In spite of her many responsibilities at this time, Sophia was happy. Her situation did not include many of the things which make most human beings
In spite of her many responsibilities at this time, Sophia was happy. Her situation did not include many of the things which make most human beings happy, for she was poor, she was not in love and had no one in love with her, she was not pretty nor admired, she was usually exhausted from overwork and felt vaguely ill from the pressure of her own nervous energies, lingering grief for her mother, and from the deeply rooted misery which had struck into her nature during her childhood.
Nevertheless she enjoyed almost every moment of her day. She had learned, at an early age, to ignore the protests made by a tired body; this is a valuable lesson, which often serves to develop the senses of hearing, smell and taste, and to make them vivid, and obedient to the demands of her intelligence. As for her eyes - what delight they gave her! ravaging a room, a face, a landscape like buccaneers, and sending back to her brain great loads of loot.
Vintage Classics has just brought Enbury Heath (1935) back into print, and it immediately caught my eye when I realised (courtesy of the blurb on the back cover) that it is a "semi-autobiographical account of the years that Stella Gibbons and her brothers spent in a cottage in Hampstead Heath." Any novel set in or around Hampstead, in north London, is of special interest to me, but my love of biography means that I particularly enjoy novels which I know parallel real life. Gibbons' biographer, her nephew Reggie Oliver, has been quoted as saying that the novel is a "relatively faithful account of her childhood and early adult life" with "only the thinnest veil of fictional gauze cover[ing] raw experience."
The book begins with the death of Hartley Garden - "a bad man but a good doctor" - and the difficult father of Sophia, Harry and Francis Garden. Due to her mother's death, and the strained family atmosphere, Sophia has already been living in a rented room at this time, even though she is a young unmarried woman. She has been working as a fledgling journalist at the Canadian News Agency (the British United Press news agency in real life), and writing poetry in her spare time. After a surprising reading of their father's will, Francis (the youngest sibling, only 16) decides to leave school and become an office boy instead. With Harry employed as a part-time actor, the three siblings decide to club together and rent a home - and this they manage to do, with the help of Sophia's friend Celia, and despite some opposition from the Garden family relatives.
A period of happiness and apparent prosperity now set in for the inhabitants of the cottage. It may be compared to that burst of radiant hot weather which precedes a thunderstorm.
The rented home is a cottage in the Vale of Health, surrounded by Hampstead Heath. Sophia, who is extremely responsive to the quiet beauties of nature, hopes that she will be able to unite her siblings into "a life of orderly and pleasant routine." Unfortunately, neither of her brothers are keen on being managed in any way, and when they discover beer, girls and parties, the freedom afforded by a cottage means that the siblings become increasingly incompatible as housemates. The book spans a time of about 6 months, and it is really about the making and then breaking up of a temporary home. It is about that brief stage when one is just on the cusp of adulthood.
Gibbons is so good on detail, and I lapped up her descriptive and atmospheric writing style. I've always been interested in that tumultuous period between the two world wars, and dotted throughout this novel are fascinating details of the economic and political ferment of the time.
Yet one could not ignore the misery on the earth; the North of England in the frost of industrial decline, violence and starvation in Europe, America staggering like a wounded golden giant.
Gibbons is especially good on class, too, and the book is faithful to the attitudes of that period - even when they do grate on a more modern sensibility. There are lively characterisations, too - which might sometimes border a bit on caricature. The extended Garden family offers much scope for Garden's pen, as do other characters like Francis's girlfriend, Harry's rich Argentinian friend, the bright young things who come to the Garden's parties and the inadequate domestic help that Sophia is gulled into employing. Moments of psychological insight give the book some depth, though, and altogether it was an enjoyable story about family life and the pains of growing up.
A few favourite quotations:
So many things bewildered Uncle Preston, who suffered from a permanent sense of grievance because events and persons would not fit into the frame through which he looked at life.
She sipped her team, took a bite of bread and butter, smelled the narcissus, turned a page, listened to the stillness, gratifying as many of her senses as possible at the same time.
From the FT article: 'Do not buy this house' - Lucy Kellaway bought it anyway (April 5th, 2018)
The photos on the website were a lie. The Fra4.25 stars
From the FT article: 'Do not buy this house' - Lucy Kellaway bought it anyway (April 5th, 2018)
The photos on the website were a lie. The Framehouse was shabbier than they let on. Equally, the pictures failed to describe the magic of the place. The way the light shone through the branches of the sloping glass roof. The height of the ceilings. The quiet.
I stood at the entrance, with the orange worktop stretching ahead towards the pond, and felt entirely certain. I had to live here.
Looking back, I don’t think it had much to do with beauty. Instead it was a dubious and surely dangerous conviction that this house would make me both happier and more interesting. If I were freed from the Georgian and Victorian up-and-down spaces that had defined family existence, this place would be a new start. Not only would life be more exciting among the bright orange, I would be more exciting too.
Like Lucy Kellaway, I am totally addicted to the mind-expanding (potentially life expanding) 'hard-core property porn' that The Modern House has to offer. Many times over the years I have fantasised about buying various of the houses I have discovered there and then changing my life to fit around a house. (Just this week I found myself contemplating a house in Derbyshire that came with its own art-house cinema. For a day at least I was completely enamoured with the idea that I could live in Derbyshire - so near Chatsworth! - and run my own art-house cinema.) Anyway, I digress.
