Photo credit: britishheritage.com

Four books.  I’ve been waiting four books for this: the first cataclysmic encounter between Emmeline “Lucia” Lucas, Queen of Riseholme, and Elizabeth Mapp, doyenne of Tilling.  E. F. Benson’s series is popularly known as “the Mapp and Lucia novels,” but the two principals don’t actually encounter one another until the fourth book in the series, Mapp and Lucia.  Well – not exactly.  In Mapp and Lucia we learn that our heroines (or villainesses, depending on your perspective) have met once before, when Miss Mapp visited Riseholme for a day and attended a social gathering at which Lucia was also a guest.  But that’s the extent of their contact prior to this book – although they will become much better acquainted soon.

When Mapp and Lucia opens, we find Lucia bereaved.  Peppino – dear Peppino! – Lucia’s indulgent husband, has passed away, leaving Lucia in mourning at The Hurst.  Lucia being Lucia, she does mourning in excess; one would expect nothing less.  But eventually the Riseholmites begin to worry, and Georgia Pillson, Lucia’s faithful deputy, is dispatched to bring her back to the life of the village.  He does so – only too well – by informing her that there is to be an Elizabethan fete and Lucia’s frenemy, Daisy Quantock, is to play Queen Elizabeth.  This will never do, but when Lucia is offered only a bit role in the festivities she decides it would be better to save face by clearing out altogether.  As luck would have it, she finds a perfect excuse – a house for rent in the nearby town of Tilling, listed by one Elizabeth Mapp.  And just as easy as the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata, Lucia has a change of scenery.

‘Well, Mapp, what luck?’ asked Irene.

Miss Mapp waited till Diva had shot in.

‘I think I shall tease you both,’ said she playfully with her widest smile.

‘Oh, hurry up,’ said Irene.  ‘I know perfectly well from your face that you’ve let it.  Otherwise it would be all screwed up.’

Miss Mapp, though there was no question about her being the social queen of Tilling, sometimes felt that there were ugly Bolshevistic symptoms in the air, when quaint Irene spoke to her like that.  And Irene had a dreadful gift of mimicry, which was a very low weapon, but formidable.  It was always wise to be polite to mimics.

‘Patience, a little patience, dear,’ said Miss Mapp soothingly.  ‘If you know I’ve let it, why wait?’

‘Because I should like a cocktail,’ said Irene.  ‘If you’ll just send for one, you can go on teasing.’

When Miss Mapp first receives Lucia’s inquiry, she considers it a coup.  Mapp is not vacating Tilling – just her house – according to an annual scheme by a handful of Tilling ladies to rent out their houses and move into one another’s homes for the summer, turning a tidy profit.  The success of the plan, year in and year out, depends on Miss Mapp, who has the largest house with the biggest rental income – Mallards.

Photo credit: gardenandtravelhub.com

(Side note: can’t you just see Lucia queening it in that garden?)  Mallards was not-so-secretly modeled after Lamb House, possibly the most literary house in the literary town of Rye.  It was E. F. Benson’s house, and before that, belonged to Edith Wharton’s on-again-off-again bestie, Henry James.  In a town that is lousy with literary landmarks, Lamb House (a.k.a. Mallards) is the perfect writer’s residence: as Benson so appealingly describes, in addition to its charming gardens it has a large window overlooking the street, at which the writer – or social coordinator – can sit and observe everything worth noting that happens in the town.  Indeed, there are many – many – conspiracies unwound and plots hatched while Miss Mapp and Queen Lucia, respectively, watch furtively out the window and spin their wheels.

Miss Mapp rents Mallards out and moves into Diva Plaistow’s house, who moves into Quaint Irene’s cottage, and so on and so forth.  When Lucia expresses an interest in Mallards, Mapp is delighted – not only can she take the newcomer for all she’s worth (jacking up the rent without telling her neighbors, in order to keep a bigger profit margin for herself), but she can use Lucia to bolster her own social credibility.  Mapp plans to take Lucia under her wing and be responsible for introducing the most fascinating new temporary resident Tilling has hosted in recent memory.  And of course, with Lucia looking to Mapp for direction on the Tilling social scene, Mapp will be the undisputed queen of the landscape.

