As I'm reading, I need a bath and a jug of water, at regular intervals. I begin skimming on page 79 with the 79th dust storm. Nobody can catch a break--ever--in this saga. Is there really a family like Elsa's, where every single member hates an innocent daughter. Cinderella was cherished in comparison. Is there really a life, day in and day out, completely devoid of joy or humor? A marriage so passionless? A world of nothing but death, dirt, denial, desperation? Elsa's rich relationship with her in-laws and a new friend offer some relief, but the relentless melodrama is tedious, at best. I wish the author could ignore the pressures of the publishing business and fine tune this work to the thing of beauty it could be.