For many years, Lucy Kellaway was a columnist at the FT (Financial Times) and it's pretty obvious - from the structure and style and tone of this book - that she knows exactly how to catch her audience's attention. She certainly snagged mine straight away. As it turns out, buying a wooden house in Hackney with a bright orange Corian countertop was a catalyst for a great many changes that happened in the author's life within a short span of time. The house is important, certainly - and Kellaway does devote an entire chapter to it - but really this book is not about a property search at all. It's more about taking a chance, following one's instincts, and the creative possibilities of creating a whole new life for oneself in 'young-old' age.
Of all of the changes that Kellaway makes in her life, the one she dwells on the most in this book is her co-creation of the educational charity Now Teach which encourages accomplished early retirees (or career changers) to retrain as teachers. Kellaway did this herself and now works as as economics teacher at an academy in Hackney. A good deal of the book covers her attempts to bring attention (and more importantly, funding) to Now Teach and then she focuses in (with a lot of self-deprecating humour) on her fledgling teacher experiences. Kellaway does not make any attempt to hide or downplay her own background, with its various privileges, and instead she uses her personal experiences with education (her own, and her children's) as a way of understanding the different sorts of pressures that her students face. Today, in the UK, the latest GCSE grades have just been released and it is being pointed out that the gap in attainment between richer and poorer pupils has widened in this coronavirus-interrupted year. Kellaway was already predicting that outcome as she wrote her book.
As Kellaway writes:
Lockdown taught all of us - teachers, parents and students - something I hope we don't forget for a very long time. School is essential. It is there not only to teach, but to baby-sit, to socialise and to provide structure. Teenagers fared poorly without the routine and conviviality of school - and so did I.
Kellaway tends to be quite a 'breezy' writer and I would have liked a bit more detail at times. Overall, though, I adored this book. It was a quick, engrossing read, but thoughtful, too. The way she shapes the ending - so humorous, so apt - is perfection. ...more
Cynthia was not shy when she first met people. She was too certain of herself. Quite sure of her success. So that this first encounter with Desmond
Cynthia was not shy when she first met people. She was too certain of herself. Quite sure of her success. So that this first encounter with Desmond's relations was hardly the reason for the constricted chill that was causing her to feel so unreal to herself; on the defensive and alone when they stopped before the great wan house sprawled at the bottom of the valley with the mist rising round it off the river below.
The tide is such a perfect metaphor for what happens in this book: it goes in, it goes out, the generations ebb and flow, and the same patterns reassert themselves.
The story is centred around a great Irish house called Garonlea, and the two chatelaines who occupy it and battle for power over it. Lady Charlotte dominates her Edwardian era family for many years, until the coming of Cynthia - the wife of Lady Charlotte's only son. For a while, Cynthia holds sway over Garonlea. She operates as a sort of regent during the 1920s, after her husband's death in World War I and until her own son comes of age. Cynthia attempts to conquer (and thereby claim) the cold, gloomy house by making it over. But her strength cannot hold, and the next generation resents and resists being dominated in its own turn. There is the house, with its strong undertow of unhappiness, but there is also the entire system which makes each generation only temporary tenants.
The novel contains a cast of unlikeable characters, but the author is indifferent to the very idea of likability or sympathy. Her project is to present the world of the Anglo-Irish landowners and she succeeds admirably at that. The Irish War of Independence is taking place during the book and it hardly rates a mention. I don't think that is due to any oversight on the author's part, but rather to demonstrate how aristocrats like Lady Cynthia - whose world revolves around horses, hunting and strong drink - existed in a world of their own making. At least for a time.
Once Sylvester had seen the saddest possible sight - a boat lying on it side in a shallow green estuary, its sides rotted away. He could see the water flowing through its staves like open windows. But here there was no water - only time, to rot and make an end.
This is the third volume in Deborah Levy's 'Living Autobiography' trilogy, and much as The Cost of Living did, this one speaks straight to m4.75 stars
This is the third volume in Deborah Levy's 'Living Autobiography' trilogy, and much as The Cost of Living did, this one speaks straight to my heart and mind and also (pertinently, importantly) to the stage of life I am at. It also speaks to my love for metaphor, for analogy, and for other not-so-obvious connections.
Her overarching theme, as the title states, is 'real estate' - and in characteristic fashion, she explores that theme through the precise details of her own life, stories, other writers' observations and poetic and playful comparisons of every kind. Like Levy, I am obsessed with the idea of real estate - in its literal, metaphorical, emotional and even financial sense.
On the verge of turning 60, Levy finds herself longing for a substantial house (a permanent home). Her thoughts and dreams obsessively fixate on dwellings of different kinds and a substantial portion of the book is devoted to the different furnishings she collects (in preparation for?) this future home. Real estate does not just refer to property ownership, though, far from it; Levy cleverly plays with the meaning of the word 'real' and mostly explores what is imagined (both real and unreal).
The structure of the memoir directly contradicts Levy's longing for real estate, although it is simultaneously an expression of that longing. Each chapter describes the life of an itinerant writer in temporary, mostly minimally furnished homes: in Mumbai, in London, in New York City, in Paris, in Berlin, in Greece. The writer experiences homesickness at a double remove: first, from her childhood home in South Africa; secondly, from her adopted home in London. The idea of identity is explored from many angles, and many of the other people who Levy mingles with in the book are also citizens of the world. In other words, of no fixed address. The idea of home is fluid, although some people (the writer's daughters, her male best friend) are more permanently fixed. Having said that, their lives, too, are in flux.
