The Wedding Group by Elizabeth Taylor

With more attention than ever being cast Elizabeth Taylor's way due to this being her centenary year it is the perfect time to enjoy her books among like-minded fans, veteran or new.  Harriet is hosting this month's read-along with The Wedding Group so please do drop by at some point to find out what others have to say.  I've resisted the urge to join in for each and every read simply because gobbling up all of Taylor's work in one year would feel too much like eating a whole box of chocolates in one go.  Not that it wouldn't be a delight but delayed gratification extends the pleasure I think.

In the novel's introduction by Charlotte Mendelson, Quayne is described as an "artistic family compound where the womenfolk bake bread 'on a large scale'".  Regardless of the address, the settings in this book all have a sense of the insular about them.  The extended family is headed by its patriarch, Harry Bretton, a bit of a legend in his own mind when it comes to the world of art.  Firmly embedded in the Roman Catholic religion the family has their boundaries neatly laid out but wouldn't this story be a boring one if someone didn't question things or go against the grain?  Enter Cressida 'Cressy'...

'...Cressy had not been allowed to finish her last year.  Not exactly expelled, but the suggestion was that, all the same, it would be better if she did not remain.  She had broken bounds, was often missing for hours at a time, and had had some strange notions, which younger girls were all too ready to listen to.'

Desperate to strike out on her own, Cressy takes a flat in the village above an antiques shop owned by a rather incestuously-close sounding brother and sister.  Finally able to be herself, bliss comes in the form of a gas-ring and a tin of beans but the frustration of a knitting pattern constantly going wrong wears thin and independence turns into loneliness.  Cressy's sensitive nature means her tears are perilously close to the brim at the best of times but lately she is in floods.  She has merely traded one upset for another.  A friendship with a middle-aged journalist who is a bit on the lonely side himself perks up the situation, could life-long bliss be just around the corner for these two?

Although described as one of Elizabeth Taylor's weaker novels I have to say that I absolutely loved it.  Everything that the author does so well is all there from the deliciously claustrophobic houses, spot on characterization and meticulous observation.  Taylor also has a genius for writing about lives and situations that break your heart without feeling depressing, well not to me anyway.  If you've read the novel recently then perhaps you can indulge me and if you haven't then it's best you click away now...but did Cressy remind anyone of Stacey from Gavin and Stacey?  With her slattern-ish ways and bubbly naivete the image became a beacon fairly early on.  So sorry, Elizabeth...

Thanks so much, Harriet, for hosting a wonderful book and entertaining read!

Indulging in a Food Quote

 'The kitchen had its scrubbed, afternoon, waiting look.  On the rocking-chair lay Nanny's film paper.  Margaret took it to read while she stood in the larder eating.  On the stone slab was half a gooseberry pie, caved in, and a jam-tart covered with a trellis of pastry; but she had to eat secretly what would not be missed.    In the meat-safe was a slab of grey beef, overcooked, a knuckle of veal gleaming with bluish bones.  Sage swung from the ceiling, brushing against a net of onions with a lisping sound; there was a brown crock full of cream cheese.  She cut a thick slice of wholemeal bread, covered it with butter, then with the cheese, began to eat greedily, dealing craftily with the crumbs, turning the pages of the cinema paper.'

This morning I grabbed my copy of The Virago Book of Food from the bookcase and checked the index of authors for Elizabeth Taylor.  It just so happened that the excerpt on offer is from Palladian.  After a busy week at my house I am finally on the last few pages but I do remember the above-mentioned scene and feeling a bit stuffed just reading about all that food!  You really get a sense of someone just going for it.  Margaret's excuse is that she is pregnant and thinks about the next meal before the one in front of her is finished.  But who hasn't been so hungry that they stand in front of the pantry or in the larder having a good go at everything that looks delicious and tempting?  Standing in the pantry, bag of potato chips in hand, is my usual appetizer before most dinners.

Book Snob is hosting this month's title in a celebration of Elizabeth Taylor's centenary and I've just noticed she has a post up.  No doubt she will be informative and entertaining as always, click here if you're interested!

At Mrs Lippincote's by Elizabeth Taylor

'How happy we are' thought Julia.  The sunlight reflected in her teacup danced on the ceiling.  Oliver looked up and smiled.  "Vanish, angel!" he said, as he had done as a baby, and from habit she placed her hand over the top of her cup.'

I will no longer entertain the idea of feeling completely bereft upon completion of Taylor's oeuvre.  It will be my absolute pleasure to revisit each and every one of her books, gleaning ever more, time and time again.

The Davenants have arrived in a new town due to Roddy's most recent order from the RAF.  The furnished house they rent belongs to Mrs Lippincote who has made plans to stay elsewhere for the duration.  In a few eerily funny scenes her daughter, Phyllis, doesn't seem to understand that she can no longer appear unannounced and dig through her mother's belongings in the attic or closets.

While Roddy is busy being an officer, Julia Davenant fills her day running the house, looking after their son and spending a fair bit of time with the darning basket.  My image is one of Julia wearing a string of pearls and high heels while she does so.  When Roddy's spinster cousin, Eleanor, isn't busy with her fellow communists she dreams of just the sort of life Julia has.  Oh yes, she'd very much like Roddy all to herself.  Just to build in some tension, Eleanor has lived with the Davenants since her nervous breakdown. 

