Sunday on a Patio...and Books!

Yesterday a case of golfer's guilt prompted my husband to offer up a drive to Toronto for some book browsing with lunch on a patio.  It's also Caribana weekend so he planned alternate routes in case the traffic wreaked havoc.  I was fine with a lazy afternoon around the house but after a millisecond of hesitation it was on with the lippy and out the door we went.

BMV Books has no catalogue system whatsoever so there's no quick and easy way to find out if something is in stock.  There's nothing for it but to load up the parking meter and browse until your time is up.  The literature section flips over quickly with stacks of green book bins full of fresh stock to fill gaps once a space is made so each visit is like scanning the shelves for the first time. 

My heart leapt at finding the orange Penguin edition of Little Boy Lost on a bottom shelf looking out of place amongst more recent publications.  I loved the Persephone Classic version but have coveted this edition for ages. The Lehmann short stories are described as 'set against the background of Britain at war: the world of women and children, the minutiae of daily life in rural England...'  Perfect.  The Wilkie Collins was just because and my inner 'downstairs girl' simply could not resist another book on English domesticity.  Reading snippets about the etiquette of entertaining guests for dinner, dealing with infant teething (they lanced their gums!), how maids should mend linens on their day off and the most humane way to slaughter a pig made the drive home seem a lot quicker.  The seemingly endless paragraphs of rigid rules and guidelines had R saying he would rather have been the type to hang out at the docks wheeling and dealing for a living.

I probably should have spent my time reading the book on my nightstand instead of buying more but it was a fun afternoon out.  You can't go back to work after a long weekend saying you hung around the house now can you?  We've also seen the last installment in the Harry Potter series with our group of friends.  Alan Rickman and Maggie Smith, I love you.  And this weekend was the annual Steak-Off BBQ.  R won it last year but this year barely managed to stay out of the basement.  He went with an untested recipe which was a bit banal for his liking once he tried it at the event.  So what's a fellow to do at that point?  He starts rooting through the host's spice cupboard, finds a jar of steak spice and begins shaking it over the steaks like a madman with a set of maracas in a mariachi band.  It actually wasn't bad at all but the competition was quite exemplary this year so better luck, and practice, next time.

So today I am a golf widow and perfectly happy with plans to use my day off to get some housework and laundry done.  Mrs Beeton would be so pleased.

To Bed with Grand Music

When Vera Lynn was singing 'We'll meet again...', it would have touched the hearts of many a young woman during WWII. Deborah Robertson would not have been one of those women. The image we usually have of women whose husbands are away at war is one of housework, queuing for rations, chats over the wall and knitting while listening to the wireless. Marghanita Laski does a fantastic job of showing us that there were women who chose to spend their time engaged in other pursuits. Leaving her young son, Timmy, with the housekeeper, Deborah sets off for London to look up a friend named Madeleine. After some inquiries and decisions are made, the two women are sharing a flat. Staying in at night with their hair in rollers and eating beans on toast is not for these two. Madeleine has a steady stream of male friends taking her out to dinner and it's not long before Deborah is joining in, after all, a girl has to eat doesn't she? Drinks follow dinner and then it's sex. Being faithful while apart is something that Graham said was unlikely, I'm not going to promise you I'll be physically faithful to you, because I don't want to make you any promise I may not be able to keep'. Social mores of the time implied that women would absolutely be faithful lest they be labeled by the proverbial scarlet letter. At first, Deborah is shocked by her behaviour and swears to herself that it won't happen again. But it does...over and over with a string of men. Soon she becomes skilled at saying and doing all the things her lovers want to acquire perfume, furs, jewellery, shoes and handbags. At her core, Deborah is selfish so she justifies her actions with ease and any guilt is fleeting. During an air raid, I desperately wanted a bomb to drop on the very table she was dining at with her latest companion! This is where I thoroughly admire Laski's writing, she was able to have me despise the main character and still love the book. I haven't hated a character so much since Louise from Someone at a Distance by Dorothy Whipple. Even though this is a story about men, women and sex during the war, it's so far removed from being romanticized. Turning the last few pages, I wondered how this was all going to end...I was gobsmacked, Laski has a brilliant way with an ending. Just as in Little Boy Lost, you read the last few lines and then stare at the page in disbelief. This is not one of those books that will have you hugging it to your chest as you close the cover, more likely you'll want to fling it across the room! But only because Laski has executed the characterization so well as to bring forth such visceral emotion. This one has me wishing that I could sit in on another book chat at Persephone, I would love to hear Nicola's thoughts on everything about it. So if she does offer one, could someone please attend and let me know what she has to say?

