I've just learned they've made a movie from one of the books that moved me most in the last few years: The Feast of Love by Charles Baxter. The novel is a daisy chain of first-person voices and love stories: Bradley for Kathryn, Kathryn for Jenny, Chloe for Oscar, Oscar for Chloe, Bradley for Diana, Harry Ginsberg for his son . . . To name too many more names would give the novel's surprises and pleasures away; and like its stated subject, the novel is a full feast of surprise and pleasure, loss and peace, heat and pain. From its trailers, the film does not look like a travesty of the novel, but I very much doubt it will get all its richness and depth, most especially the amazing range and honesty of those first-person voices. So read the book now to have it pure for yourself, and see the movie later if you like.