Usually a tedious household can be buffered somewhat by the presence of a child but a pale and sickly Oliver only adds to the strain.  His lack of robustness hardly impresses the alpha-male in Roddy and his weak frame worries Julia.  Delightfully for the reader though he loves books and there are all sorts of references to various authors and their works.

'In London, he would go every Saturday morning to the Public Library to look at a picture of Lorna Doone.  Some Saturdays it was not there, and he would go home again, wondering who had borrowed her, in what kind of house she found herself that weekend.'

While Julia may appear to be the dutiful wife she holds a bit of herself back for her own sake and I really enjoyed her character.  She ventures out the odd night rather than keep her husband company and is quite friendly with a couple of men.  One being the Wing Commander, who much to my pleasure knows his way with a ball of yarn and some knitting needles.  Julia might be guilty of the odd bout of hand-wringing but she holds her own when push comes to shove as it does during a twist towards the ending.

I've reached the midway point, this being my sixth Taylor novel from her list of twelve and she has yet to disappoint.  To celebrate the centenary of Taylor's birth there is a group of readers over at LibraryThing on the Virago Modern Classics forum reading one title per month if anyone is interested.  Up next for February, I believe, is Palladian.  Laura, from Musings is also an enthusiastic supporter of this event so keep an eye out for her posts!

Mrs Miniver by Jan Struther

'She rearranged the fire a little, mostly for the pleasure of handling the steel poker, and then sat down by it.  Tea was already laid: there were honey sandwiches, brandy-snaps, and small ratafia biscuits; and there would, she knew, be crumpets.'

Coincidentally I've just laid a fire myself but something tells me that Mrs Miniver wouldn't have had to wash the black from her hands twice, pull splinters from her t-shirt or had a dizzy spell from huffing and puffing to get things going.  I digress.

Like so many others I connected Mrs Miniver with the film starring Greer Garson but this book isn't that at all.  It's better.  The character was created when Jan Struther was asked to write a series of articles about an ordinary woman for The Times.  Despite Struther's claims that the episodes she wrote about bore no resemblance to her own family life her followers weren't buying it.

There is a poignant story about the whole family arriving at the Town Hall to be fitted for gas masks at the outbreak of war.

 '...a very small child bursting into a wail of dismay on catching sight of its mother disguised in a black snout; the mother's muffled reassurances - "It's on'y Mum, duck."...'

 There were equally touching stories but with a humourous touch such as the story about her daughter, Judy, choosing which doll in the shop she liked best. 

"You see, it would be so awful to pick the wrong one.  I mean, suppose you could have gone and bought me in the shop instead of just having me; you might have made a mistake and chose Marigold Thompson instead."
Mrs Miniver's mouth twitched.  She couldn't somehow imagine herself choosing Marigold Thompson.  A nice child, but pudding-faced.
"Well," she said, "I like Marigold."
"Oh, so do I.  But what I mean is, she wouldn't have done for you.  And what's more," pursued Judy, "Marigold's mother wouldn't have done for me.  At all," she added with conviction.

Each vignette sparkles in its own way but the ones surrounding the Christmas season were timely and so charming.  And some things never change...

'At intervals she tried to pretend that Christmas Day fell on the 5th of December, or alternatively, that all her friends and relations lived in South Africa and that she had to catch an early mail; but it was no use.'

There is no doubt about Jan Struther's sense of humour or that she would have been just the sort of person people gravitated towards.  I don't think I've ever laughed out loud while reading an introduction before but the description of her family dressing up a mannequin to surprise unsuspecting guests in the loo was hilarious!

With headings such as London in August, A Country House Visit, On Hampstead Heath or A Drive to Scotland, Mrs Miniver is the quintessential 'lovely' book.  I only wished it had four times as many pages.

The Unborn Dreams of Clara Riley by Kathy Page

'You'll have to be more careful in the sentiments you express, Christine,' says the tall slender woman standing beside her, 'if you don't wish to provoke a riot.  The working classes are not yet ready for the regulation of fertility, I'm afraid.'

It was the green Virago spine that first caught my eye at Skoob Books in Bloomsbury.  The cover art of a tired woman hanging the laundry she takes in for work isn't appealing but the writing most definitely is.

At sixteen, Clara Riley was raped by the son of her wealthy employers.  Her swelling belly is noticed and she's swiftly turned out by the lady of the house with a box of cast-off baby clothes.  Once belonging to her rapist no doubt.  Without means to care for a child, Clara's baby is abandoned on the steps of another wealthy family.  She can only hope his life will be better than hers.

This is Edwardian England but there are no tea parties or yards of muslin for dresses in Clara's life, only hunger, rough hands and hardly a moment of peace.  An offer of marriage from a Bible-quoting man from the working class is accepted but her small sense of security comes with a price.  While many women are happy to bear a child a year with barely enough to live on Clara is not.  Not that she is a woman aspiring to rise above her poor station in life, she simply wants to lead her life free from men's bidding.  And then she discovers she is pregnant.

Mrs Audley Jones supplies Clara with work and some of her cast-off clothing.  She is also actively involved in the suffragette movement and helping women put an end to their unwanted pregnancies.  All highly illegal.  While she is massively forward in her thinking, Mrs Audley Jones is married to the Admiral who is very much a traditionalist.  Thankfully for her, he is away for most of the year and ignorant to her causes. 