There’s just one problem: Miss Mapp has not reckoned on… Lucia.

She turned her thoughts toward Elizabeth Mapp.  During those ten days before Lucia had gone to Riseholme for the fete, she had popped in every single day; it was quite obvious that Elizabeth was keeping her eye on her.  She always had some glib excuse: she wanted a hot-water bottle, or a thimble or a screwdriver that she had forgotten to take away, and declining all assistance would go to look for them herself, feeling sure that she could put her hand on the item instantly without troubling anybody.  She would go into the kitchen wreathed in smiles and pleasant observations for Lucia’s cook, she would pop into the servants’ hall and say something agreeable to Cadman, and pry into cupboards to find what she was in search of.  (It was during one of these expeditions that she had discovered her dearest mamma’s piano in the telephone-room.)  Often she came in without knocking or ringing the bell, and then if Lucia or Grosvenor heard her clandestine entry, and came to see who it was, she scolded herself for her stupidity in not remembering that for the present, this was not her house.  So forgetful of her.

There’s immediate friction.  Miss Mapp frequently forgets that she has rented out her house – and therefore doesn’t have a right to walk in and out with impunity – and often comes barreling in on Lucia without invitation.  (A terrible habit for a landlord.  I speak from experience.)  Lucia fixes that situation cleverly and to great comedic effect… but the result is that Miss Mapp sours on her tenant, and soon they’re entirely at cross-purposes.

‘Things are beginning to move, Georgie,’ said she, forgetting for the time the impending tragedy.  ‘Nightmarches, Georgie, manoeuvres.  Elizabeth, of course.  I’m sure I was right, she wants to run me, and if she can’t (if!) she’ll try to fight me.  I can see glimpses of hatred and malice in her.’

‘And you’ll fight her?’ said Georgie eagerly.

‘Nothing of the kind, my dear,’ said Lucia.  ‘What do you take me for?  Every now and then, when necessary, I shall just give her two or three hard slaps.  I gave her one this morning: I did indeed.  Not a very hard one, but it stung.’

‘No! Do tell me,’ said Georgie.

There are skirmishes, even battles.  Lucia often prevails, but Miss Mapp scores her share of points, too.  (Mapp, it turns out, is a much more formidable opponent than Daisy Quantock.)  The characters in Tilling take sides, and it appears the entire town will soon be at war.  Miss Mapp has one consolation: she’s only rented Mallards for the season.  When August comes, Lucia will take herself, her piano-playing, her faux Italian speaking, and her eccentricities back to Riseholme.  Right?!?!

‘Mapp, there’s news for you,’ said Irene, remembering the luncheon-party yesterday.  ‘You must guess: I shall tease you.  It’s about your Lulu.  Three guesses.’

‘Not a relapse, I hope?’ said Elizabeth brightly.

‘Quite wrong.  Something much nicer.  You’ll enjoy it tremendously.’

A look of apprehension had come over Elizabeth’s face, as an awful idea occurred to her.

‘Dear one, give over teasing,’ she said.  ‘Tell me.’

‘She’s not going away at the end of the month,’ said Irene.  ‘She’s bought Grebe.’

Blank dismay spread over Elizabeth’s face.

‘Oh, what a joy!’ she said.  ‘Lovely news.’

But here, again, Mapp does not reckon on… Lucia.  After one final triumph in Riseholme (I won’t tell you what it is, because it’s absolutely delicious and you should read it for yourself) Lucia determines that she has no further heights to which she can aspire in Riseholme.  In short, she’s won.  And an energetic woman like Lucia is not content to simply rest on her laurels.  She needs something in which to interest herself – a challenge.  Having vanquished Daisy Quantock and conquered Riseholme once and for all, Lucia turns her attention to Tilling and Miss Mapp, and she decides to take up residence… permanently.

