Mary Shannon has gone away to brood while her husband is at war in WW II. During a storm she hears on the radio that her husband's ship has gone down; frantically, she tries to telephone to get news, but her line is down. During the long night, she remembers her life from about age 8, and it is part coming of age and part becoming her own person. This is the second novel by Monica Dickens, the great- granddaughter of Charles Dickens, and she said that it was semi-autobiographical.

Part of this book gripped me more than others. I did root for Mary, even if she was often self-centered; I think that is a natural part of most children's development, and if she didn't get out of it as early as many of us think she should have, just look around at how many self-centred teens and early twenties people there are today. 

As far as women authors went, Monica Dickens was only outsold at that time by Daphne du Maurier, however, her work hasn't remained as popular over time. I haven't read du Maurier for years, so can't give a good comparison as to why, but I do think it's a shame she's so little known now. I didn't love this book, although I suspect that when I was younger I'd have liked it more.

Monica Dickens, figlia di una facoltosa famiglia, pronipote del grande scrittore, per assaporare il gusto della vita vera, abbandona i privilegi e inizia a lavorare come domestica. Dall’avventura nasce un libro.

Quanto possono essere tristi certi parti, mi dico.

Assunta e licenziata – nel primo capitolo – dalla La signorina Cattermole.

Assunta e licenziata – nel secondo capitolo - dalla signora Robertson, e poi assunta dalla signorina Faulkene.

Nel terzo capitolo, licenziata dalla signorina Faulkene e assunta dal signor Parrish che se la tiene fino alla fine del quinto capitolo. Pover’uomo.

Nel mezzo, uova rotte, cadute, bruciate. Stoviglie e accessori vari malridotti.

Ci sarebbero altri dieci capitoli. Io mi fermo qui.

Cara Monica Dickens, sarà anche la pronipote del noto Charles. Ma che due palle!

Pensavo a una camomilla letteraria, qualcosa che mi accompagnasse sorridendo fra le braccia di Morfeo. E invece sono bastati cinque capitoli per scatenare il mio spirito omicida.

Il libro, da su, è andato giù. Definitivamente. Dalle scale. Insieme a Monica.

Amen.

Yawn.  Not really my kind of book.

My eternal desire for book buying has, once again, been satisified for the moment. I think it was the ‘3 books for £1’ which broke me… Anyway, here’s my somewhat eclectic haul this week:

• Dylan Thomas Collected Poems 1934-1952.
• Flowers on the Grass by Monica Dickens.
• The Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford. (the only one that strictly speaking I needed to buy…)
• The Painted Veil by W. Somerset Maugham.
• The Princess and the Politicians: Sex, Intrigue and Diplomacy in Regency England, by John Charmley. (a cheeky bit of history for good measure, and who can resist such a title?!)