Every woman taking part in marches, hunger strikes and protests as a way of achieving liberty could be silenced by two signatures on a document.  An unsympathetic husband and a doctor willing to comply with his wishes was all that was required to lock up a woman in an asylum.  The Admiral is back home, rumours are swirling, the police are making inquiries and the Doctor has been to the house to check on Mrs Audley Jones.  She swiftly decides a course of action and makes plans.  Meanwhile, Clara is on the road to madness due to her lack of choice or say.

The Unborn Dreams of Clara Riley is a riveting read and while the subject matter is frustrating the characters are not.  Kathy Page does an impressive job of depicting the Edwardian era and some of its bleakest moments for women.  This was an interesting and entertaining read so do pick it up if you come across it at a second-hand bookshop and don't let the grim cover put you off!

Love by Elizabeth von Arnim

"Mrs Colquhoun was surprised.  Virginia was almost arguing with her.  Besides, it was an unexpected view to take.  Beginnings were not suitable, she felt, after a certain age, especially not for women.  Mothers of the married, such as herself and Mrs Cumfrit, should be concerned rather with ending than beginnings."

Elizabeth von Arnim had a lot to get off her chest regarding the topic of older women coupling with younger men and the double standard when the situation is reversed.  She was speaking from experience as I found out while reading the riveting introduction by Terence de Vere White.  And while there is much less discrimation today surrounding all sorts of relationships, vanity and the search for the fountain of youth is still a booming trade.

Being aware of each other's presence at multiple viewings of a play, Christopher sets about his relentless quest to woo Catherine.  Things get icky quite rapidly when he hails a cab after a show so Catherine can avoid getting wet during a bit of rain.  With his hanky he dabs at the droplets of rain on her clothing...and then her shoes, even the soles.  That sort of thing would have had me out the door at the next red light.

To be fair, Catherine does her best to put off her admirer but slowly over time she returns his affections.  Her euphoria at feeling loved and adored brings a youthful glow to her complexion but soon this fails to be enough.  Her realized terror is very like the magic mirror telling the wicked stepmother that she's no longer the fairest in the land scenario.  Secretive, not to mention expensive, treatments are begun with a doctor who barely speaks English assisted by a deceitful nurse.  The less than impressive results are reminiscent of another fairy tale The Emporer's New Clothes.  Counteractive to all of her efforts is the extreme worry about what people will say should this relationship become public knowledge in society and amongst family.

The double standard is that Catherine's teenage daughter, Virginia, is married to Stephen, her senior by twenty-nine years.  And he's a vicar.  So while he rails against what he deems to be a disgusting relationship between Catherine and Christopher, his wife sits on his knee and he refers to her as his 'blessed child'.  There were a few times when I came close to flinging this book across the room in frustration.  The constant insecurities about looks were annoying but that Catherine suffers her very existence in accordance with the terms set by her deceased husband and defers to her son-in-law's view of morality...Eek!  In many ways I was born too late but in this regard my feminist views would surely have had me locked up in an asylum as a hysteric.  Sentences such as the following had me writing "WHAT?" in my notebook more than a few times.

"Was she strong enough to defy Stephen and go on seeing Christopher just as before, without marrying him?"

Thank goodness for the comic relief provided by the housekeeper, Mrs Mitcham.  Spying some new nightgowns belonging to the newlywed, Catherine, she thinks to herself....

"There were six nightgowns that you could pull through a wedding-ring, they went so into nothing.  Chiffon nightgowns.  Different colours.  Pink, lemon-colour, and so on: and all of them you could see through as plain as daylight.  It was a mercy, thought Mrs Mitcham, that it was dark at night."

Arguably, this book could have been called Looks instead of Love for all the worry and extreme efforts to conceal an aging visage.  But von Arnim doesn't exclude the young completely, even the lovely Miss Wickford with the most beautiful eyes in London is a spinster for being unmarried at just twenty-eight.  Society is so quick to label isn't it?  But thankfully that was then and this is now.  Vanity is alive and well and there is still more prejudice in this world than there should be but an older woman with a younger man is far from frowned upon.  But would I want to be married to a man twenty years younger than myself?  Not on your life!

The Soul of Kindness by Elizabeth Taylor

'Why don't you have a cat?' Flora asked.
'I don't want a cat.'
'But it would be lovely for you.  Percy likes cats.'
'Well, Percy's got a cat.'
Flora, in fact, had given it to him and he had been obliged to take it in.  In four years, he had found that Flora was not biddable after all.  Although as good as gold, she had inconvenient plans for other people's pleasure, and ideas differing from her own she was not able to imagine.

During the early pages of The Soul of Kindness it is tempting to imagine Flora surrounded by a glowing halo of light, floating just above the ground so as to avoid the merest scuff on her shoes.  The world as she sees it is just about perfect and full of amiable people who are all the better for knowing her.  But as the story moves along you realize that Flora leaves a wake of disappointed, confused and lonely people who fall victim to her fanciful ideas or well-meant interfering.

Brushing aside her glistening tears Flora writes her mother a note after changing out of her wedding dress.  Instead of reassuring her mother that a strong bond still exists between them, Flora manages to imply that the task of motherhood is now over leaving Mrs Secretan feeling empty and useless.  Flora's numerous attempts to bring together a female friend with a man who is clearly homosexual paints a picture of ignorance which is far from blissful.  And at her worst, Flora is relentless at building the confidence of a young man, who hangs on her every word, in his ability as an actor with devastating results.

