the situation facing her family in 2002, though since the 1988 frame is absolutely the only part we care about, it's sort of a weird situation where the meant and potatoes of the novel is a metaphor for a conflict that we only really hear about secondhand and don't care about even though Sparks makes us sit through 30 pages wrapping it-up. Nights in Rodanthe, then, is just absolutely nuts about not working. Oh, my, much too early in the review to get snagged on a tangent like that. Nights in Rodanthe, the novel, is a holy terror, and possibly the worst book of Nicholas Sparks's "early" period, though I really don't have any idea where I'd set the end date on such a epoch, any more than I know if we're presently in Sparks's "middle" or "late" period, with my pessimistic suspicions favoring the former.
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