Re-reading Mary Jane Ward's A Little Night Music (1951), it strikes me all over again how unutterably awful and clumsy the opening paragraphs are:

'"Your aunt's coming tomorrow," said Jeanette when she returned from the telephone. The woman described by society reporters as the beautiful and brilliant Mrs. Chapin, even though the city of Sawyer ( Read more... )

I've been re-reading The Snake Pit and Counterclockwise at work. (It's 'read', 'watch "Takeshi's Castle"', or 'try to make conversation with my co-workers'. Guess which feels the least like brain damage ( Read more... )

Have developed a sudden cold. Between that, the attendant masculine self-pity and the second-wind/hit-the-wall/third-wind/hit-the-wall seesaw of three days' bad sleep, I think I might actually be legally insane. Certainly the passers-by on the bridge had an apprehensive look to them. (I'm glad the official Sainsbury's staff are such snobs. ( Read more... )

The Professor's Umbrella's a bit of a pill. Which makes sense, because, barring The Snake Pit - bestseller - it's by far the most readily available novel in Mary Jane Ward's neglected back-catalogue (you'd think The Women's Press would do a limited run; I'm pretty sure she's out of copyright now). The Other Caroline, luckily, is great fun with a ( Read more... )

'Aunt Fanny, sit down, please. Augusta, do not speak again without my permission; your warm support makes me doubtful of my own cause. Essex - Maryjane - Miss Ogilvie - if my lunacy takes the form of desiring to wear a crown, will you deny me? May I not look foolish in tolerant peace?'

- The Sundial by Shirley Jackson (1958 ( Read more... )