Photo credit: The Independent

(Fun fact: there is a recent – 2014 – TV adaptation of the books, in which Lucia is played by the fabulous Anna Chancellor, who memorably portrayed megabitch Caroline Bingley in the ultimate adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, the 1994 BBC miniseries starring Colin Firth, and who also happens to be a six-times great-niece of Jane Austen.  I have not watched it yet, because I want to read through all of the books first.  But it’s on my list.)

Hijinks ensue, as you can imagine.  Parties are given; plots are hatched; social calamity is skirted and averted.  (There is also an amusing side plot in which both Lucia and Georgie worry that the other is falling in love with them, unrequited.)  There are battles fought, won and lost, over that precious commodity – the recipe for Lucia’s famous Lobster a la Riseholme.  (It is Tilling custom to freely share recipes.  Lucia doesn’t seem to understand that, and Miss Mapp cannot, simply cannot, abide this failing.)

And the Lobster a la Riseholme proves to be very important indeed, as it prompts the ultimate calamity when Mapp sneaks into Lucia’s new kitchen to steal the recipe on the day after Christmas.  I won’t tell you what happens, except to say that it is both thrilling and slapstick.  And I’ll tantalize you with this tidbit, which is sure to intrigue:

Again Georgie uttered woe like Cassandra.

‘There’s something coming,’ he cried.  ‘It looks like a raft with its legs in the air.  And there are two people on it. Now it’s spinning round and round; now it’s coming straight here ever so fast.  There are two women, one without a hat.  It’s Them!  It’s Lucia and Miss Mapp!  What has happened?’

What, indeed?  You’ll have to read to find out, and to find out whether Mapp and Lucia ever bury the hatchet.  Whether they do or not, the reader knows they won’t be able to bury it very deeply.  And that’s lucky for us, because there are two more books in the series.  I, for one, cannot wait to return to Tilling and witness the next skirmishes in the Mapp vs. Lucia war.  Since we all have to choose sides, I’ll come forward and admit: I’m with Lucia.  But really, I’m just in it for a good show, and that’s guaranteed.

Luciaphiles, unite!

I admit I was a latecomer to E. F. Benson’s Mapp and Lucia novels, and that the main reason I picked them up was I was curious about Benson’s hometown of Rye (and its portrayal as “Tilling” in the series) and that on my first go at Queen Lucia I wasn’t entirely enraptured.  I found Lucia grating and the rest of the characters tiresome (or “tarsome,” as Lucia’s once-loyal deputy Georgie Pillson would say).  Then I realized that was exactly what Benson was going for.  Once I recognized Queen Lucia for what it was – a lampooning of social snobbery in all its forms – I picked it up for a second time and enjoyed it immensely, then went straight on to Miss Mapp and enjoyed that even more.  And then I took a long break – too long of a break – from Lucia’s Riseholme and Mapp’s Tilling, always meaning to return.  Return I finally did, stuck in the house waiting for the COVID-19 situation to stabilize and in desperate need of something fun and lighthearted.  Lucia delivered, as I knew that she would.

Lucia in London is the third in the Mapp and Lucia series, and the action is really beginning to pick up.  When the novel opens, Riseholme is all atwitter at the news that Peppino – that’s Lucia’s indulgent husband, Philip Lucas – has been left a handsome inheritance by his Aunt Amy.  Georgie Pillson and Daisy Quantock gather for a good gossip and speculation session and wonder how much Peppino has actually inherited.  There’s cash, a house in London, and the rumor of a string of fabulous pearls.  After they turn over all the possibilities, Georgie is dispatched to get the facts out of Lucia, who is putting on an excellent show of being bereaved.

‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘how much do you think it will all come to?  The money he’ll come into, I mean.’

Lucia also threw discretion to the winds, and forgot all about the fact that they were to be so terribly poor for a long time.

