I love it when a book is well-crafted. It doesn't matter what it's about, it keeps you spellbound. I read this book because Albert Zuckerman in his book Writing the Blockbuster Novel said I should. Plus four others (I've yet to read them). So I was reluctant at first. But boy, was he right. Ken Follett knows his craft. I ate the story up. And of course, there were Russians and the war and the political intrigue and the romance, and a fierce young heroine who refused to be a damsel in distress. And guns and bombs and fire. It left a sense of a good solid tale that maybe your grandfather would've told you, one late winter night by the lamplight, smoking a pipe, rocking in his old creaky chair.