optimism in wartime
One book written during WWII, another just set during it -- and both are about (amongst other things) the relationships between parents and adult children.
Angela Thirkell, The Headmistress (1944): Oh, no, I completely forgot to review this! And I’ve read so many books since...
It revolves around the Belton family, who have rented out their large house to a girls’ school, and some of their closest neighbours.
It’s Thirkell, so it is amusing and observant about life during wartime, told with a gentleness that is very -- very -- occasionally broken by an unnecessary moment of prejudice. Those moments aside, I enjoyed reading this a lot. I thought it was particularly insightful when it came to a sixteen year old’s (somewhat confused and contrary) fantasies about a young man who rescued her --she imagines dramatic scenarios which will ensure he always remembers her, which isn’t necessarily more realistic than simply hoping he will fall in love with her, but is certainly less clichéd.
Something else which stood out was its portrayal of navigating the changing relationship between parents and their adult children. His parents, though they would have died rather than admit it to any outsider, to each other, or even to their secret selves, experienced a peculiar sinking of the heart, or rather of the spirits at this sound [of their younger son]. Not but that either of them would cheerfully have gone to the scaffold for Charles, or given him the best bed, all the butter ration and the most comfortable chair; but they knew from fatal experience that whatever they did would be just wrong. They also knew, though they had never come within miles of discussing the subject, that Charles really had much the same feelings himself; that he always came home full of the best intentions [...] that even as he entered the house all those sincere feelings were overlaid by a nervousness and irritation which caused him to be on the whole selfish, graceless, cross if questioned about himself and resentful if he wasn’t.
“In books girls marry their bosses,” said Elsa, “but all mine have hundred of wives and children. I’m concentrating on a career. If you get engaged the man only goes and gets killed or taken prisoner, and by the time the war’s over there won’t be a spare man left. So I’m going to be the perfect woman secretary and marry a Cabinet Minister as his second wife and be photographed looking quite hideous.
[...] Mr Oriel made the delightful discovery that the Hosiers’ Almoner, who was really the Company’s official Chaplain, had been caned by him for smoking in the Lower Dormitory at their public school some fifty-odd years previously, which led at once to one of those enthusiastic friendships between people who are not likely to meet again and so can afford to let themselves go.
At this point a curious ritual took place which was repeated in every working party in Harefield, and for aught we know in the whole country. The majority of the ladies drew from their reticules bottles of varying sizes and shapes, from a large bottle of pleasing blue formerly the home of fluid magnesia (Mrs Hoare) to a smaller bottle whose stout and well-fitting cork proclaimed it unmistakably as the former abode of Eno’s Fruit Salts (Mrs Belton). In these bottles the wise virgins -- or in other words the patriotic and thoughtful members of the party -- brought their portions of milk, for not only was milk officially rationed, but owning to a dry summer the local dairies had been obliged to cut down supplies especially to houses where there were no young children. These ladies having produced their bottles and set them up on the table, a piece of furniture now conveniently to hand, the improvident members of the party then exclaimed, with apparent, and often with genuine surprise, that there now, they had forgotten their milk again, and would drink their tea without, just to remind themselves.
Jennifer Ryan, The Spies of Shilling Lane: Given my mixed feelings about The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir, I likely wouldn’t have bothered to read Ryan’s next book if I hadn’t checked the library’s website at the right time and seen the audiobook, available, under “new additions”. I’m so glad I did -- it was unexpectedly entertaining, a cosy mystery full of excitement, danger and character growth, set against the backdrop of the London Blitz.
Mrs Braithwaite, divorced and deposed from her position as head of the village Women’s Voluntary Service, travels to London to visit her daughter. However when she realises Betty is missing, Mrs Braithwaite drags her daughter’s mild-mannered landlord off on a quest to find her.
Mrs Braithwaite is a very forceful personality. I really liked that she is not only challenged to reevaluate some of her attitudes and to be more considerate of others, she also discovers that qualities like bossiness and tenacity can be great strengths. I’ve read plenty of books starring headstrong young women, but middle-aged women who are large, loud and assertive have so often been relegated to irritating or comedic minor characters -- rather than getting to be protagonists, capable of change whose flaws, strengths, motivations and experiences are written about with nuance and sympathy.
Mrs Braithwaite has things to learn, but others also learn to appreciate her. She and her daughter, in particular, develop a better understanding of each other.
I’d call this book humorous and optimistic rather than “lighthearted”. Characters are confronted with the realities of life during wartime and there are dramatic turns of events -- but bleak consequences are generally averted. This is less serious than many books set during WWII, but equally, much more serious than others. (I mean, read Angela Thirkell!). It’s a balance that I thought suited Mrs Braithwaite and her personal story.
I don’t have the book at hand to find any quotable passages, alas. (I’m sure there were some.)
