Sarah Marie Caulfield is a chameleon-haired gamine with too much to say and not enough space to say it, prone to literary flights of abandon and with a predilection for Oscar Wilde, dusty old libraries and glitter. A tea-drinking, pedantic student, she aspires to great things; but if great things don’t turn up on the cards, getting drunk on starlight in Paris will do her nicely, thanks. She can be typically found crouched over a laptop, researching for her next attempt at a novel.