Spring Adventure by Molly Clavering

Spring is an enchanting season almost everywhere, whether its approach is hesitant, primrose by primrose, under a grey northern sky, or it comes overnight in a mad tropical rush of growth. She had left Upton St. Clare beaten upon by chill sleety rain which was battering the early fruit-blossom and stripping the trees of their tender leaves. Here in Touraine spring was reigning triumphant. The warm air had already brought a wealth of gay green to wood and meadow, and covered the gnarled black stems of the grapevines with pale leaf-buds.

Spring Adventure, Molly Clavering’s fourteenth and final novel was published in 1962 by Robert Hale Limited. She also wrote a non-fiction book, From the Border Hills, and twenty-four pocket novels that were originally published in serial form in The People’s Friend magazine between 1952 and 1976. There is a lot more information about Molly Clavering to be found on Scott’s blog, Furrowed Middlebrow. Dean Street Press have republished eight of her books, including Yoked with a Lamb which I loved. And thank goodness for that, because if it was not for Scott and DSP, I would likely never have found this author that I have come to love. The books that have not been republished are extremely rare. If you are in the UK, I think the National Library of Scotland would be a good resource to look into.

I was over the moon to get my hands on a copy of Spring Adventure, because, as I said it is extremely rare and because I love Molly Clavering’s writing. Since most writers hone their craft over time, I thought this one might even be her best book. Let’s see if this one lived up to my high expectations. 

Twenty year old Joanna Clay lives in the tiny—“hardly more than a village”—town of Upton St. Clare. At the outset, Joanna is waiting outside of her house for the post to arrive. When it does, she swipes a letter addressed to her, and goes down a quiet lane to enjoy her letter in private. The letter is from Kenneth, the man she has been seeing, but instead of an affirmation of his love, he is breaking it off with her. She has barely had time to process the letter when she runs into Mr. Trevithick who is out walking his wife’s fox-terriers, Bijou and Toutou. This exchange between Joanna and Mr. Trevithick is pure Molly Clavering. It’s funny and perhaps all the more ridiculous because of the contrast between the well-meaning Mr. Trevithick and Joanna’s very real pain. We also find out she christened him Mr. Terrific, very inappropriately, and we find out that this re-naming of people is something she has done with a number of people throughout her life. This provides us with some insight into Joanna’s character early on. She is not normally crying over men—this is the first time—usually she is loving, light hearted, and looking to have fun. 

Back at home, she finds her mother in a state. A letter has arrived from Joanna’s father’s cousin, Nigella Dinwoody. The woman is expected to arrive in time for tea that very afternoon and stay the night.

Miss Nigella Joanna Dinwoody was as imposing as her name. Tall and stately, she towered above Mrs. Clay’s short plumpness in a manner which justified the latter’s complaint that it was like talking to a cathedral to converse with Cousin Nigella. Cathedrals are sometimes breathtakingly beautiful, which Miss Dinwoody was not; sometimes they are majestic, sometimes overpowering, but almost always they are worth looking at, and this Miss Dinwoody certainly was. (15)

Dressed head-to-toe in grey with a “tall and stately” personage, and “long Gothic face”, Joanna describes her cousin as looking like a cathedral. And as odd as it sounds, it was a description that worked for me. I was able to picture Miss Dinwoody better than any other character in this book, including our heroine, Joanna. Whether it is the breakup that left Joanna with more of a devil-may-care attitude, or the blunt honestly of Miss Dinwoody, in this first scene with the two of them we begin to see the strong woman that Joanna is capable of being. She has just turned twenty, but is not employed and still lives at home with a mother who babies her. Miss Dinwoody is planning a research trip to France for the new children’s book she is working on and invites Joanna to come with her as a sort of companion/research assistant. Joanna is shocked, as Miss Dinwoody is a relation that they are not close to and have not visited with much. It seems like Joanna might even turn down the offer.

Then the phone rings. It’s Joanna’s friend Rosamund Wye calling with big news. She’s engaged to none other than Kenneth Quarrinder. The same Kenneth who has just broken up with Joanna by letter. Needless to say, the first thing Joanna does when she extracts herself from that truly nightmarish phone call is to accept Miss Dinwoody's offer to accompany her to France.

As much as this progression makes sense for the plot, my heart fell when I realised this book was going to shift settings. The time Joanna spends out and about in the small town of Upton St. Clare held such promise for colourful characters in a close-knit community where everyone knows everyone else’s business and there are plenty of opportunities for humorous situations. It’s a setting in which Molly Clavering is at her best, and I was a little worried about what taking this show on the road was going to mean for the story. 

Clavering does a great job of describing the French countryside, and we see the effect the change in environment makes on Joanna. But there is quite a small cast of characters in the remainder of the book, really just Joanna, Miss Dinwoody, and three young men. Joanna meets the first man, Richard Severn, crossing the channel, and takes an instant dislike to him because he has caught her crying and acts overly familiar with her. The second man, Gervase Deveron who goes by Tim, she literally runs into while looking for the bathroom at the hotel in Tours. Tim is closer to Joanna’s age and she immediately feels at ease with him, treating him like a younger brother. Richard and Tim turn out to be stepbrothers, though they are not traveling together. Richard, who is a Navy Commander, is on a course arranged by his work to improve his French. While Tim has been traveling around France with a friend named Tony, who is our third man. Of course, the brothers both fall for Joanna.

Besides the concierge at the hotel, a shifty character in an antique shop, and some baddies we meet in the last third of the book, that is all we get of local colour in this one. Unfortunately, we don’t find out much about any of these characters outside of Joanna’s observations of them. All of the main characters are British, and if it was not for the fact that the group had to run into some trouble in a foreign country, because all the baddies in this book are French, the group could have just stayed at home. It is not like there is a shortage of castles and stunning landscape that could have been explored in Scotland. But you know, I think I could have overlooked the disappointing use of setting if it was not for the frightful left turn this book takes two thirds of the way through. But more on that later.

Clavering does as beautiful a job of describing the French countryside as I hoped she would. At one point, Joanna goes on a bus trip on her own to Château d’Azay-le-Rideau, outside of Tours, and Clavering lavishly paints the scenes that go wizzing by the bus window. But it is Joanna’s impression of the landscape that I want to share.