Originally @ Dreamwidth.
Angela Thirkell, The Headmistress (1944): Oh, no, I completely forgot to review this! And I’ve read so many books since...
It revolves around the Belton family, who have rented out their large house to a girls’ school, and some of their closest neighbours.
It’s Thirkell, so it is amusing and observant about life during wartime, told with a gentleness that is very -- very -- occasionally broken by an unnecessary moment of prejudice. Those moments aside, I enjoyed reading this a lot. I thought it was particularly insightful when it came to a sixteen year old’s (somewhat confused and contrary) fantasies about a young man who rescued her --she imagines dramatic scenarios which will ensure he always remembers her, which isn’t necessarily more realistic than simply hoping he will fall in love with her, but is certainly less clichéd.
Something else which stood out was its portrayal of navigating the changing relationship between parents and their adult children. His parents, though they would have died rather than admit it to any outsider, to each other, or even to their secret selves, experienced a peculiar sinking of the heart, or rather of the spirits at this sound [of their younger son]. Not but that either of them would cheerfully have gone to the scaffold for Charles, or given him the best bed, all the butter ration and the most comfortable chair; but they knew from fatal experience that whatever they did would be just wrong. They also knew, though they had never come within miles of discussing the subject, that Charles really had much the same feelings himself; that he always came home full of the best intentions [...] that even as he entered the house all those sincere feelings were overlaid by a nervousness and irritation which caused him to be on the whole selfish, graceless, cross if questioned about himself and resentful if he wasn’t.
“In books girls marry their bosses,” said Elsa, “but all mine have hundred of wives and children. I’m concentrating on a career. If you get engaged the man only goes and gets killed or taken prisoner, and by the time the war’s over there won’t be a spare man left. So I’m going to be the perfect woman secretary and marry a Cabinet Minister as his second wife and be photographed looking quite hideous.
[...] Mr Oriel made the delightful discovery that the Hosiers’ Almoner, who was really the Company’s official Chaplain, had been caned by him for smoking in the Lower Dormitory at their public school some fifty-odd years previously, which led at once to one of those enthusiastic friendships between people who are not likely to meet again and so can afford to let themselves go.
At this point a curious ritual took place which was repeated in every working party in Harefield, and for aught we know in the whole country. The majority of the ladies drew from their reticules bottles of varying sizes and shapes, from a large bottle of pleasing blue formerly the home of fluid magnesia (Mrs Hoare) to a smaller bottle whose stout and well-fitting cork proclaimed it unmistakably as the former abode of Eno’s Fruit Salts (Mrs Belton). In these bottles the wise virgins -- or in other words the patriotic and thoughtful members of the party -- brought their portions of milk, for not only was milk officially rationed, but owning to a dry summer the local dairies had been obliged to cut down supplies especially to houses where there were no young children. These ladies having produced their bottles and set them up on the table, a piece of furniture now conveniently to hand, the improvident members of the party then exclaimed, with apparent, and often with genuine surprise, that there now, they had forgotten their milk again, and would drink their tea without, just to remind themselves.
Jennifer Ryan, The Spies of Shilling Lane: Given my mixed feelings about The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir, I likely wouldn’t have bothered to read Ryan’s next book if I hadn’t checked the library’s website at the right time and seen the audiobook, available, under “new additions”. I’m so glad I did -- it was unexpectedly entertaining, a cosy mystery full of excitement, danger and character growth, set against the backdrop of the London Blitz.
Mrs Braithwaite, divorced and deposed from her position as head of the village Women’s Voluntary Service, travels to London to visit her daughter. However when she realises Betty is missing, Mrs Braithwaite drags her daughter’s mild-mannered landlord off on a quest to find her.
Mrs Braithwaite is a very forceful personality. I really liked that she is not only challenged to reevaluate some of her attitudes and to be more considerate of others, she also discovers that qualities like bossiness and tenacity can be great strengths. I’ve read plenty of books starring headstrong young women, but middle-aged women who are large, loud and assertive have so often been relegated to irritating or comedic minor characters -- rather than getting to be protagonists, capable of change whose flaws, strengths, motivations and experiences are written about with nuance and sympathy.
Mrs Braithwaite has things to learn, but others also learn to appreciate her. She and her daughter, in particular, develop a better understanding of each other.
I’d call this book humorous and optimistic rather than “lighthearted”. Characters are confronted with the realities of life during wartime and there are dramatic turns of events -- but bleak consequences are generally averted. This is less serious than many books set during WWII, but equally, much more serious than others. (I mean, read Angela Thirkell!). It’s a balance that I thought suited Mrs Braithwaite and her personal story.
I don’t have the book at hand to find any quotable passages, alas. (I’m sure there were some.)
Originally @ Dreamwidth.