Olivia Manning knew how to set a scene and signal a wealth of information about her characters --

"... A single yellowish bulb of light hung over her head. He had felt sorry for her as she sat there, a little, worried old lady with her hand to her brow; he thought how silly he had been to distrust her, but now he could see her face, he was disturbed again. Her face was so narrow there seemed scarcely room between the cheeks for the long, bone-thin nose and the compressed mouth. It looked to Felix like the face of some sort of large insect. Her hair, fairish and greyish, was bound in thin plaits round her head. Her eyelids, thick and pale, hid her eyes. ..."

You can't help but shiver a bit on Felix's behalf.

I'm only 20 pages in, greatly appreciating the smooth writing and deft styling.

There's a Casablanca/Winds of War air about the story. The NYRB description on the back cover explains: "Jerusalem in 1945 is a city in flux: refugees from the war in Europe fill its streets and cafes, the British colonial mandate is coming to an end, and tensions are on the rise between the Arab and Jewish populations. ..." (and we know how well that turned out)

Into this mix, you toss a newly orphaned young teen, a quasi-relative of his, her fundie sect, grim boardinghouse, and (of course) a new tenant who "disrupts its dreary routine for good."

It all appeals.