And why was this so different from its English counterpart? It was made up of the same component parts: rivers, fields and woodland, farm and village and church, yet one would never for a moment imagine oneself to be in Kent or Hampshire. Perhaps it was that the light was different, lacking the soft brightness induced by a damper climate? Joanna thought this over for a mile or so, but came to no definite conclusion and turned her whole attention to enjoying the passing pageant. (78)

This passage struck me, because I had a similar thought when I was on a train bulleting its way through the French countryside. It may not look so different from home, but you could never mistake one for the other. In classic Clavering fashion, there are beautiful descriptions of the parkland around the château, but what I am particularly interested in is how setting affects her characters. 

And yet, nothing she had seen could compare with Azay-le-Rideau. Her preference had not anything to do with sense or reason. She was quite ready to admit that Chenonceau, for instance, was more beautiful, but Chenonceau had made its appeal to her eyes; Azay-le-Rideau, the Lovely Place, appealed to her heart. It might have been partly because it was a happy place; the great events of history, so often tragic, had passed it by. Whatever the cause, she had fallen under its mild and gracious spell immediately she had walked in at the gates, and a part of herself would always belong to it. Could one fall in love with a place? For that was what her feeling for Azay was like, as unreasoning and as irresistible. (84)

It is here that she realises that “Kenneth would not fit into the Lovely Place” as she has christened the Château d’Azay-le-Rideau. As she cannot find fault with the place, then the fault must lie with Kenneth. This is how she realises she does not love him anymore. Joanna is pictured on the dust wrapper gazing at the Château d’Azay-le-Rideau. The château and grounds are open to the pubic, and from the photos on their website, it is no wonder Joanna found this an inspiring place.

I’m sharing the blurb from the first page of this book, which is word for word the same as the blurb found on the inside of the front flap of the dust wrapper minus the first word, which in that case is simply, “Spring”. The blurb basically tells you everything that happens in this book right up to the conclusion, minus specifics.

Springtime, in Touraine, ‘the garden of France’: with blue skies, flowering water meadows, the wide Loire flowing by below the historic châteaux ... everything is so different from her Cotswold home that Joanna, suffering from the shock and humiliation of being jilted in favour of her friend Rosamond, finds her wilting self-confidence gradually restored, though she is determined to have nothing more to do with men.

Her elderly cousin Nigella, writer of children's books, who has brought Joanna to France, thinks otherwise but says nothing. Young men ‘bob up’ as Joanna feels, quite unnecessarily, and Cousin Nigella encourages them because she finds them useful. When her interest in history leads Cousin Nigella into strange places, the young men prove very useful indeed; and in the end one of them provides a fitting climax to Joanna's Spring Adventure.

A bit like old movie trailers, which—while enjoyable in their way—make even the best classics sound fairly awful, blurbs on vintage books have a way of making even the best books sound trite. I actually think this blurb does a goodish job of summarising the book. It even hints at something that I didn’t pick up on until after I finished the book and that is the change in tone that I mentioned. The first two thirds of this book are more in the vein of Rosamunde Pilcher’s earlier books than in the Molly Clavering style I am familiar with, that is the writing Clavering was doing between 1936 and 1956. But on page 128 it takes a sharp left turn and becomes a Mary Stewart romantic suspense complete with a kidnapping and a hare-brained scheme the four young adults cook up to go it alone without the help of the police. Then it was an Enid Blyton, with a picnic feast almost immediately after their near death drama. I honestly thought the elderly cousin, Nigella, was not asleep, but dead in the backseat of the car at this point. I was waiting for them to discover the fact in the middle of their scoffing of sandwiches. The final scene was the part that was the most like the conclusion of some of the other Molly Clavering books I have read, which is not terrifically unlike a Rosamunde Pilcher, now that I come to think of it. 

This book was not at all what I was expecting. But you know what I was expecting? More of the same Molly Clavering that I was already familiar with, which, let’s be honest is a bit dim of me. Writers are meant to change and grow their craft over time. If you are lucky as a reader you will grow with them, but sometimes your paths diverge and that’s all right too. This book was not a parting of the ways between Molly Clavering and me. I did have a lot of fun reading it. I will admit that is in part due to the novelty of reading a rare title by a beloved author. But it is also because I will always love Molly Clavering. It does not matter how many eligible bachelors and unlikely occurrences she throws in my way, she will always be a writer of breathtaking landscapes, women who love the outdoors, and hilarious situations, to me. As a whole, this book felt a bit all over the place. It did have bits that were wonderful, but I think Molly Clavering filled the hole in the story that was left by not setting this book in a community with a large cast of characters, by tacking on a high stakes adventure at the end.

As this is not a particularly glowing review, and this book is also a hard one to find, I thought I would end by sharing the Molly Clavering novels that I loved and are readily available. Yoked with a Lamb is full of funny moments and clever dialogue. This one also deals with infidelity in a marriage in a way that I think shows Clavering’s ability to write about topics of more depth with skill. Dear Hugo is one I adored. The epistolary novel is not one that always works for me, but it is done so well in this book. This one does not follow an expected trajectory either, with the main character Sara leading a busy and fulfilling life without a romantic partner. I have greatly enjoyed Susan Settles Down and the sequel, Touch Not the Nettle, too. But I suspect you cannot go wrong with any of the Molly Clavering titles Dean Street Press have republished.  

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Two-Way Murder by E.C.R. Lorac

It was not until I had finished E.C.R. Lorac’s Two-Way Murder and was reading Martin Edwards’ introduction that I learned this was a previously unpublished book. I am putting that at the start of this post because if you are a fan of Edith Caroline Rivett’s writing and had reservations about this one being not as good as her others due to it being published posthumously, fear not! I enjoyed this one perhaps even more than Murder in Vienna, and I did love that one. (You can read my review of that one here.)

On a foggy night in January, just about everyone across the countryside near Fordings is heading to the Prince’s Hall for the annual Hollydown Hunt Ball. Commander Nicholas Brent has offered a ride to Ian Macbane, who is in the area visiting his aunt and uncle. As they pass Hollydown Manor, which was recently sold, the subject of the daughter of the house comes up. Rosemary Reeve disappeared on the evening of last year’s ball and she has not been seen or heard from since. The subject quickly shifts to lighter subjects, including the young women likely to be in attendance. It becomes clear that most of the young men in the area are interested in the young and beautiful Dilys Maine.