There is a spareness to Levy's writing, and yet it encompasses so much. So, so much. She doesn't speak only to women's experience, but she speaks so specifically and powerfully of women's experience. I feel that I will return to this book (the entire trilogy) again and again. It was a pure pleasure to read - not just because of the simplicity and elegance of its prose - but also because of the ideas it examines, and perhaps even more importantly, the questions it poses. ...more
This is a rather informal sort of biography - written by a knowledgable enthusiast primarily for other enthusiasts of Elizabeth Goudge’s work. The tonThis is a rather informal sort of biography - written by a knowledgable enthusiast primarily for other enthusiasts of Elizabeth Goudge’s work. The tone is warm, curious and respectful rather than academic. The author Sylvia Gower does not attempt to psychoanalyse Goudge nor to offer literary criticism of her writings. What she does, instead, is attempt to retrace Elizabeth Goudge’s life by visiting the houses/places which left a deep impression on her and became the inspiration for her writing. Gower includes biographical details as well, although those are somewhat sketchy as she has not been given access to diaries or letters or the first-hand sources of the biographer’s art. She does glean some first-hand information from some of the people who knew Goudge but they mostly consist of neighbours or locals - not close family members. Rather poor quality black and white photos of book covers and the featured locations round out the offering, but they will undoubtedly be of interest to the intended audience.
Gower takes a chronological approach to both the houses and the work and that suits her purpose well. For instance, Goudge’s first published book was titled ‘Island Magic’ and it was set on Guernsey- the ancestral home of the maternal side of Goudge’s family. As a child, Goudge was a frequent visitor there and absorbed both the landscape and the stories of its inhabitants. Other key places in Goudge’s life were the cathedral cities of Wells and Ely, Oxford, Hampshire, Devon and her last home in Peppard Common, Oxfordshire. Gower gives a good sense of how these different places inspired Goudge’s writing and as far as possible she separates out what (or who) was real (to Goudge), what was based on historical research, and what aspects of the novels were the product of the author’s imagination. Goudge’s work was far more rooted in experience than I would have guessed.
Indeed, I suspect that many contemporary readers may be surprised by just how much of Goudge’s fictional output was so directly inspired by the people and places of her life. Reading this book is rather like taking a tour of an author’s house: it provides atmosphere and context, but not a complex analysis. It helps the reader connect the dots. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone not well-acquainted with Goudge’s work - but it’s definitely a satisfying and enjoyable read for anyone who is already a committed fan.
*My edition is a reprint from the ‘Girls Gone By’ publishers and was given to me by Gina House....more
If you are the sort of bibliophile who wants to know about authors' personal lives - to actually see where your favourite writers lived, or ate and drIf you are the sort of bibliophile who wants to know about authors' personal lives - to actually see where your favourite writers lived, or ate and drank, worked or researched, or generally hobnobbed - then this is absolutely the book for you. Most readers will have a sense of the richness of London's literary history, but this guide will still offer up surprises and various delights for even the most knowledgeable London resident, never mind tourist.
It's helpfully divided up into larger sections of the city - central, for instance - and then it's further broken down into neighbourhoods (Bloomsbury, Holborn and Clerkenwell, Fleet Street, etc). Each area of the city begins with a recommended reading list, admittedly not extensive or definitive - but still enough to give readers a span of both historical and contemporary literature set in that particular part of London.
The graphic design and use of photographs is very pleasing and contributes, overall, to the highly readable contents of the book. My only quibble is the use of a red background for a few sections: London's Lost Bookshops, London's Lost Journals and Periodicals, Literary Connections of London's Prisons, etc. The red looks great, but I found it difficult to read; admittedly, I have rubbish vision.
I've been a literary sleuth in London for years, but this book has given me a nice new long list of residences (even a few bookshops) to check out. Reading this guide has not only reminded me of why I want to live in London, but it has certainly whetted my appetite for getting back into the city after our long 2020 #coronaviruslockdown....more
I'm not sure when I became obsessed with houses - reading about them, fantasising about them, and making my own nest inside of them - but in my middleI'm not sure when I became obsessed with houses - reading about them, fantasising about them, and making my own nest inside of them - but in my middle-age I realise there are few things I care about more. I'm truly a homebody and really only feel happy, relaxed and safe in my own house. I found a true kindred spirit in Margaret Forster - and this memoir, with each chapter of her life corresponding to the house she was living in - was a pleasure to read on many levels.
Forster was born in 1938 in Carlisle, and like many families in post-war UK, her childhood home was a cramped council house. By middle-age, the success of her and husband Hunter Davies' writing careers meant that they could afford a substantial Victorian home in north London, a holiday home in the Algarve and another holiday home in the Lake District. Although this book is personal to Forster's life, it is also representative of the changes that took place in the 20th century property market. In 1962, she and her husband bought their first house: a Victorian semi-detached house in Dartmouth Park, the 'less desirable side of Hampstead Heath', for only £5000. At the time, it was completely unprepossessing. It need a new roof and every other kind of modernising, it was filthy, and almost worst of all, it had a sitting tenant on the top floor. In that time, most of the houses on the street (Boscastle Road) had bedsits; by the 1980s, they were all being updated, refurbished and enlarged. By the time of Forster's death in 2016, the houses on this street are considered quite posh and worth millions. I know, because, it is on a walking route I take several times every week.