Little Boy Lost

Timing is everything. There were three pages left to read in my book and I wanted to be alone when I read them. R was leaving for work so I said my good-byes and prepared for the ending. Little Boy Lost by Marghanita Laski is the story of a man who sets out to find his son, lost to him during World War II. Hilary had fled the Germans after seeing his newborn son only briefly, his wife Lisa too weak to follow. He later learns that his wife was murdered by the Gestapo but not before she handed over their son to another woman. Through further tragedy there is now a trail to follow which may or may not lead Hilary to this boy who is now almost five years old. The sweetest boy with the skinniest legs and huge brown eyes is presented to Hilary. Is this urchin his son? Does he even want this child to be his son, forcing him to open his heart again? As a woman reading this book I was screaming at Hilary to take the boy and run. The term 'dolt' came to mind more than a few times! The last three pages had me holding my breath and I had absolutely steeled myself to an ending, the ending I had become convinced would play out. The last sentence read, I took a breath and felt the sting in my eyes. There was a review written by a blogger which started 'Marghanita Laski, F__ you!' and I certainly understand where that emotion was coming from. My feelings are 'Marghanita Laski, thank you'. My next read arrived right on schedule in today's mail. I may have to mull over Little Boy Lost for the evening and a friend is stopping by for a visit but Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger will be on my nightstand waiting.

The Village by Marghanita Laski

I've spent the past few days reading this wonderful book by Marghanita Laski at every opportunity. It exceeded all of my expectations and I suggest that if you have a copy languishing on your bookshelf that you get it down. To set the tone... Then they parted, Mrs Trevor going up the road to Wood View on Priory Hill where the gentry lived and Mrs Wilson going downhill on the other side, down Station Road among the working-classes. Picking up on the the last night of WWII, Laski takes us through the conflicts that arise when the classes mix. Much to the dismay of the Trevor family, their daughter, Margaret, falls in love with Roy Wilson. Despite the fact that Roy has served his country and learned a trade which earns him more money than Margaret's father, he will never be worthy of the Trevor's hospitality - much less their daughter. The ways in which class distinction are observed in this story made for a fascinating study. Mrs Trevor knots her scarf under her chin, Mrs Wilson knots hers on top of her head in turban-style. Wendy Trevor chides her daughter for using the term 'Auntie', blaming her association with Roy for her lapse of proper English, the correct term would be 'Aunt'. The romance between Roy and Margaret is so sweet, they go to the cinema, ride their bicycles and have a picnic while they plan their life together. I had to laugh when Roy, being ever so chivalrous, lets Margaret know that she won't be working once they're wed. Which suits her just fine as all she's ever wanted for herself was to be a homemaker and raise a family. Roy, tired of romancing his intended under a veil of secrecy, marches to the Trevor's front door to speak with the man of the house. Gerald and Wendy are perplexed as to why someone from Station Road would use their front door. You can imagine the explosive scene when Roy announces that he and their daughter are engaged. "And how do you think we're going to feel with a son-in-law we're ashamed to introduce to our friends?" rages Mr Trevor. You will have to read this book for yourself to discover whether true love prevails over class distinction. I don't know what made me grab this book at the last minute for this reading challenge but I'm awfully glad that I did.