Lucky for them, Dilys manages to put in an appearance at the ball. Although she had to sneak out of her father’s house to be there, and must get home before Alice, the family’s loyal and well-meaning servant, gets home. Alice wouldn’t mind her having a bit of fun, but Dilys thoughtfully does not want to put Alice in the position of having to lie to her overbearing and hard to mange employer. Thankfully, Nick Brent has obligingly offered to get her back in good time, and they leave the ball around midnight, setting out on the low road where the fog is not as bad. But the best laid plans do have a way of going wrong, and when Nick and Dilys come upon a corpse that is quite literally blocking the narrow road, things start to go very wrong indeed.

Quick thinker that he is, Nick suggests Dilys head home on foot, while he walks to the nearest house to call the police. Michael Reeve’s place is the closest, but upon arrival Nick realises that Michael must still be at the ball. He gains entry through a kitchen window, and calls the police to report the body. But just as he is hanging up the phone, he hears someone inside the house. He drops his torch in surprise, and just after Nick announces himself, he is set upon. After a violent struggle, his attacker leaves him knocked out and buried under a fallen bookcase.

Sometime before one o’clock, Ian Macbane gets a ride home with Tom Hudson. They too end up taking the lower road because of the fog and come upon Nick’s empty vehicle. They see the body in the road and ascertain the person is dead, when the police arrive. 

Meanwhile, Dilys who has cut across the fields at a run with her dress bundled in her arms, has arrived home safe and sound. She is just getting ready for bed when the phone rings. It’s Alice saying she won’t be able to make it back tonight as another accident is blocking her route. While Dilys is on the phone her father, Mr. Maine, arrives home unexpectedly—he was supposed to be away for the night—looking “not only tired” but “gaunt and strained and dirty” with “a stain down one side of his face” and collar “crumpled and awry” (37). He is angry that Alice isn’t there with Dilys, and he says something about how Alice should have called earlier. Mr. Maine tells her to go to bed as it’s almost midnight. But Dilys knows it must be almost half past one at this point. She also knows her father wears a watch and is always aware of the time. Why would he want her to think he had arrived home earlier than he did? 

Speaking of the Maines, I love their servant, Alice. She is smart, methodical, speaks her mind, and looks out for Dilys as a mother or older sister would. She is certainly more effective in influencing Dilys than her father. A day or two after the incident, Nick calls up Dilys and asks if she would like a cocker spaniel from his dog’s litter, even offering to pick her up, and save her a cold walk over the downs. Dilys tells Alice about the phone call and Alice’s reply is classic her. 

“Has he indeed? Those pups are worth a lot of money—no end of prizes that bitch of his has won. They say he knows more about dogs than any of the vets do.” She looked at Dilys with her shrewd blue eyes. “All the same, maybe it’d be better not to go traipsing over there just yet. If he’s promised you a pup, he’ll keep it for you, all right. Wait a week or so, until there’s not so much backchat being handed round.” (115)

Alice suggests Dilys wait a bit to get the dog, cites the reason behind her thinking, but allows Dilys to come to her own decision. Seeing the logic behind Alice’s thinking, Dilys agrees with her. Alice is a smart woman, smarter than she lets on. This isn’t the only moment that she says a partial truth for a desired result where the full truth might have the opposite effect. 

Inspector Waring from the County C.I.D. is tasked with investigating the case. I believe Waring’s Divisional Detective Inspector, Thorn, comparison of Waring with the other officer investigating the case could equally apply to Alice.

Turner, routine-minded, concrete, his feet firmly on the ground, his method based on the ascertainable details of police evidence—times, places, prints, and all the rest of it: the methods which, admittedly, had been the foundation of police work since the force was inaugurated. And Waring— imaginative, aware, sensitive: able, by some odd quirk of his lively mind, to obtain confidences and acquire impressions which were beyond Turner’s scope. Thorn had to admit, from past experience, that Waring had a lively and unexpectedly sound judgement over people of whom his observation had been of the slightest: when Waring had said, “Seems to me there’s a connection somehow; so-and-so was being cagey…” it had often proved that there was a connection, and later in the case Waring had produced some unexpected observation which showed that his logical powers had not been in abeyance while he soaked in awareness of human nature.

“Makes you wonder what is the basis of detection, after all,” pondered Thorn. “Timetables or human nature? After all, criminals are human and maybe young Waring’s getting back to basic detection. They ought to make a good pair, Turner with his conscientious routine, Waring with his awareness of humanity.” (112-13)

And the two do make a good team. Waring reminded me a bit of the detectives in Anthony Berkeley’s Not to be Taken. Lorac does not turn her detective into a figure of fun, but Waring does seem to have a way of making people feel comfortable. Like Alice, Waring has the talent for knowing how to get the result he wants from people. But unlike Alice, Waring is a detective and most people do not offer up information to him, whereas people actively seek Alice out to share a gossip. 

I had such a great time with this one. Getting to read Martin Edwards’ introduction afterwards was an added treat.

The writing is crisp, despite the fact that editing must have been minimal. The author’s name on the cover sheet is “Mary Le Bourne”—evidently a pun on “Marylebone”—and the police detectives in the story are not the investigators familiar from the Lorac and Carnac series. The setting on the south coast of England is also something of a departure from the backgrounds to most of her post-war novels. Was she trying to write a different type of detective story? Might she have had in mind a distinct series featuring Waring, the likeable police officer who solves the puzzle? The answer to both questions may well be yes. (vii)

The British Library did not have a copy of the manuscript of Two-Way Murder because it had not been published. If it was not for the typescript copy supplied by James M. Pickard, this novel could very well be undiscovered still. 

I highly recommend this one to fans of classic crime with a rural setting. It would make a perfect winter read. Though, I must admit, it’s one I would welcome rereading at any time of year.

(I just wanted to note that I have linked to the UK edition of Two-Way Murder, which is published by British Library Publishing, not the American edition by Poisoned Pen Press, which is the one that I borrowed from my library and is pictured in these photos. The editions are slightly different sizes and the covers have different textures, but the contents are the same.)

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

Murder in the Basement by Anthony Berkeley

Anthony Berkeley’s 1932 novel, Murder in the Basement, starts with every homeowner’s worst nightmare. A newlywed couple discovers a corpse buried in the basement of their new home. With little to go on, the police must identify the body of a young woman, who died from a gunshot wound, and has been underground for about six months. As each clue is investigated, they lead to one dead end after another, and it becomes increasingly apparent that this is going to be a near impossible case to solve. 