Undoubtedly, one of the reasons I enjoyed this book is my sense of fondness and familiarity with the area of London in which Forster made her permanent home. When she and her husband first moved to London, after graduating from Oxford University, they had the magical experience of living in a flat at Heath Villas, in the Vale of Health. Several years ago, when I separated from my husband and left the house in the country in which we had lived for 20 years, I also moved to Hampstead. I was entranced by the area for much the same reasons as Forster:
Twentieth-century life fell away, and I always felt that any minute one of the literary luminaries who had lived in the Vale might suddenly appear to admire the view I was admiring. Entering our house, the intense silence added to this feeling that this could not be London, that I could be living so near to its centre.
Like Forster, I'm attracted to houses with history attached to them. Aesthetically, there is nothing that appeals to me more than a Georgian or Regency house. However, house ownership does have its inevitable downsides and old houses have even more need of maintenance than new ones. As much as Forster celebrates the security and comfort a house can provide, she does not neglect to point that houses are in a constant state of decay - just like bodies. When her beloved Boscastle Road house was discovered to have subsidence, and required costly foundation work, she wrote this:
It had been a reminder that bricks and mortar are not as solid as they look. Nothing about a house remains solid. We were only just beginning to learn that maintenance work never stops, something that may be obvious but it hadn't been to us. And it needs a certain attitude of mind to cope with the loads of things to do with looking after a house which need attention, the bodily equivalent of regular hair-cutting, teeth-filling and so on. We didn't have the right attitude. We moaned and groaned every time there was a leaking pipe, or a faulty electrical connection or a tile came off the roof. A house, our beloved house, was then in danger of becoming a nuisance, something we were close to resenting because it took up too much time to look after. We had to remind ourselves that we were very, very grateful to have a house at all.
The house which needs constant attention - and sometimes more drastic 'surgery' - becomes analogous to her own health struggles with cancer - first in her 30s and then again in her 60s and 70s. The way she lives in her own house inevitably changes, too.
As a biographer, most notably of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Daphne du Maurier (another one-time resident of Hampstead), Forster was keenly aware of how important these writers' houses were in the nurturing and enabling of the writing practise. She also came to believe that it was important to visit a house in order to really understand how the writer inhabited it - or was inspired by it. Many people would love to be able to visit Menabilly, du Maurier's home in Cornwall for 25 years - and the place that the writer identified as one of the primary loves of her life.
Reading in her letters about this passion she had for Menabilly it seemed so exaggerated to identify, to the extent she did, with a house. I'd studied drawings of it, and seen lots of photographs, but nevertheless nothing made sense until I saw it and wandered about inside, the bats swooping about in the kitchen. Then, the fascination the house had for her didn't seem so hard to understand.
Forster's life and homes are not nearly so dramatic as du Maurier's; indeed, one reason that I enjoyed this book is that it had an identifiable, let's say 'homely', quality about it. She is pragmatic, too, whilst still being very attuned to the way that an attachment to houses structures many a life.
And I've come full circle: as a child, I always wanted to be in other people's houses. Now, though still fascinated by those other houses, I am only really comfortable and relaxed in my own. My house is like a garment, made to my own measurements, draped around me in the way I like. I never want to change it.
In a Preface to this novel, the author gives the reader some advice:
China Court is a novel about five generations of a family, so that, as in real
In a Preface to this novel, the author gives the reader some advice:
China Court is a novel about five generations of a family, so that, as in real life, there are many names and personalities, but I believe if the reader is a little patient - and can bear not to skip - they will soon become distinct and he will have no need to look at the family tree included at the end.
Well, I did look at the family tree 'included at the end' several times in the course of reading this story, but in the main, the author is correct. Eventually, the different personalities and generations become distinct. However, a good deal of patience is required to truly enjoy this book because it doesn't unfold as a straightforward narrative.
The first lines of the book are this:
Old Mrs Quin died in her sleep in the early hours of an August morning. The sound of the bell came into the house but did not disturb it; it was quite used to death, and birth, and life.
There is a linear narrative to the book: it begins with the matriarch Mrs. Quin's death, progresses to her funeral and the will reading, briefly devolves into an unexpected mystery involving a long ago daughter of the house, and ends in marriage and new ownership of the house. However, the bulk of the story goes back and forth in time; the previous inhabitants of the house, China Court, are not so much ghosts as part of the very fabric of the house. The narrative shows how the life of the house is made of the work of many hands, and there is repetition within that constant change. The happinesses and tragedies of the Quin family are gradually pieced together, but these revelations are by no means chronological. Some dramas and personalties imprint themselves more strongly than others.
There is another structure to the story, too: the eight canonical hours of the day. A Book of Hours is a beloved possession of Mrs Quin's, found in her hand when she dies, and it is used as a plot device in more ways than one. In the most obvious sense, though, the Book of Hours becomes a way of organising the chapters: Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, Compline and Matins. The linear structure of the storyline unfolds against the echoes of the past.
There doesn't seem much point in getting specific about any of the characters other than Mrs. Quin, whose death precipitates a changeover in ownership of the house. This really is the story of a house - not so much a 'great' house as a substantial one. At one point, the house is part of a much larger estate: quarry, china clay works and farm. As the 20th century progresses, and the local Cornish economy changes, and male heirs die in wars (Boer, World War I and II), the house undergoes changes as well. Most of Mrs Quin's heirs see the house as hopelessly old-fashioned, a 'white elephant', too big and too expensive to keep going. In many ways, the story of China Court is the story of many great and substantial houses in the UK in the 20th century. Ultimately, though, this is a story about renewal and regeneration. China Court still has its share of hours, even though the future is only hinted at.