While the reader is busy watching Flora create her idyllic world, Elizabeth Taylor is masterfully painting a dark side to Flora.  Such as the resentment when things don't go her way, taking to her bed as a way of drawing people to her, childish sulking and ignoring news which doesn't please her.

Taylor's writing and skills of observation are as supreme as ever in this novel.  Discovering in Nicola Beauman's biography The Other Elizabeth Taylor that she would sit in her local pub with pen and notebook at hand to people watch, I smiled when she described a character on page 151.

'...a more than middle-aged man, jauntily dressed, in a navy-blue blazer heavily badged, and shoes with pointed toes, was also sitting alone.  He covered his mouth with one hand, and with the other worked with a pick among his gold or rotting teeth, eyeing every woman who came in.'

Ugh!  But I'm quite convinced this fellow actually existed and unknowingly sat down within viewing distance of Elizabeth Taylor while she jotted down the details of his very public display of dental hygiene.  Other details such as nurses removing flowers from hospital rooms at night and that television sets needed to warm up before the picture came on were charming reminders of what things were like when I was a child but forgotten about.  And I really must read von Arnim's Elizabeth and her German Garden as Taylor had Flora's mother reading it 'for the umpteenth time'. 

Others have mentioned that The Soul of Kindness would have been better served as a short story or novella and I would agree.  At times the pace did seem to stall ever so slightly.  But having said that, once I reached the ending and mulled over the brilliant characterization my affection for the story increased and I could have happily turned back to the first page.

The Tortoise and the Hare by Elizabeth Jenkins

It would take a stellar read to hold my attention with The Heiress back from school and being the lone dog walker and play toy of Deacon with R away.  The Tortoise and the Hare was definitely that and so much more, and to think it was a serendipitous purchase due to a riveting pair of red stockings on the cover.

Considering that I must be one of the last in this sphere of bloggers to read this quiet masterpiece I won't go into much detail about the synopsis.  In the simplest of descriptions this book is about a woman slowly coming to the realization that her husband is having an affair.

Imogen Gresham is younger than her husband, Evelyn, a handsome and confident barrister with an office in London.  Her day usually consists of seeing to the whims of her son, Gavin, who holds the same regard for her as his father.  She is nothing more than an ornament, someone who runs their errands or sees that their clothing is bought from the right shops.  I haven't quite decided if it's down to Jenkins' writing or my finally coming to terms with the character of the quiet woman but Imogen failed to frustrate me.  Yes, I wanted her to call Evelyn on his neglectful behaviour and excuses to spend time with Blanche the Bloated but I was willing to wait patiently for the eventual outburst.  Well, at least I hoped there would be something of the sort.

Disliking Blanche, Evelyn and even Gavin made it easy for me to put them on a team early on and separate them from Imogen.  I sat on the sidelines as quietly as Imogen, waiting for her to come to the conclusion that she deserved happiness from life for her own sake.  When that moment came it would have been easy to write a scene of a woman emerging as a butterfly in technicolour but I thought Jenkins stayed true to Imogen's character and the ending was a most satisfactory one.

The handful of peripheral characters were a wonderful respite, the Leeper family with their house in disarray added an element of fairy tale from which little Tim escapes his bohemian family.  And wasn't Cecil Stoner wonderful with her subtle yet potent jibes to Blanche?  Oh, just writing about it makes me want to turn right back to the first page and start all over again.

Thank you to everyone who told me I would love this book, you were right!  In fact, I enjoyed Jenkins' writing so much that I'm off to the dusty Reuse centre to pick up a copy of, Brightness, that I left behind last time.

South Riding by Winifred Holtby

'She saw in front of her the young faces of the children, round, fresh and eager, unscarred by experience.  She saw the lined faces of the women, their swollen hands reddened by work, the wedding rings embedded deep in the rheumatic flesh.  She saw the bent shoulders of her pilgrimage, faced life without the consolation of triumph, the stimulus of success.  Their sturdy endurance in obscurity made her ashamed.'

It is probably not a very good idea to write about a book when you've just turned the last page and feel utterly bereft.  But the house is quiet and the time just feels right.

South Riding opens at Maythorpe Hall, an imposing manor that was once the beacon of a community for hundreds of years.  Now its crumbling exterior houses Councillor Robert Carne, his teenage daughter, Midge, and a portrait of her mentally ill mother, Muriel, who is cared for at the County Mental Hospital.

Sarah Burton arrives at the village to fill the position of head mistress at Kiplington High School.  At forty and unmarried it would be a typical assumption to label her a virginal schoolmarm but Sarah has progressive views and strives to reach the students who seek more from life than husbands and babies.  Watching a school concert where these young ladies exhibit their talents in a less than academic manner has her cringing in shame and feeling sorrow for girls taught things better left unlearned.

The cast of over one hundred characters in this book is vast and varied.  I found that in taking notes it was difficult to know which characters would remain throughout and which would be peripheral.  Like a stroll though a village on a bright summer day you just never knew who was going to come around a corner.  Some left more of a mark than others such as the martyr, Lily Sawdon, who hides a terminal illness from her husband when he suddenly buys a pub.  Her struggle to work each day through immense pain kept reminding me that Holtby herself was dying from a kidney ailment during the writing of this book. 