I won’t go into what clues leave the police empty-handed, because I think the early work on the investigation makes for very interesting, and exciting reading. Chief Inspector Moresby, the detective in charge of the investigation, refuses to lose heart. There is no lead too insignificant for him to investigate. But finally he gets the break he needs and through that clue he whittles the number of women who could be the victim from an unlimited number, to 641, then to 422. He has the help of local detectives across the country in following up on each woman on his list to make sure they are either still alive and well, or have died by natural causes. Still, the search takes months. The body was found in January, and it isn’t until June that Moresby has one name remaining on the list, last known whereabouts a boarding school for boys in Allingford called Roland House.

This is when he approaches, Roger Sheringham, a writer and amateur sleuth who has assisted Scotland Yard in cases in the past. Roger recently took the place of a master at Roland House who was ill. This seemed to me to be one of the least likely coincidences in the book. I have to remind myself at times that I am reading a novel, and if I’m hoping to find realistic scenarios in police work perhaps I should be reading the news instead. Roger admits the fill-in work for his friend was not entirely altruistic.

“The truth was that I’d been contemplating a novel with the setting on an English preparatory school and wanted to collect a little local colour, but that’s between ourselves.” (50)

Well, he has written a manuscript—that is, he wrote a few chapters before putting it aside when he got bored of it. Desperate for any information on the case, Moresby reads the unfinished manuscript. Murder in the Basement is divided into three parts and the manuscript takes up the whole of the second part. One quibble with this is that the chapters of the book continue through the second part where they have no business being, as this section is solely Roger’s manuscript without any sort of framing device. I found it confusing when I started the manuscript, and the chapters did not seem to fulfill any purpose, especially because the manuscript itself is also broken up into sections that I assume are meant to be the chapters that its author, Roger, has put in. Anyway, the manuscript is gripping, but it does go on for 60 pages. I suspect that readers either like the book within a book construct, or they do not. When they are done well and serve a purpose, other than providing the author with a means of impressing the reader with their ability to write like someone else, then I love them. The manuscript is essential to this book and one aspect that simplifies the manuscript for the reader is that the character names Roger used were swapped for the real names of the actual people at the school which the characters are based on. There is a funny moment when Moresby questions Roger about basing his characters on real people. 

“You mean, you used the real people there for your book?”

“Well, of course. One always does that, in spite of the law of libel and the funny little notices some people put in the front of their books to say that all the characters in this story are imaginary. Imaginary my hat! Nobody could imagine a character and make it live. No, all the characters in my manuscript are transcribed as literally and as truthfully as I could manage it from Roland House, and if I give you a key to the changed names you’ll know as much about the staff there as if you’d stayed among them for a fortnight. How’s that!”

“That seems the very thing, Mr. Sheringham. That ought to help me quite a lot.” (52)

There were a couple of things that did not work for me in this one. For one, the newlywed couple whose house the body is found in we never hear from again. The husband discovers the body in the basement, they call the police, after being interviewed, the police suggest they stay with friends or relatives. The couple are escorted by the police to that relative’s home, and we are lead to understand the police keep a man on them, just in case. Though, really we are meant to dismiss them as suspects and forget all about them, as we do, unless you are me and the part that attracted you to this book was the newlywed couple and seeing how they hold up under a murder investigation. The other thing I would have liked is the opportunity to see the conclusion play out. The book is already 250 pages, which is a fine length for a Golden Age mystery—or any mystery for that matter—but another chapter could have done it. I was more interested in Chief Inspector Moresby than in Roger Sheringham, and much to my disappointment, Moresby is left out of the final scenes. There is a quippy ending that I assume is meant to give us a chuckle, and I’m not a huge fan of that sort of thing unless it is really smart. And I’m sorry to say, I don’t believe this one was. The conclusion fell a bit flat for me. I would have liked a more certain resolution, and a more just conclusion. I did feel there was some victim blaming at the end, and as I read over 200 pages of believing this woman was worth having her murderer brought to justice, I was not about to change my mind as we got to know her better. Because every victim of violence deserves to have their attacker brought to justice, no matter how likeable they are. But then, I am probably reading too much into the ending and taking the whole thing a great deal too seriously. I tend to do that. 

So the ending was a bit of a let down for me, but I should add that the actual whodunit aspect was on point. I loved the academic setting, the book within a book structure, and I really liked Chief Inspector Moresby. I did not warm to the author, Roger Sheringham, but I’m not sure we are supposed to. Overall, it was a good read, and I liked the setting enough that I would read it again. But with something like 140 titles in the British Library Crime Classics collection and the fact that I only own about 25 of them, this one is not high on my wishlist. That said, I dream of one day completing my collection, because folks, I have a problem. 

(I just wanted to note that I have linked to the UK edition of Murder in the Basement, which is published by British Library Publishing, not the American edition by Poisoned Pen Press, which is the one that I borrowed from my library and is pictured in these photos. The editions are slightly different sizes and the covers have different textures, but the contents are the same.)

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

The Chianti Flask by Marie Belloc Lowndes

I absolutely loved The Chianti Flask by Marie Belloc Lowndes. This is one I borrowed from my local library, but by the end of the second chapter I had added it to my wishlist. And believe me, I would have bought it immediately if I had not already acquired quite a few books this month. This British Library Crime Classic, which was originally published in 1934, is a book that will keep you guessing, but I found there was also a certain inevitability that made it none the less both atmospheric and compelling.

Laura Dousland is on trial for murder. Accused of poisoning her husband, Fordish. It is assumed that the poison was in the wine Fordish had with his evening meal. The poison itself was thought to be something that a friend of Fordish, Dr. Mark Scrutton, had brought over to the house to help with a rodent issue. Fordish was careful to find out that the poison would painlessly kill rodents. But he also asked Dr. Scrutton if it would be effective on humans too, and the doctor confirmed that it would. 

The damning thing for Laura, and the reason Dr. Scrutton was called to testify for the prosecution, is that this conversation took place in Laura’s hearing. The couple’s servant insists that he put a flask of Chianti on Fordish’s supper tray, but the flask went missing the night Fordish died. That is, if it was ever there at all. The flask never did turn up. Everyone wants to solve what the press are calling, the Chianti Flask Mystery, but Laura would do anything to never hear it mentioned again.