‘About three thousand a year, Peppino imagines, when everything is paid.  Our income will be doubled, in fact.’

Georgie gave a sigh of pure satisfaction.  So much was revealed, not only of the future, but of he past, for no one hitherto had known what their income was.  And how clever of Robert Quantock to have made so accurate a guess!

‘It’s too wonderful for you,’ he said.  ‘And I know you’ll spend it beautifully.  I had been thinking over it this afternoon, but I never thought it would be as much as that.  And then there are the pearls.  I do congratulate you.’

Lucia suddenly felt that she had shown too much of the silver (or was it gold?) lining to the cloud of affliction that had overshadowed her.

‘Poor Auntie!’ she said.  ‘We don’t forget her through it all.  We hoped she might have been spared to us a little longer.’

Eventually Lucia gives up her show of being grief-stricken (it’s an elderly aunt-in-law whom they almost never saw, after all) and divulges that they are going to keep the Brompton Square house in London – for Peppino, of course!  His memories, you know, of dear Auntie.  And then there’s the Royal Astronomers’ Society, just the thing for darling Peppino.  Of course it will be a sacrifice for Lucia, who cannot imagine life away from her beloved Riseholme, with its Elizabethan flair and Georgie just nipping across the green to play duets on her piano – dear Beethoven and Mozartino.  But to London Lucia will go.

And to London Lucia does go.  And dives straight into the life of the capital, to Riseholme’s astonishment.  She immediately starts appearing in the social columns – someone named “Hermione” has a beat on Lucia’s every movement – and never seems to miss an opportunity to dine with some luminary or another, even if Riseholme’s most famous part-time resident, the prima donna Olga Bracely, manages to dodge Lucia despite being her Brompton Square neighbor.  It’s not long before Lucia is the toast of London (so exhausting, darling, but think of dear Peppino) and brings a party of her smart new friends down to Riseholme for a weekend, where they proceed to snub the entire town, mock the new History Museum, and generally make asses of themselves.  Naturally E. F. Benson cannot let Lucia get away with this sort of behavior, so you can expect the weekend will devolve, hilariously, into disaster.  I won’t tell you how, exactly.  But suffice it to say: Lucia takes her medicine.

Already she had learned a lesson about that, for if she had only told Georgie that she had been coming down for a weekend, and had bidden him to lunch and dinner and anything else he liked, he would certainly have got Olga to pop in at The Hurst, or have said that he couldn’t dine with Olga on that fateful Sunday night because he was dining with her, and then no doubt Olga would have asked them all to come in afterwards.  It had been a mistake to kick Riseholme down, a woeful mistake, and she would never do such a thing again.  It was a mistake also to be sarcastic about anybody till you were sure they could not help you, and who could be sure of that?

Chastened, Lucia returns to London and to her glittering social circle there.  She has annexed some of the social grande dames, who (along with Hermione, whose identity is revealed during the disastrous Riseholme weekend) call themselves the Luciaphils, because they enjoy her so much.  But she’s not a complete success – her efforts to annex “dear Marcia,” the Duchess of Whitby, prove more challenging than anticipated.  Eventually even “dear Marcia” comes ’round, with the help of Adele, Lady Brixton, the chief Luciaphil.

‘Tell me some more about her,’ she said.

Adele clapped her hands.

‘Ah, that’s splendid,’ she said.  ‘You’re beginning to feel kinder.  What would we do without our Lucia I can’t imagine.  I don’t know what there would be to talk about.’

‘She’s ridiculous!’ said Marcia, relapsing a little.

‘No, you mustn’t feel that,’ said Adele.  ‘You mustn’t laugh at her ever.  You must just richly enjoy her.’

‘She’s a snob!’ said Marcia, as if this was a tremendous discovery.

