The Binding Chair starts out as a cracking historical novel - a brave and bold heroine, a lovingly detailed setting. Then halfway through the focus dissipates. We spend too much time with the protagonist's niece, whose only function is to serve as a doppelganger for her aunt. We meet a rag bag cast of other characters who seem to have wandered in from another novel altogether. The protagonist herself loses all her earlier force and seems to be hanging around the novel for the finale, which doesn't either ring true or deliver on the promise of the earlier chapters. I wonder why Harrison decided to transfer her theme (the erotic and social desire for binding/subjugation/pain) onto other, emptier characters. It's a surprising modesty in a boldly conceived book. This would have been a five star read if the author had followed through on her instincts.