This is not a courtroom drama. Laura is acquitted in the second chapter, but she does not seem as relieved as she should to be found not guilty. Laura is the kind of woman that everyone wants to look after. Men flock to her and women seem drawn to her too. Although, some do just seem to want the inside scoop about her trial and to discuss what she thinks happened to the missing Chianti flask. It isn’t surprising that she wants to get away from everyone she knows and leave the past behind. But at the same time, she is hesitant to cut ties as dramatically as her old employers suggest, by moving to one of the colonies. 

As the book goes on we see that Laura’s relationship with her friends, the Haywards, is complicated by the fact that she was governess to their daughters before marrying theHaywards’ friend, Fordish Dousland. Fordish was taken with Laura, but Laura declined his offer of marriage numerous times before finally accepting him. It was Mrs. Hayward who urged Laura to accept Fordish, because, as she pointed out to Laura, a single woman without family or money of her own may not get many offers. Mr. Hayward was less encouraging of the match. But Mrs. Hayward got her own way, as she generally does. After Laura is acquitted, Mrs. Hayward asks Laura to stay with them at Loverslea for a bit. While Laura does not seem eager to take up the invitation, she does it anyway. She certainly doesn’t want to stay in the house she shared with her husband.

Meanwhile there suddenly rose from the terrace below the half-moon window, sounds of laughing and talking, and to one of the two now in the King's Room, those sounds appeared oh! so strange and unreal. Laura Dousland had not heard people laughing and talking in that light, care-free fashion since she had stayed at Loverslea three years ago. It made her feel even more remote from ordinary human kind than she had felt that morning in her prison cell. (77)

It soon becomes apparent that Laura is not thriving in her new life. Dr. Scrutton sees her—at Mr. Hayward’s request, I might add—and suggests keep to her room for a few days, which is a blessing, because Mrs. Hayward has been expecting that Laura is just going to buck herself up and come down to join the guests that have been invited over for dinner. Honestly, this woman doesn’t have a clue. Laura was in prison that morning and Mrs. Hayward is worried that Laura is going to ruin her dinner party. If there was anyone in this book who I would have gladly seen get bumped off, it’s the controlling Mrs. Hayward. Our author is kinder to her than I.

Alice Hayward had not known she was being hideously cruel. Indeed she was, in actual fact, a truly kind woman. But she, Laura Dousland, in that unreasonable, as those who have been flayed alive are no doubt apt to be, felt that she would give years of the life she had long valued but lightly, never to see that kind woman again. (123)

I couldn’t agree more, Laura! But we do have Mrs. Hayward to thank for something. It is, in part, the mutual dislike of this woman that brings Dr. Scrutton and Laura together.

“You must stay on in bed till I give you leave to get up; and I hope you will see as few people as possible.”

He had come close up to her by now, and all at once a quick look of secret understanding flashed between them. Each was thinking, and each knew that the other was thinking, of Alice Hayward. (80)

He even offers to tell the Haywards that Laura has been forbidden to talk for the next three days. But Laura persuades him not to do that. She claims, “Mrs. Hayward has been wonderfully good to me” and being able to talk to them is “the only way I can prove how grateful I am to them” (80). Laura does have a point. These people have taken her into their home and tried to do right by her, but I found her constant willingness to be submissive to other people’s wishes, even to the detriment of herself, did start to annoy me.

Thank goodness, Dr. Scrutton—who we will refer to as Mark from now on, as he and Laura are soon on a first name basis—offers to lend her his cottage so she can have a proper rest. Mark proves himself to be a dependable doctor and friend to Laura, and continues to show up for her. You know he is going to fall in love with her too. I don’t think that spoils any of the plot, because you can see his feelings for her from early on. We should all be so lucky as to have a person like Mark in our corner.

The Chianti Flask starts in early summer, and ends in the early autumn. While it isn’t a particularly seasonal book, I did enjoy reading it this time of year when we are enjoying some warmer weather. As far as I am concerned, this one of the standouts in the British Library Crime Classics collection. I loved how this book was constructed with Laura’s acquittal at the beginning. It feels like it starts at the end, but it is really just the beginning for Laura. From the start, this book reminded me a lot of Frances Iles’ Before the Fact, not in content or premise, but in feeling. (You can read my review of Before the Fact here.) The Chianti Flask kept me wondering what the truth really was and if I was missing some vital clue that was yet to be revealed. The author creates this amazing tension with such a subtle and deft hand. I would love to read more by Marie Belloc Lowndes. I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed that the British Library republish a few more of her books before too long. 

(I just wanted to note that I have linked to the UK edition of The Chianti Flask, which is published by British Library Publishing, not the American edition by Poisoned Pen Press, which is the one that I borrowed from my library and is pictured in these photos. The editions are slightly different sizes and the covers have different textures, but the contents are the same.) 

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

Two and Two Make Twenty-Two by Gwen Bristow & Bruce Manning

I have been bingeing the Gwen Bristow and Bruce Manning books that Dean Street Press republished in 2021. Once I finished The Invisible Host, which I reviewed in my last post, I picked up their 1932 book, Two and Two Make Twenty-Two. This one captured my imagination from the start.

The wind whipped and snarled around Paradise Island, bending the palm trees like plumes and driving the whitecaps hissing across the beach. Off the west promontory the sun paused angrily above the tumbling sea, flooding the island with an ominous red light before which the shadows were black and sharp. (1)

On an island owned by a mysterious millionaire with a menacing storm kicking up is the best way to start a mystery, as far as I am concerned. The island is suspected to be connected with drug trafficking through the port of New Orleans. As part of the commission set up by federal authorities to stop the trafficking, Major Jack Raymond and Andrew Dillingham are sent to investigate. Andrew’s job is to trap a young woman into admitting she is connected to the trafficking. The problem is that Andrew does not believe Eva Shale has anything to do with the business. Although, his being in love with her might be clouding his judgement a bit. But things look bad for Eva when Linton Barclay, another member of the commission, is found murdered in his cabin and Eva is the only person found on the scene. Enter Daisy Dillingham, whose plane dramatically lands in the middle of the island’s golf course just before the storm closes them off from the mainland. 

“She must be a very popular young woman,” Mr. Foster suggested politely.