I think the thing to do with a book like this is to read it once and then read it again. The first time, in order to make its acquaintance; the second, to settle into a deeper friendship.
Note: this book was briefly mentioned in Novel Houses, and that's when it first came to my attention. Soon after, a friend - who knows of my fondness for 'house' stories and family sagas - recommended it to me. ...more
What a pleasant leisurely meal was Sunday breakfast. There was no motor to be propitiated and all one's friends were in town and could be
3.75 stars
What a pleasant leisurely meal was Sunday breakfast. There was no motor to be propitiated and all one's friends were in town and could be visited later in the day, so breakfast could go slowly from sausages to scones and butter and honey, and then to strawberries and cherries. The little girl's mother would read aloud afterwards while we all sat at the table and pushing aside cups and plates drew pictures out of whatever book was being read.
This memoir of a few 'golden' years in Angela Thirkell's early childhood provides a vivid, if selective, view of social culture and family life in the last decade of the Victorian age. Thirkell organises her reminiscences around the three houses which made up the circuit of her days: The Grange, 27 Young Street and North End House. Two of the houses, The Grange (in London) and North End House (in the East Sussex village of Rottingdean) belonged to her grandparents: the celebrated Pre-Raphaelite painter/artisan Edward Burne-Jones and his wife 'Georgie'. By far, the largest part of the memoir concentrates on the summer home of the Burne-Jones grandparents, perhaps because summer and holiday memories are the most 'golden' in a child's mind.
I was astonished by the detail of what Thirkell is able to recall of her childhood; even if nostalgia and faulty memory renders it more fiction than memoir, she must have been an astonishingly observant and perceptive child. She lovingly reconstructs North End Lane, room by eccentric room, with lots of references to her grandfather's art and the William Morris furnishings and bespoke furniture.
As I look back on the furniture of my grandparents' two houses I marvel chiefly at the entire lack of comfort which the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood succeeded in creating for itself. It was not, I think, so much that they actively despised comfort, as that the word conveyed absolutely nothing to them whatsoever.
Although the furniture may have been unyielding in the extreme, Thirkell describes a house filled with doting grandparents, delicious food, lots of freedom (mostly because Nanny was preoccupied with a baby sister) and the benefit of her grandfather's art everywhere. From the angel painted at the foot of her bed 'in our little attic night-nursery' to the 'birds and beasts and angels on a rough, whitewashed wall' where Angela and her brother were sent as punishment, they were surrounded by beauty and charm and generosity. I was intrigued by details about her grandfather, for instance the 'extravagance in his nature which loved to make pictures in a medium that would not last.'
The memoir also contains references to some of the other illustrious members of her family: her cousin Rudyard Kipling, who also lived in Rottingdean for a while, and her cousin Stanley Baldwin and his large family. She describes them within their context, though, and they are no more important or colourful than the other local personages belonging to the village and surrounding countryside.
Apparently this memoir was an immediate success and it helped launch Thirkell on what would be a prolific writing career. In 1931, at the age of 41, she was describing a vanished world - and I can well imagine that her Depression era readers shared her nostalgic for those more secure and carefree days....more
It is, admittedly, something of an exaggeration to call this introduction The House as Hero, but the phrase stuck fast in my mind: it sums up so su
It is, admittedly, something of an exaggeration to call this introduction The House as Hero, but the phrase stuck fast in my mind: it sums up so succinctly what I feel about fictional places that act as guardians and springboards, inspirations and anchorages. Home is a recurring theme: childhood homes, home under threat, homes lost and home regained.
Like author Christina Hardyment, I am fascinated by houses in books - especially when they act as an important character, even 'hero' in the story. My favourite sort of novelistic houses are the ones that act as a heart's anchor for generations of families, particularly when they offer comfort and nurture to the guests fortunate enough to shelter in them for a while. Hardyment takes a far broader approach, though, and she attempts - with twenty different literary houses - to show the many different ways a house can be used as a device in a plot. Her houses are arranged in a historical chronological order, with Horace Walpole's The Castle of Otranto (1764) appearing first and J.K. Rowling's 'Harry Potter' series serving as the final book end.
Each chapter is given a title, or theme: for instance, Manderley in Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca is described as a 'House of Secrets'. The chapters vary in how successful they are at illustrating the author's chosen theme and that does give an unevenness to the book. Each chapter is made up of similar elements, though: some plot exposition, some background on the author, and in most cases, the real-life house (or houses) which inspired the fictional one in the story. In some chapters, these three elements are braided together very effectively: E.M. Forster's Howards End (1910), described as 'Anchorage', comes immediately to mind. The chapter on J.R.R. Toilkien 'Deep Roots' was excellent, too. In other chapters, though, I got rather tangled up in the plot and lost both the thread and the interest in the author's exegesis.
I would definitely warn readers who detest *plot spoilers* that the author has a tendency to give too much of the plot away. I think she could have expanded on her theme without doing so. In general, I liked the second half of the book better than the first half. In most cases, the chapters I disliked most described books I hadn't read - but that wasn't always the case. I thought the Mansfield Park chapter was weak - way too much plot exposition - even though this is a book I'm familiar with. Conversely, the Gormenghast chapter was so vividly described and I've not read Marvin Peake's famous post-war 'gothic' trilogy.
