This is not a book I would have been likely to pick up just
on a whim, but it was recommended to me by a friend – it is a novel originally
written in the 1950s but republished in the 1980s by Virago and championed by
several notable writers. I will be honest and admit that I had never heard of
Elizabeth Jenkins and was sceptical that it would be the overlooked jewel that
it was claimed to be. I was doubtful
that I would enjoy it. But I did.
It is a domestic drama, on a small scale, nothing epic about
it. It doesn’t flash and burn. The style is impeccable and elegant and for that
reason unremarkable (except that impeccably and elegantly written books are
hard to find). The characters in the love triangle – for that is what it is
about – are none of them totally sympathetic, none of them totally
unforgivable. Not much happens, but it is minutely observed and riveting to
read.
And that was the interesting thing. Just recently I have not been reading much. I
have rather got out of the habit. Given the opportunity to read, I have often
chosen not to, preferring to do something else or to do nothing at all. I have
enjoyed many of the books that I have read, but it has taken me a while to
finish them and I found that I would have lost the thread each time I went
back. This is the first book in more than a year that I have actively wanted to
read and have become totally engaged with. I do not know whether this is
because of the book itself or because my mood has changed again. It will be
interesting to find out how I get on with the next book on the list.
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