Imogen cocked up her green eyes and forgot the phraseology she had taken such pains to acquire since she stepped out of the chorus to wed an aging millionaire. “Listen,” she said. “Daisy Dillingham is two years older than Adam. She’s Andrew Dillingham’s grandmother. She’s the Who’s Who and What’s What of New Orleans and points South. And if she doesn’t like this swell island Mr. Allison had better sink it, because nobody who’s anybody will come here any more. That’s who she is.” (3)

I envisioned Daisy Dillingham alternately as May Whitty, Judi Dench, with a little Maggie Smith as Dowager Countess of Grantham thrown in, but with a Transatlantic accent, of course. Daisy is powerful, used to getting her own way, but also likeable with the ability to observe people and get a sense of whether they are telling the truth. She has the confidence one would expect of a person with her amount of privilege. At one point she says something like, ‘It will take a woman to solve this mystery’. And she isn’t wrong. The title comes from something Daisy says in connection to this. (Full disclosure: I am paraphrasing because I had to take this book back to the library before I finished writing this review.) She says that men are logical, with them two and two makes four, but sometimes two and two makes twenty-two. According to Daisy, it takes a woman to see this. I think this being just a tad unfair to all the men who are perfectly capable of creative thinking. In Daisy’s defence, none of these choice specimens are to be found among the male population of the island.

Daisy takes to Eva Shale from the start. Actually, I would have liked to see Daisy take a little more time in making up her mind about Eva, but I guess we are just supposed to believe that she is just that good at seeing through to the truth of people. When Eva is under suspicion for murder, Daisy is right there with her grandson, Andrew, ready, to not only defend Eva, but to prove the woman’s innocence.

I noted the reference to palm trees at the beginning of this one and thought it was supposed to be set on a distant tropical island, like Corfu or Cyprus. Then was startled when I realised it is set in America. Both authors are American, so I don’t know why I was caught off guard. Of course, when I realised my mistake I started seeing all of the details that should have tipped me off in the first place, and felt very silly indeed.

Like The Invisible Host, this book is a little over the top. It reminded me of an Old Hollywood film with a lot of big characters, dramatic scenes with the sets and costuming to match, and a conclusion that no one could have seen coming. I’ve read three of Bristow and Manning’s books now, and guns make an appearance in all of them. In general, I think these books would be best described as hardboiled crime meets manor house mystery. They are too over the top to be taken too seriously, but too gritty to be cosy. 

As much as I enjoyed reading The Invisible Host and comparing it to Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None, I had more fun with Two and Two Make Twenty-Two. I suspect the setting played a big part in this. Like The Invisible Host, this one is a closed-circle mystery and I particularly like the use of an island that is closed off from the mainland as a means of creating the isolation necessary for this construct. Not to keep harping And Then There Were None, which is of course set on an island that becomes cut off from the mainland, but it is a favourite of mine for a reason. Two and Two Make Twenty-Two is a book that I can see becoming a favourite reread for those times when I want to immerse myself in a romp of a mystery.

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

The Invisible Host by Gwen Bristow & Bruce Manning

I have mentioned before that my local library gives each patron the ability to request the library order five new books each month with the stipulation that the books must have been published within the last three years. I must admit, I would find the three-year perimeter restrictive if it was not for the wonderful selection of books getting republished, especially by independent publishers. One of my favourite of these is Dean Street Press. I first got into their books by way of their Furrowed Middlebrow imprint. The titles of which are chosen by Scott of the Furrowed Middlebrow blog. Many an hour have I lost through perusing his incredibly insightful posts. If you have not visited his blog, I urge you to head over there. But I warn you, your wishlist will grow exponentially, many titles of which will be anywhere from difficult to down right impossible to find. 

When Dean Street Press announced that they were republishing the first five books in Sara Woods’ Antony Maitland series it felt like the right time to start exploring their Crime Fiction titles. If you read any of my reviews of those books you will know that I absolutely love them. Sara Woods is now one of my favourite mystery writers and before DSP started republishing her books, I had never heard of her! So of course I’ve been systematically putting in requests at my library for everything DSP have published in both their Furrowed Middlebrow and Crime Fiction imprints, along with my usual requests of British Library Publishing's Women Writers and the Crime Classics series. Sometimes my requested books come in one book at a time. Then there are the times when 10 books come in at once and I have three weeks to read them in, because someone with equally refined taste in books as myself puts them all on hold, leaving me with the inability to do what I usually do, which is to renew them three times in succession thus enabling me to read at my leisure over 12 weeks. Basically that was the longest, and most round about way of explaining what I’ve been up to the past three weeks. I’ve been reading and working on reviews, because I had a lot of books that needed to be returned to the library sharpish. I’m happy to report that they are now all back at the library and I can breathe easy again without fear of the library coming after me. 

Apparently, my time offline has left me feeling particularly chatty. Let’s get into the first book on my list…

The Invisible Host was written by wife and husband team Gwen Bristow and Bruce Manning and was originally published in 1930. Earlier that year, before the book was even published, playwright Owen Davis adapted it for the stage. It was performed on Broadway under the title The Ninth Guest and four years later it was adapted for film under the same name. Bristow and Manning saw such success from this first novel that they moved from New Orleans to a Mississippi gulf coast mansion, giving up their day jobs as reporters. They wrote three more books together, The Gutenberg Murders (1931), Two and Two Make Twenty-Two (1932), and The Mardi Gras Murders (1932). Bristow went on to write period novels set in the Old South and Manning worked as a Hollywood screenwriter. There is more to their fascinating story, but I will let you read about it in Curtis Evans’ insightful introduction.

The first thing that jumped out at me about this cover wasn’t the blood-dripping skeleton climbing over the buildings, but the words “Was it the inspiration for Agatha Christie’s ‘And Then There Were None’?”. And Then There Were None is second only to Murder on the Orient Express in my list of favourite Agatha Christie novels. The only thing that puts Orient Express up front for me is that it contains both a snowstorm and it is set on a train. A book containing one or the other of these just about guarantees I’m going to love it, but include both, and as far as I’m concerned the author could call it in on all other aspects of novel writing and I’m not going to mind. Not too much, anyway. Rest assured, Christie does not do this. I also love None. The remote island setting, the guests who are strangers to each other, and the count down as one by one each guest is murdered is like a ticking clock on a bomb. (I want to be reading None every summer and Orient Express every winter. Why do I not have a personal copy of either of these books?!) But how does The Invisible Host, the book that may have inspired Christie’s wonderful book, stack up? And how does it differ?