My overall feelings/thoughts about this book are probably weaker than 4 stars - let's say 3.75 stars. To be fair, though, it did give me lots of information - particularly about the real houses which inspired the fictional ones - which was both interesting and welcome. I'd definitely recommend it to anyone who doesn't mind a slightly more academic style of writing, especially -and really only - if houses in fiction are of particular interest....more
I, Penelope Taberner Cameron, tell this story of happenings when I was a young girl. To this day every detail of my strange experience is
4.5 stars
I, Penelope Taberner Cameron, tell this story of happenings when I was a young girl. To this day every detail of my strange experience is as clear as light.
I smell the hot scents of the herb garden drenched in sunshine, and the perfume of honeysuckle after rain, but stronger than these is the rich fragrance of the old house, made up of woodsmoke, haystacks, and old old age, mingled together indissolubly. All these scents and sounds are part of the story I have to tell, with light and darkness, shadows and tragedy interwoven.
For the contemporary reader, this is a time-travelling novel of stages - rather like a nesting doll. Even in her 'modern' childhood, approximately 1907 according to a clue hidden in the text, the main character Penelope and her ancient house in Chelsea, London will seem quaintly historical. Then when Penelope travels to Derbyshire, to stay with her Great-Aunt Tissie and her Great-Uncle Barnabas in the countryside, it is already like travelling into the past - for their house 'Thackers' is full of the belongings of accumulated generations, and their way of farming and keeping house is more early 19th century than early 20th. But there is still another great leap backwards into time, back into the days of Elizabethan England - when Thackers belonged to the Babington family, and Penelope's own ancestors served as housekeepers and custodians to the old manor house. For much of the story, Penelope travels between the two eras of Thackers - mingling with the households, alike and consistent in some ways and yet so very different as well.
Written in 1939, this children's classic has been continuously in print for several generations. (My edition is a Puffin book from 1977.) The intricacy of the story, and the historical plot involving a Catholic (or 'Papist') family loyal to Mary Queen of Scots, is possibly better appreciated by adult readers these days. Although perhaps there are still readers in the mould of the main character - solitary, bookish children who live largely in their imaginations. Children who are still described as 'dreamy' or 'fey'. That sort of child would probably find this beautiful and romantic story, one that combines a historical plot with the fantasy device of time-travel, deeply appealing.
It's also a book for those readers who love to read about old houses and feel sentimental about objects belonging to the past. It's antique shop and curiosity shop rolled into one, and a great treat for visual readers. Uttley's writing is sensual and atmospheric, and although the plot gets a big boggy in the middle, I was completely sucked in from the very first page.
Our house in Cheyne Row was little and old, with four steps leading to the green front door, and a little flight going down to the basement.
Ours was a steep, crooked stair, with a handrail on one side, very narrow, with rooms leading off it so suddenly that it was easy to fall headlong as one stepped from a doorway. We had a Morris wallpaper with leaves on it, like a green wood in spring, and I used to sit on the stairs, pretending I was in a forest far away from London with birds singing round me.
Such a dreamy book - perfect for those in need of a touch of escapism. ...more
This was a Christmas present for my daughter, but I spent most of Boxing Day looking at it. She is obsessed with both dogs and interior des3.75 stars
This was a Christmas present for my daughter, but I spent most of Boxing Day looking at it. She is obsessed with both dogs and interior design - as are many, many people in this, the year of coronavirus - and this is definitely the sort of ‘style’ book which bridges the gap between Instagram and traditional decorating books. It’s all about ‘lifestyle’, not to mention aspirational lifestyle, but it’s also about that most traditional of creature comforts: a warm dog on the sofa. Definitely for the sort of person who likes a bit of mid-century style, some vintage pieces, a bit of eclectic art and a photogenic dog.
I should add that the dogs are personalised, and not just ‘props’ for the pretty pictures. Rescue dogs are an important sub-topic in the book and several of the dogs have their own features, quite aside from the decor. There are also some helpful tips for making your interior decor not just stylish but also ‘dog-friendly’ - friendly in the sense of comfortable for the dog, but also in the sense of hard-wearing and capable of enduring muddy paws. ...more
This is a pleasant book to look at but not very memorable. There is a lot of white: white floors, walls, fabric and white space. It's airy, vintage, rusThis is a pleasant book to look at but not very memorable. There is a lot of white: white floors, walls, fabric and white space. It's airy, vintage, rustic, a bit French and a bit country, and very 'in vogue' at the moment. In some ways it's a classic style, certainly in its appreciation of the stripped-back bones of a house and certain 'comfort-giving' but utilitarian elements. There are lots of wood burning fireplaces, cushions made from vintage florals, leather club chairs, natural materials of every kind, etc, etc. I do love this sort of style, but it's starting to look predictable and homogenous to me. Maybe it's not this book's fault, but I do seem to have read too many similar books lately. ...more
Straightforward and accessible, this interior decor book is an excellent 'primer' for anyone interested in the elements of French 'country' style. CliStraightforward and accessible, this interior decor book is an excellent 'primer' for anyone interested in the elements of French 'country' style. Clifton-Mogg describes the furniture, colours, textiles and decorations associated with French country house decor. Her clear descriptions are accompanied by photos that emphasise her point with beauty and simplicity. This book has a narrower range than some French decor books I've read, but I think that proves to be a strength. It presents a very clear and consistent look, which it makes it all the easier to learn from and, presumably, ultimately recreate. ...more
In a better world, Paul would've snagged a line drive bare-handed off the bat of one of the ersatz A's, gone trooping off to the Hall of Fame with
In a better world, Paul would've snagged a line drive bare-handed off the bat of one of the ersatz A's, gone trooping off to the Hall of Fame with a proud, satisfyingly swollen mitt, had a satisfactory but not overly good time nosing around through Babe Ruth's locker, taking in the Johnny Bench 'out at second' video and hearing canned crowd noises from the Thirties. Later we could've walked out into the shimmery sunshine of Sunday, caught-ball in hand, gone for a Gay Nineties malt, found some aspirin, had our caricatures drawn together wearing vintage baseball suits, had some well-earned laughs, played Frisbee, set off my bottle rockets along a deserted inlet of the lake and ended the day early, lying in the grass under a surviving elm, with me explaining the ultimate value of good manners and that a common sense commitment to progress (while only a Christian fiction) can still be a good, pragmatic overlay onto a life that could get dicey and long.