The Holly family, with their brood of children and barely enough to go around pulled at my heartstrings.  Watching the eldest daughter, Lydia, resign herself to changing nappies and wiping noses when she had such potential in the classroom was extremely frustrating.  But it was clear from many of the storylines in this book that Holtby was a great supporter of women's rights and I kept faith that all was not lost for Lydia.

Readers also have the displeasure of cringe-worthy characters such as Alderman Snaith who doesn't miss an opportunity to gain from someone else's misfortune and Councillor Huggins.  A lay preacher who gets himself into a bind trying to cover up some dirty tracks.

Naturally there is a romantic storyline since we have a handsome fellow living in a lonely manor and a head mistress turns up.  But you won't find the writing soppy and formulaic here, far from it.  In fact, considering the era this story was written in, it's rather daring.

As some of the storylines were coming to their conclusion I felt quite sad as not everything ends well or tied with a bow but there were also reasons to cheer.  The rousing description of the 1935 Silver Jubilee celebration at the end was beautifully written and would have had me enthusiastically waving an English flag if I had one.  And I would highly recommend having a tissue at hand for the epitaph written for Holtby by her dear friend, Vera Brittain.  Not only do I now want to read more of Holtby's work but I am intrigued to know more about her background and how she came to be so wonderfully progressive.

Hopefully the mini-series will air on television over here soon but I certainly have quite the images in my head to last me until then.  And now there are those Queen's cakes that I wrote about last time to bake...

Let's Talk About William...

This post will appear sooner than I had planned but out of consideration for those of you joining me and Simon from Australia and many time zones ahead...here we go!

When I first pulled a copy of this book from behind a stack of used books in a shop my first thought was 'It's about a man'.  And to be honest I wasn't that happy about it.  But flipping the book over I read the sentence that convinced me EH Young was an author I needed to discover.  It was 'She published eleven novels of provincial life in which her precise and truthful portrayals of relationships and social conventions are enhanced by a subtle humour.' 

Simon has written a beautiful review of this book and posted links to other fabulous reviews of William so please have a look.  And what did I think?  My overwhelming thought throughout the book was how did, E.H. Young, who never had children understand so well what it is to be a parent?  Before becoming a parent myself I had no idea that when your child is sad, you are sad.  When they are happy, so are you and if you think they are headed for disaster and ruin you will try your best to head them off.  Young understood this and expresses it so well.

Kate Nesbitt well and truly plays the role of matriarch.  It is a command performance every year for her birthday and a great to-do is made.  Her fan-waving, arm flapping, over-bearing style of mothering is positively Mrs Bennet-esque.  I laughed  and rolled my eyes when Mrs Nesbitt places lozenges on Lydia's bedside table 'in anticipation of a cold'.  Her persistance in a matter is admirable and irritating at the same time.

There are differing opinions as to whether or not William Nesbitt is a good father.  He certainly shared more dialogue with his children than I would have stereotypically expected from a father during the 1920s.  And yes, he could be a bit manipulative at times but when you're a parent you call it 'guidance'.  He was a kind and generous man, sharing flowers from his buttonhole with children on the street.  For a man who was financially well off it was his time that he gave most to his children and I admired that.  The way he admired Lydia was more than a tad icky at times, I'll give you that.

There are five adult children and it took a chart in the beginning to keep everyone straight.  Add in spouses and grandchildren and it was a very busy book until I knew who belonged with whom.  Each is an interesting character but we really don't get to know their only son, Walter, all that well.

There were some rather funny lines in the beginning and the feeling was charming and cosy.  Family dynamics and conflict created a poignancy that I wasn't quite expecting which gave the story depth and I could have happily read a version twice as long.  In the introduction, John Bayley, wrote 'Every true addict of the novel will want to make, or remake, her acquaintance; and for those meeting her books for the first time William is certainly the one to start with.'  It worked for me.

Thanks to everyone who found a way to get their hands on a copy of this book and joined in.  And to anyone feeling as though they've missed out, Simon will be offering up a copy so watch his blog!  Now it's your turn to comment and feel free to engage others...how did you get on with the Nesbitt family and this book?

Books and Buns

Several weeks ago, I received an email from someone who reads my blog.  She was wondering which second-hand bookshops I could recommend in Toronto.  It then came to my attention that bookshops carrying new were my usual haunts when in the city.  It was my responsibility to do some research and the sooner the better!  Saturday was to be the nicest day of the weekend so R and I grabbed a bagel and a tea/coffee and off we went.  Our first stop was BMV Books, I had read that there was a large supply of remainders and second-hand titles but that some of the staff were a bit on the rude side...hmmm.  Finding a copy of Angel by Elizabeth Taylor made my day, further finds by Rebecca West, Rose Macaulay and Elizabeth von Arnim had me beaming.  Then I asked a clerk where the Art Deco books were.  'In the Arts section' came her dry, unenthusiastic reply.  'No shit, Sherlock' was what I wanted to say but instead I replied 'That's lovely!'