Let’s tackle the second thing, first. Honestly, it differs in a lot of ways. Instead of having 10 people in a house on a privately owned island off the coast of Devon in England, it is eight guests invited to a party at a penthouse apartment in New Orleans. In both books the guests do not know who the host is, and they discover what is going to happen to them from a voice that is broadcast to them through a record on a phonograph in None, and through a radio in Host. 

It is easy to create an isolated atmosphere on an island. All you have to do is make sure the characters don’t have a way of getting off the island. But how do you keep eight people trapped in an apartment in the middle of a city? You wire the exits to electrocute anyone who leaves. And then ratchet up the tension with a short timeframe by killing one person off each hour.  

“The game, my friends, is not one of slaughter but of skill. You have been chosen with care, for only men and women of your exceptional intellectual agility would be worthy opponents. Until dawn, it is not money, power nor prestige, but wits; yours against mine. If I should win, it is my privilege to inform you that you will all be dead—before morning.” (42)

Much like None, each of the characters has a secret that, if it were to get out, would ruin them. But in the Christie book each character is responsible for the death of at least one person, whereas in Host the secrets vary. Each of the characters are—if not prominent members of society—ones that you might read about in various parts of the paper, a film star, an eminent college professor, an attorney, a politician, a wealthy businessman, an author, a society hostess, and a playboy or man-about-town type.

It is probably best that I don’t give too many specifics, as this is a fairly short novel. The DSP edition is 186 pages of quite large font with lots of dialogue. I whipped through this book and I think it would be best enjoyed in one or two sittings. Unlike in None where the cast of characters are all strangers to each other, the characters in Host know each other to varying degrees. I have to admit I had a bit of difficulty keeping track of the relationships even though I read the book over a short period. 

I do think you have to suspend your disbelief quite a bit with this book. The fact that the apartment is wired to electrocute anyone who tries to leave and the way the murders are carried out were farfetched. But I think if you enjoy Golden Age Crime you are probably going to be on board with this one. In contrast, I think None is carried out in a more believable way. But Christie had multiple days, an entire house, and an island to work with, while Bristow and Manning had a matter of hours and a penthouse apartment with a balcony. The smaller stage and time frame do limit the plotting, and the manner in which people are knocked off. I can see the dialogue and setting of this book adapting well to the stage. Playgoers come prepared to suspend their disbelief to an extent that readers may not be. 

This book feels very of its time, and I mean that as a compliment. I would have been able to guess that it was a book from the 20s or 30s without being told. The fact that Bristow and Manning were reporters no doubt exposed them to a wide range of people and their experience in capturing them for print is evident in this first book of theirs. 

What’s my final verdict? And Then There Were None is the better book, in my opinion. I would hazard a guess that most people would feel the same way after reading both books back to back, as I did. Christie’s book is more complex, more compelling, and more believable, which I think makes it more palatable for a modern readers unaccustomed to reading books from the 1930s. Despite this, I am happy I read The Invisible Host. I had a fun time with it and once I realised it was not going to be much like Christie’s book I was better able to enjoy it for what it was, rather than holding what it was not, against it. 

If there is anyone who has not read And Then There Were None and thinks they would like to read The Invisible Host as well, but isn’t sure which to start with, I don’t think it matters. The characters in Christie’s book are by no means composites of those found in Host, and the conclusions are not the same. The inner workings of these books are not the same and you won’t spoil the plot of one by reading the other first. That said, I might have enjoyed this book more if I hadn’t read Christie’s book first. There is a reason it is one of her most popular books. But having read Christie’s book first I did get the thrill of looking for whispers of it in Host, which is its own enjoyment and part of the reason why I reread None right after this one. 

I really appreciated Curtis Evans’ introduction to this book. He handles the topic of whether Christie was inspired by The Invisible Host or the screen adaptation, The Ninth Guest, head on, and yet delicately. As someone who strives to walk the line between my natural bluntness and my desire to be eloquently tactful, I was impressed.

In a recent Instagram post, Eugenie, as well as writing a superb and concise review of this book, also mentioned that this book does not contain any of the 1920s New Orleans atmosphere she was hoping to find. I quite agree. This book is set entirely in a penthouse apartment in downtown New Orleans, but I think we could have been told that apartment was in any other city in America and it would have made no difference to the rest of the book. 

I will add that distribution for the four Gwen Bristow and Bruce Manning paperback books Dean Street Press have republished does not include North America. However, the ebooks are available in Canada and America, or you can find a paperback through your favourite UK distributor. 

Now, I finally get to go listen to the second half of episode 136 of Tea or Books? where Simon and Rachel discuss The Invisible Host and And Then There Were None. Time to put the kettle on, claim the last piece of shortbread, and grab my knitting.

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

The Spring Begins by Katherine Dunning

First of all, I just want to thank everyone who visited Caro’s Bookcase last month. My views have continued to increase with each month since I started this blog a year and a half ago, which is very encouraging. But when I checked my stats on 4 May you could have knocked me over with a feather. On that single day this blog had 733 views! Which, to put it in context, is more I had in my first two months of blogging. And, yes. I do realise that my stats may sound little league to some, but as I am only competing with myself, I’m pretty thrilled. There are so many other ways that you could be spending your time, so I just want to say that I am very appreciative to all of you who carve out some of your valuable time and spend it here with me.

As I mentioned in my last post, I got completely swept away with Katherine Dunning’s 1934 novel, The Spring Begins. I meant to sit down and just read a couple of chapters, but Dunning’s writing made it necessary to keep reading. Her descriptions of setting are gorgeous. The women in this book are so well described, and you cannot help but feel for each of them. And I think Dunning does a fantastic job of capturing the tension, unease, and vulnerability of being a woman, especially—I assume—a woman in domestic service in the 1930s.

Despite the title, this book is set in the heat of summer. The spring referred to is a figurative one alluding to the awakening of three women. At least, that’s what I inferred from the title! Lottie is a young nurse maid who cares for the two Kellaway girls, and is painfully innocent and fearful of the world of men. Maggie, the Kellaways’ scullery maid, is more knowing of men, but perhaps not as experienced with them as Cook seems to think. The oldest of the three women, Hessie, is a spinster and governess to the two Benson girls at the rectory. When her younger sister gets engaged she faces a crisis. All of these women are domestic servants within two neighbouring homes. Despite their proximity to each other, these women rarely interact, and the narrative switches from one woman’s perspective to another throughout the book. 