There is a very specific rhythm to the narrative of this book and it requires full immersion for full appreciation. It's a book that devotes itself to the relentless inner dialogue of Frank Banscombe: divorced father of two, sportswriter turned realtor. I'm not sure where the book is meant to take us - is it just a coincidence that Frank spends so much time bogged down in traffic, or keeps having to reroute his journeys? There is something undeniably compelling about the narrative, though, and I definitely felt like the voice of Frank lodged itself inside my head.
Throughout the book, Frank makes reference to the fact that he is living in his 'Existence' period. I inferred that to mean that Frank feels some degree of emotional detachment - not just from his life, but from the relationships in his life. I'm not sure if that's just a lie that Frank tells himself, though. After 451 pages of being directly exposed to Frank's mental processes, so alive to detail and nuance of personality, so prone to sharing ten details when one or two would do, I'm not sure I would describe him as detached. Instead, he seems absolutely awash in awareness - not to mention analysis.
Frank lives in Haddam, New Jersey, in his former wife's house, and he is the owner of two other small rental houses and a root-beer stand. In the course of the book, he will attempt to find the right property for a difficult couple called the Markhams. Details about houses - the way they are constructed, the styles of them, the market value of them - are a constant theme in the book, although the emotional significance of them is not lost on Frank, either. His ex-wife's new husband is an architect: psychoanalyse that, if you will. In fact, I never was sure how much of this book was meant to be read symbolically or metaphorically. It feels dense with meaning at times, and not just because of its penchant for elaborately detailed sentences.
There are three women in Frank's life and all of the relationships are unresolved in some way. The first relationship is with Ann, his former wife; although they have been divorced for a number of years, it's clear that Frank is still attached to her in a variety of ways, and not just because of the children (two living and one dead) which they share. Then there is his girlfriend Sally, who he is considering committing to on some level. Finally, there is his former girlfriend and fellow co-worker Clair Devane - whose unsolved murder is a mystery both in the town of Haddam and in this book.
What does it all mean or add up to? I was never entirely sure. At times, I was beguiled by the writing and at other times I was maddened by it. Is it meant to be just a 3 day 'slice' in the life of a middle-aged, middle-class American man? Is Frank's life meant to be read as a parallel story of the United States, as the title implies? Is this story an identity crisis or an endurance test? A comedy or a tragedy?
Suffice it to say, Frank Banscombe's visit to the Baseball Hall of Fame with his teenage son Paul - meant to be an opportunity for father-son bonding, and a wholesomely American one at that - does not play out in quite the 'ideal' way imagined in the paragraph I quote from. (By the way, that quotation should give you a good sense of the writing style.) Instead, the two end up in the hospital because Paul has deliberately put himself in the direct trajectory of a ball machine - although it is probable that, although he had the intention to hurt himself (or at least his father), he was still surprised by the result.
That might seem like an apt metaphor for Frank Banscombe's life, although his loquacious first-person narrative doesn't explicitly say so. Ford lays out Frank's life for us as a richly textured glorious mess of tapestry, and then he lets the reader judge for him or herself.
3.75 stars For at least half the time, I struggled to read this book. And yet, after finishing it, I found myself wanting to read its prequel The Sportswriter. Go figure ...more
She knew how wonderful married life could be, but she knew it could be wonderful only if two people were absolutely right for one another
3.75 stars
She knew how wonderful married life could be, but she knew it could be wonderful only if two people were absolutely right for one another and could share all of their pleasures and interests.
This is definitely a 'Marriage Plot' sort of novel, but with two large side dishes of farming life and Scotland to round it out. Mamie and Jock are the elder couple - the owners of a largish estate called Mureth - and they serve as a happy example to Mamie's nephew James, who is 'in need of a wife' (to quote Jane Austen).
The character of James connects the plot to the first novel in the Dering Family trilogy. Not long returned from his post-war military service, James is casting around for a career and a place that he can make home. His mother's marriage (which takes place in Vittoria Cottage, the first novel in the series) has altered his plans of returning to his childhood home; but unbeknownst to James, his childless aunt and uncle have long cherished the idea of making James the heir to Mureth. Now all he needs is the right helpmeet. After being rejected by his childhood love Rhoda, James is briefly attracted to a lovely and charming visitor in the neighbourhood. Of course everyone but James can see that this beguiling match would be a disaster. The predictable workings of this aspect of the plot in no way detract from one's enjoyment of the whole, though, as Stevenson's marriage plots are always just the frame around the more important business of sketching a complete scene. There is a troublesome neighbour and a sheep stealing side-plot, but it all feels like background for the Stevenson's wise musings on human nature and her vivid descriptions of this Scottish Borders community.
The character of Mamie - humble-hearted, but so emotionally astute - is really the centre of the novel, much more so than James. The reader feels connected to the novel through her, and she certainly wields the pen of fate.