Driving to another area of Toronto we stopped at The Book Exchange, where I found a copy of I'm Not Complaining by Ruth Adams.  I know nothing about her but the characters in this book consist of a promiscuous Jenny, a communist Freda and a spinsterish Miss Jones.  Yes, please!  Right next door was Dencan Books...oh my goodness.  R wondered if the collapsing shelves with books spilled all over the window display was some sort of artsy statement.  Cautiously opening the door, we were greeted with the overwhelming smell of mold.  It was total chaos with piles of books littering the floor, there was barely a path to allow any meandering at all.  Bravely we began to browse the ridiculously stuffed shelves and after a few minutes, R called me over.  He was checking for some authors and found...Dickens, Dickens, Dickens, Beginner Accounting, Dickens, Dickens...and so on.  It was definitely time for a change of scenery so we drove off to find a bakery but I swear I coughed mold spores for several minutes afterwards.

The Hot Oven Bakery was just the place for rest and refreshment and oh, the gorgeous aromas floating in the air, way better than mold!  R ordered some cookies to go, I chose the Empire cookies (the large ones) and he decided on chocolate chip.  Then we munched on cinnamon buns and sipped our hot drinks while we chatted and thought about what we might like to try the next time we stop by. 

All too soon it was time for the drive back to Burlington.  My research mission was pretty successful but I am quite sure that there is more work still to be done.  And if you've read any of the Viragos I found please let me know what you thought! 

A Virago Epilogue

Hands up if you thought yesterday's post was my last one for Virago Reading Week.  The sun is shining today which is something to grab on to and squeeze every last ray out of so R suggested a leisurely drive.  You know, take in the scenery of every dirty salt-covered vehicle whizzing by on the highway.  It was worth it though as our destination was Nostalgia Books in Port Credit.

The gentleman who owns the shop is a lovely man and even though I haven't been there for quite awhile he remembered me.  Well, I am an incessant talker and hard to forget.  Anyway...look what I found!  The fabulous reviews this week have had me really intrigued, such as when Thomas wrote about, All Passion Spent, by Vita Sackville-West.  Then Book Group of One wrote about my latest author crush, Elizabeth Taylor, and her book, Palladian, which I knew nothing about but was very interested in.  The back cover of William by E.H. Young tempted me with this line...'novels of provincial life in which her precise and truthful portrayals of relationships and social conventions are enhanced by a subtle humour.'  Yes please!

Wishing David well, I was backing out of the shop when what to my wandering eye should appear but another Elizabeth Taylor!  "You horrible man!" I said as he laughed.  How could he let me pay for three Viragos and not tell me about another one only an arm's length away?  The movie Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont was lovely and I can only imagine the book will be even more so.

And there you have it, this is well and truly my last post of this reading challenge but as for the conversation, long may it continue.  Thank you to Carolyn and Rachel for bringing everyone together and thank you to everyone who provided a fun-filled education for me this past week!

It's Not Over Yet!

There is nothing like a week of Virago show-and-tell to stir up the urge for a good rummage around a second-hand bookshop.  Not wanting to venture very far due to some light snowfall I stopped in at a shop not too far away...it is usually quite a tip.  I was pleasantly surprised to find it under new management and very neat and tidy, meaning there was a path to walk through and no books teetering high up on shelves.

I found a copy of Monica Dickens, One Pair of Hands, which is brilliant and a VMC that is new to me.  Has anyone read The Loved and Envied or anything else by Enid Bagnold?

The Way Things Are by E.M.Delafield

Virago Reading Week has been chock full of intriguing posts, fabulous reviews and the opportunity to discover a few blogs new to me.  I really hope we can do it all again next year as it has helped me forget about the freezing temperatures and doldrums of January.

My Virago pick for this week was the fabulous The Way Things Are by E.M. Delafield.  Published in 1927, I had stunning images of the art deco movement in my head whenever descriptions of lively young ladies about London were mentioned.  But the story of Laura Temple and her husband, Alfred, could not be more paradoxical to anything shiny and stylish.

Laura passes each day much like the one before it.  Making sure the kitchen-maid and nursery-maid are performing their duties, shopping even though the family income is stretched beyond their budget and that her boys are learning all the right manners.  Her husband, Alfred, could not be more boring with his main preoccupation being the 'vegetable kingdom'.

Her two young sons, Edward and the much-adored Johnnie, ensure that Laura wears a path back and forth to the nursery with one complaint or another.  The Times is a shield used by Alfred each evening to avoid any emotional connection with his wife.  Things sound rather grim don't they.

The Temple boys take dance class with the Bakewell children, Cynthia and Theodore.  The hilariously pompous, Mrs Bakewell, makes sure her children are highlighted in all aspects and the best at every venture.  The maternal sparring over children's abilities is drawn on brilliantly by Delafield and amazingly some things never change.

The Kingsley-Browne family have the most ridiculous daughter in, Bebee (mockingly called Bay-Bay by Laura).  Marching to her own tune and breaking hearts along the way, she attaches herself to AB Onslow, who just so happens to already have a wife.  In farcical scenes they despair over ways to remove her from their home which she has firmly ensconced herself in.  I would have simply thrown her vampy red lipstick and silky gowns out the back door!

The most poignant storyline though is that Laura has fallen in love with Duke (short for Marmaduke) Ayland and he with her.  His dark eyes look at her in a way she hasn't recognized in years and she is enthralled.  Herein lies the moral struggle, does she abandon her marriage and children for the passion she has never known or continue to be a dutiful wife?  Her younger sister, Christine, has an idea that something is going on but refers to things only hypothetically and a medical student named, Losh, is somewhat helpful with discussions on sexual frustration.  Laura reminds him that she lives in the country and examining your libido just really isn't done.  And there I will leave you to wonder which path Laura chooses.