This is the passage that told me that me I was going to get on well with this book.

On the way to the child's bed Lottie could see herself in the long mirror of the wardrobe as she went by. The glass gave her back a strange reflection, as if her white figure had sunk deep down into the mirror's dark silver, and when she paused to wave her arms up and down she looked really queer. Her nightgown floated mistily around her and, with her startled face, startled by her own appearance, she looked like a phantom figure that had blown in from the night itself, its flapping wings disturbing the pressing darkness. (5)

The image is a beautiful one, but I think it also points to Lottie’s innocence. She is not much more than a child looking after children with all of the fascination with her reflection in the dark that one would expect of her charges. But then we see an awareness of her body and a dismissal, or a covering over, of it at once.

If she just turned quickly on her toes like the children did when they were pretending to be fairies blown through the garden by the wind, her nightgown fled out away from her, leaving her body bare and light against the air. But it was not delicate or nice to think of herself as naked. It was all right from her head down to the top of her collar, and from her knees down to her toes she was flesh and blood again, but in between there was nothing at all—just a conveniently sized dummy's model on which to hang her blue gingham frock and white apron. (5)

That it is not “delicate or nice to think of herself as naked” points to the narrative about the female body she has internalised from Nurse, the woman she works under in the Kellaway home, and likely what she was taught at the orphanage where she grew up. The combination of Lottie’s innocence and Nurse’s worrying fascination with warning Lottie that all men are bad and not to be trusted, even ones that appear to be kind, makes Lottie fearful of coming into any contact with men. 

Lottie’s love of the children she cares for, especially for the younger girl, Isobel, was really sweet to read. At times Isobel clings to Lottie and seems to really respond to Lottie’s love. Although, I did worry at times that the elder girl, Anne, didn’t get the same outpouring of love from Lottie, or anyone else, and while there is not so much as a hint that this is the case, it did worry me that Anne just about fades into the background.

Maggie, the Kellaways’ scullery maid, seems to be more sure of herself than Lottie and Hessie. She may have the lowest position among the indoor servants in the Kellaway house, Cook may rag on her, and her attic bedroom may be the hottest room in the house, but she has a spirit that will not be tamped down.

Maggie leant farther out of the window. Gazing down at the garden and sea and up at the sky she felt as if she owned them all by virtue of the fact that she alone was looking at them. Her arms were damp with dew. Nothing stirred anywhere. No sound came from the sea, or from the birds either. Maggie ran her hands up through her hair. It was dark and shiny and waved naturally, thank God. She felt the back of her strong round neck. Yes, but for her hands and feet she was a girl well worth looking at, and Cook could say what she liked. (63)

Maggie flirts with whom she likes, from the hired waiter to the head gardener, propriety be damned. Although I worried about her less than the other women, I still had a niggling feeling in the back of my mind that perhaps she was not as capable of looking after herself around men as she might think.

Hessie, the governess at the rectory, spends a lot of time playing out scenarios in her head. At one point I had to go back and reread a section because I thought, “Wait. How would she have been privy to that conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Kellaway?” only to discover that Hessie was simply fantasising about what the couple might have said in a certain circumstance. Of all of the women in this book it took me the longest to warm up to Hessie. While holding the place of governess, she thinks of herself as a lady, and looks down on others. At times she is downright cruel, making herself come off poorly in the process. 

At the annual summer fête that the Kellaways host, she bullies a little boy, who does not know her, into joining in on “Here We Go Gathering Nuts in May”. She picks him up, despite him urging, “Let me go—let me go—”. So painfully awkward. All through the game she is fantasising about what game she will organise once this one is over. She imagines Mr. Saul, the curate, alongside, because of course she is doing all of this to get his attention and show she would make an ideal clergyman’s wife.

Panting a little, Hessie dropped the child, who glowered at her ungratefully and ran away. Now what should she suggest? A tug-o’-war? With her on one side and Mr. Saul on the other. That would be fine! His side would win, of course. A man was always gallant to a defeated woman. Besides, men were the stronger sex, they should domineer and win, and then be gentle towards the conquered. Strength and gentleness combined, and when it was over he would say, “That was a splendid game! Your little team fought gallantly but you need a rest now, Miss Price. Come—let me get you an ice.” Then side by side they would walk off, he glancing down at her, she up at him, admiringly, intimately. (132)

But it becomes increasingly apparent that Hessie lives in her imagination as a way to escape reality. The scene continues,

The game was ending now. Hessie ran forward and clapped her hands. But Mr. Saul was not there! He was threading his way through the outer fringe of children. The smile died from Hessie's lips. She put her hand to her head. (132)

As the book goes on I found myself empathising with Hessie more. I think she shows the most growth over the course of the summer, and she has the furthest to go to even recognise what is happening to her.

Supposing she screamed now. Just dropped the plates and opened her mouth and screamed. Hessie bit her under lip as she ran out into the kitchen. She laid the plates with a clatter onto the draining-board by the sink, and pressed her hands to her head. How could she live through Hilda's wedding, and afterwards, too? Evenings alone with Mother, while Hilda sat with her husband, and afterwards Hilda and Albert went, upstairs together. Hilda would be a wife, a married woman. Hilda would come back to see them, and she'd talk about ‘my husband’ and Mother and she would exchange meaning glances, leaving Hessie outside the fraternity of married women. (146)

From the start, Hessie is on the outside, standing apart in her keenness to be seen as a lady, or at least not expose herself as not being one. She is one of the surplus women left over from the First World War, and with each year it becomes increasingly unlikely that she will ever get married. I won’t spoil how her story progresses, but it is not the only aspect of this book that took me by surprise.

Well, if the length of this review is any indicator, I loved this book. It is not a plot-y book, but how the narrative alternates between these three women’s perspectives kept me glued to the page. I wouldn’t be surprised if this makes it on my top ten books of the year. There is usually at least one book from the British Library Women Writers series to be found there. I expect The Spring Begins will be on many other readers’ lists too.

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of The Spring Begins for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

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This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!