Although this novel doesn't engage the interest or emotions to quite the same degree as Vittoria Cottage it was still a pleasure to read....more
Caroline and Vittoria Cottage seemed to possess the graciousness of life that he remembered. The house was not really run on pre-war lines
4.5 stars
Caroline and Vittoria Cottage seemed to possess the graciousness of life that he remembered. The house was not really run on pre-war lines, for its mistress did far more work, but the atmosphere was a survival from that other life, it was an atmosphere of peace and kindness and simple gaiety.
Caroline's daughters did not know her of course. They loved her but they had no idea what she was like. She was their mother. She had always been the same and always would be. They accepted the fact that she was interested in their affairs, but it had never occurred to them that she might be interested in herself or that they might be interested in her.
This cosy domestic saga, published in 1949, takes place in the shadows of World War II. Although the war doesn't intrude upon the story in an overt way, it remains a felt presence in all of the characters' lives. Food shortages, rules and regulations and the newly formed National Health Service all play a role in the plot, but these are secondary to the sense of emotional loss - particularly for the main characters of Caroline Dering and Robert Shepperton. Both Caroline and Robert have been widowed in the war, although the sort of wounds they carry are different in nature.
I suppose this novel would be categorised as a romance, but it's far more about village and family life and really the romantic bit just brackets the main meat of the plot. For me, the charm of the book - and I was definitely charmed by it -is in Stevenson's down-to-earth observations, her graceful and gently humorous writing style and the sympathetic character of Caroline Dering.
Caroline is described as 'humble-hearted', and I'm always attracted to that quality - both in fiction and in real-life. She is one of those generous and loving people whom you can't help but root for, or at least I can't, and I feel that she probably embodies many of the qualities that Stevenson likes best as well.
This is a 'second chance at happiness' sort of romance, just to give you a flavour. It is unapologetically aimed at those readers (probably middle-aged women) who love heartwarming stories set in English villages. 'Middlebrow', perhaps, but written by a a very knowledgable and wise mistress of the genre.
I am in the process of renovating a small house in France and I find myself obsessed with interior decor books at the moment - particularly if they faI am in the process of renovating a small house in France and I find myself obsessed with interior decor books at the moment - particularly if they fall into the 'modern rustic' category, as this one does.
Living mindfully is a central tenet of the 'slow' philosophy, which encourages SLOW - Sustainable, Local, Organic, Whole - choices.
The homes in this book - 20 in total, in 13 different countries - differ in some ways, but there is still an aesthetic (not just in terms of looks, but also philosophy and approach) which unites them. They are all uncluttered, with lots of 'quiet' and empty space; they tend to have a neutral palette, which is restful on the eyes; they all have an emphasis on natural materials and their textures; and they all tend to feature second-hand (used, vintage) materials or local (artisan, individual) materials or both.
This book differs from most interior decor/architecture books in that there is an emphasis - through interviews with the home owners - on how the houses they have created reflect their values and their desire to live a SLOWer life. It was an inspiring and optimistic book, although it felt repetitious in places. Still, a pleasure to read and look at and be inspired by....more
As long as I can remember, I've been enamoured with the idea of the 'summer house' - especially the versions of these to be found off the coast of NewAs long as I can remember, I've been enamoured with the idea of the 'summer house' - especially the versions of these to be found off the coast of New England in places like Maine and Massachusetts. In that sense, this book was absolutely ideal. I read it with the greed of a glutton anticipating a feast- and certainly it cannot be faulted in weight (it's a whopper) or sumptuousness. If you've ever wondered about the huge houses perched on promontories, just barely glimpsed from sailboats, then this is the book for you.
My only criticism, and it is one that most readers won't even mind, is that this is a book of summer houses with exactly the same linguistic understatement as when the Gilded Age mansions of Newport were described as 'cottages'. Yes, these are houses (by the sea) used predominately during the summer season. And perhaps there are a few wet towels hung from railings - one of the definitions of 'relaxed' summer living, as provided by the author. And admittedly some of the houses have a 'playful' decor, and many of them pay homage to the past - with its accretions of summer upon summer - but the overall mood is a serious one. These are serious houses: serious in the sense of having famous owners, designers and provenance. Highest of high-end. You definitely won't see any faded, ratty beach towels - although you will see some beautiful swimming pools and some amazing ocean views.
There are some good ideas for decoration that can be adapted for a summer home on a much smaller scale and budget, but read this one mostly for a peep into 'lifestyles of the rich and famous'. It's maximalist in every sense. ...more
If you are interested in the elements of French style this book is a good place to start.
Josephine Ryan has made her living as an antiques dealer andIf you are interested in the elements of French style this book is a good place to start.
Josephine Ryan has made her living as an antiques dealer and stylist, but this book is not just about the ‘passementerie’ of French style (although there is some of that, too); it’s also very grounded in history of French interior decor, starting with the bones, those being the rooms of the French house. The reader will possibly learn new vocabulary, as Ryan explains the history of various pieces of furniture or decoration and the ways in which they have become part of the French decorating vernacular. She’s also attentive to the decorative elements other than furniture, and she devotes a chapter to each of the following: architectural details, colour, textiles, mirrors & pictures, lighting, ceramics & glass and collections & display.
It’s all very clear and well-organised and very, very pretty to look at. Unfortunately, without access to French Brocantes (or at least those dealers who buy from them), it will be difficult for the enamoured reader to emulate. ...more
Loading...