I loved this story for its perfect blend of humour, reality, conflict and compassion and highly recommend it.

Special thanks to Carolyn and Rachel for an entertaining and memorable reading challenge!  I am going to spend my spare time over the next couple of days catching up with everyone's reviews and articles.

Deacon's Virago Adventure

When Carolyn put out a call to show off your Viragos, I had an idea.  It sounded like a good one at the time.  Sweaty damp patches and a border collie now wary of aprons later...here is a shot of one of my favourite Viragos!  Ta da!

The Virago Book of Food: The Joy of Eating, is full of sumptuous quotes from literary works through the ages by some of the best.  Please do look for it at your bookshop...in the meantime, I need a rest.

Pudding & Pajamas

While I happily breeze along with The Way Things Are by E.M. Delafield for Virago Reading Week, two things had me picking up my pen to make notes.  The first item was a pudding called, Junket. 

A milk-based dessert, made with sweetened milk and rennet, the digestive enzyme which curdles milk.  Rennet comes from the lining of a cow's stomach apparently, which is a detail I could have done without.  Chilled before serving, it is often served with a sprinkling of nutmeg on top.  The popularity of this pudding goes quite far back and in medieval times was a food for the nobility.  By the mid-twentieth century it was more popular as something eaten by children with stomach upset.  If you have given this pudding a try what's it like?

In another scene it's time for bed and Laura has her boys get into their Viyella pj's.  Out came my pen and handy notebook again.  Viyella is a blend of wool and cotton first blended in 1893 in England, developed by James and Robert Sissons of Williams Hollins & Company.  According to Wikipedia, 'One 1920 advertisement called it "a guaranteed unshrinkable fine wool flannel" for women who wanted both "daintiness" and "protectiveness".  It won't protect you from headache if you have to look at your man in that ghastly plaid every night!

Back to my book...

Virago Reading Week

E.M. Delafield created a turning point in my life...literally. 

The classics built a strong foundation for my love of English literature and the silky swish of a long dress.  There were brief forays into the world of crime novels and chick-lit but if I read one more book about a blonde twenty-something in a publishing office I was going to scream!  I was searching for something but I didn't know what.

Three years ago, The Heiress was about to move into a townhouse near her university.  Five young men had vacated and five young ladies were taking residence...I was armed with a bucket, rubber gloves and lots of cleaning supplies, LOTS. 

Once we were in Waterloo, our first stop was a plaza so The Heiress could hand out some resumes.  One of the businesses was a Chapters and well, you might as well have a look around once you're there, right?  Sitting on a display was an adorable book covered in pink roses.  Who was this Cath Kidston woman who designed the print?  Flipping to the first page, hilarious writing about the planting of bulbs and a Lady B coming to visit had me digging for my wallet.

Back in the car I began to flip through the pages and laughing out loud.  'Listen to this!' I said a few times.  The Heiress and R begged me to stop.  So my book was tucked back into its bag but I had a big smile on my face and was ready to tackle the scariest kitchen and bathroom disasters you've ever seen.

Back at home and relaxing with The Diary of a Provincial Lady, I knew that this was the type of story that I had been searching for through the years.  Witty, intelligent with an atmosphere rich in period detail and sensibilities I had found my reading nirvana.  But where would I find more like it?

Through my research I discovered the enriching world of book blogs.  StuckInABook, dovegreyreader and Random Jottings were my first introduction and favourites.  A short note to Simon was sent and he replied telling me about a wonderful bookshop by the name of Persephone.  I had never ordered a book on-line before *snort* so the search began in second-hand bookshops.  My first trip out resulted in my copy of The Way Things Are and due to loads of catching up in this blissful era of authors, it has been languishing on my shelves ever since.  When Virago Reading Week was announced I knew exactly which book would be my choice.

Thanks Carolyn and Rachel for the creation of a brilliant reading week!  Click on the links should you be interested in joining in.

One Fine Day by Mollie Panter-Downes

'He knew that, while he was away, women friends of Laura's and their children had come and gone continually, for a few weeks, three months, a year or so.  They had eaten light snacks off trays, used the telephone practically without paying for it, shared the work, and night and day filled the air with the dull, frivolous yatter which passes for female conversation.'

Stephen Marshall has returned home after the war to discover that his wife, Laura, has let things slide a bit.  And really, how is a middle-class household to run smoothly when your staff has up and left to support the war effort?  His domain is not the only thing that has lost its shine, his wife seems to have aged while he was away.  Her hair has begun to go grey.

In a movie, the happy reunion of a family after years of separation would be dramatic and sweeping.  The reality was quite different in many cases and the restoring of social order wasn't always easy.  The independence experienced by Laura dissolves away when she is chided by her husband for letting things go.  At the same time, her mother, Mrs Herriot, states that her daughter is working too hard.  A situation brought on my Laura's foolhardy decision to marry a man less wealthy than hoped for.  Thoughts of wanting more for herself are pushed aside for errands and social calls, this is Laura fulfilling her duty just as Stephen has fulfilled his in the war.

While it would be easy to focus on the friction, Panter-Downes writes lyrically about flowers and bees in the neglected garden, cakes and biscuits in the pantry and the green English countryside.  Ten year-old, Victoria, stuffing herself with delicious home-cooked fare at her friend's house is heartwarming and of course, those cups of tea, wonderful.  The fertility of the women in the village is grounds for speculation whether the men are home or away.

What was, what is and what may be are ruminated over and dreamt about.  At the end of this one fine day, Stephen and Laura separately come to a conclusion about how they will embrace tomorrow.  In what I know is an unpopular opinion, I can't say that I really cared.  The writing is sublime, the characters very real...I just couldn't resist wanting to shake them.

Blaming by Elizabeth Taylor

It's official.  Elizabeth Taylor is one of my favourite authors.  Blaming is my third venture and while I am tempted to say it is my favourite it could possibly be that I have settled into her writing style.

The story begins with Amy and Nick on holiday in Istanbul.  They are middle-aged and middle-class.  Their vacation spot enthralls Nick much more than his wife which leads to bickering.  Add to that an American tourist named Martha, who has attached herself to the couple and you have a storm brewing.

Despite being written in the mid-seventies, there is an earlier feel to the story such as when Nick initiates an early night by saying 'Your bed, I think,' he said.  'I always think that's more polite.'

It's no secret that Nick dies while on holiday.  The ever-present Martha imposes her assistance.  Visits to the family home and a string of correspondence creates a bond which provides each woman with someone to talk to during difficult times.  But Martha is brash, unkempt and more bohemian than Amy is comfortable with and eventually she wishes the contact would cease.

There are two granddaughters by Amy's son, James and his wife, Maggie.  Dora and Isobel irritated me in the beginning with their insolent behaviour and manipulative ways.  But in that subtle way of Taylor's, she had me absolutely charmed and laughing at their antics by the end of the book.  I was thrilled to read in the afterword by Taylor's daughter, Joanna, that some of their lines were taken from things she had said as a child to her mother.

A relationship with the family doctor and close friend, Gareth Lloyd, blossoms and a tragic twist towards the end of the book made me gasp.  Many of the characters experience blame due to a variety of reasons making the title a perfect one.  I did not want this story to end and it was poignant to read that Taylor wrote with determination to finish before dying of cancer.  As I wrote earlier, she died before this book was published and selfishly, I am quite ticked when talented authors are taken too soon.

There really was nothing else for it, despite a personal challenge to read from my shelves I promptly ordered two more books by this truly sublime author.

A Game of Hide and Seek by Elizabeth Taylor

It was around two and a half years ago that I first held this book in my hand but I didn't buy it.  Flipping through the pages of Virago's beautiful cloth-covered anniversary edition I thought the story sounded charming enough but who was this Taylor woman?  Tucking a copy of Diary of a Provincial Lady under my arm instead, so began a reading venture which left me besotted with a certain group of women authors.  Feeling in a small way as though I've come full circle, Elizabeth Taylor is now one of them.

A Game of Hide and Seek is not so simply, a love story.  Harriet and Vesey discover love's first blush as teenagers.  Taylor is superb at showing us every glance, sigh and furrowed brow as we feel all the twinges of emotion between these two.  There were so many instances of delightful phrasing or poignant moments that I scribbled a page and a half of notes!  Showing a keen wit, Taylor had me laughing out loud one day on a train station platform when some shop girls decide to try hot wax to rid themselves of some facial hair:

     'On the upper lip first, dear,' Miss Brimpton advised Harriet.  'Slightly downy, if I might say so,' Miss Lazenby said dreamily.  'I call mine a bloody moustache.'
     'Well, that's up to you, dear, what you call it.  No one else implied anything.  It really does smart at first, doesn't it.  I hope the juniors don't come up.'
     Harriet obediently spread the melting wax round her mouth.
     'I'm doing my beard as well,' Miss Lazenby said recklessly.
'Has that soup caught, Lovelace?  Something smells funny.'
     'Now rip it off,' Miss Brimpton commanded.
     'You do it first, Harriet.'
     'I can't.  I'm afraid.'

Vesey was destined to be an actor with his dramatic airs and over the top gestures as a young man. 

     He would smoke with his head out of the bedroom window.  In his mother's room one day he put on her jewellery, sniffed at her scent, varnished his nails, read a book on birth control, took six aspirins, then lay down like Chatterton on the window seat, his hand drooping to the floor.
     When the housekeeper returned, he had half-opened his eyes.  'I am doing away with myself,' he had said.  'I have supped my full of horrors.'

Adorable as this behaviour is on a boy, Vesey is a bit of a Peter Pan in that he seems reluctant to grow up.  Parting ways, Harriet gets on with her life, marrying a reliable older man, having a child and running a household.  Events will bring Harriet and Vesey together every now and then over the years and with a simple 'hello', any other characters fall to the wayside.  I was that riveted by the bond between Harriet and Vesey.

Some of my favourite scenes in this book were funny ones but this is not a humourous story.  There is turmoil, responsibility, failure, expectation, denial and desire.  A roller coaster of emotion written by an author so talented that I was laughing on one page and deeply moved by something on the next.

The ending was subtle and yet rich, with just enough theatrics that I imagined heavy red velvet curtains swishing across the last page.  Without a doubt, there is more to be gleaned from this story upon a second reading.  A wonderful story, a brilliant author.