‘So am I: so are you: so are we all,’ said Adele.  ‘We all run after distinguished people like–like Alf and Marcelle.  The difference between you and Lucia is entirely in her favour, for you pretend you’re not a snob, and she is perfectly frank and open about it.  Besides, what is a duchess like you for except to give pleasure to snobs?  That’s your work in the world, darling; that’s why you were sent here.  Don’t shirk it, or when you’re old yo will suffer agonies of remorse.  And you’re a snob too.  You like having seven–or was it seventy?–Royals at your dance.’

‘Well, tell me some more about Lucia,’ said Marcia, rather struck by this ingenious presentation of the case.

In another day and age, Adele would have been a lawyer.  That’s quite an argument (if rather patronizing) on Lucia’s behalf, and I’m sure I would have been powerless against it – were I not already a dedicated Luciaphil.

‘And then there are lots who will revel in Lucia, and I the foremost.  I’m devoted to her; I am really, Marcia.  She’s got character, she’s got an iron will, and I like strong talkative women so much better than strong silent men.’

‘Yes, she’s got will,’ said Marcia.  ‘She determined to come to my ball, and she came.  I allow I gave her the chance.’

‘Those are the chances that come to gifted people,’ said Adele.  ‘They don’t come to ordinary people.’

I revel in Lucia, too.  Yes, she is a snob, and she can be ridiculous at times – often, in fact.  That’s by design.  Lucia talks annoying baby talk and she thinks she has a right to control the lives of everyone around her, from darling Peppino to the grumbling Riseholmites.  But she is a “strong talkative woman” and much better to cheer her on than to grind her down.  You can’t help but love Lucia and you can’t help but root for her, whether she’s taking London by storm or wrenching control of Riseholme’s committees back from her frenemy Daisy Quantock.  Lucia suffers some humiliating defeats, to be sure, but she learns from her mistakes (which is more than many can say, isn’t it?) and she’s never down for long.  She is, in fact, an icon.

All hail the Queen.

Sanditon is one of Jane Austen’s two unfinished novels – the other being The Watsons – and it’s somewhat better known as a result of the Masterpiece series (which I have yet to watch – should I?).  Unlike The Watsons, which Austen set aside for unknown reasons, Sanditon was interrupted by the author’s untimely death (sob).  Various authors (and now television showrunners) have tried to guess where Austen may have been headed with the characters – she only got twelve chapters in, so it’s hard to say – but I chose not to read past the point at which Austen laid down her pen.

So, how far does that get a reader, exactly?  Far enough to get a flavor for the characters and the setting – the fictional seaside town of Sanditon.  The book opens with an accident on the road.  Mr. and Mrs. Tom Parker are traveling to the town of Willingden, looking to poach a doctor to add to the population of their adopted hometown, Sanditon.  Mr. Parker’s great ambition is to make Sanditon one of the great holiday towns of the English coast, and he thinks having a doctor in residence will draw more visitors.  (This is largely because his hypochondriac sisters refuse to visit.)  Unfortunately, Mr. Parker finds himself in need of a doctor when his chaise runs off the road and he sprains his ankle.  Alas, there’s no doctor in Willingden – Mr. Parker had read of a dissolution of a medical partnership in the town, but it turns out that was a different Willingden, whoops – but there is the large and jolly Heywood family, who take the Parkers in while Mr. Parker’s ankle heals enough for him to travel.  As Mr. Parker rests and recuperates, he tries to entice the Heywoods to visit Sanditon, which has every advantage:

Nature had marked it out, had spoken in most intelligible characters.  The finest, purest sea breeze on the coast – acknowledged to be so – excellent bathing – fine hard sand – deep water ten yards from the shore – no mud – no weeds – no slimy rocks.

Oh, good, no one likes slimy rocks.

Mr. Parker has invested heavily in Sanditon and sees himself as something of a club promoter for the town.  As he was boasting of Sanditon’s advantages and his own perspicacity in developing it, I kept envisioning him as something of a Georgian version of Tom Haverford.

Tom Haverford Parker spends two weeks resting his ankle and trying in vain to convince the Heywoods to take a vacation – but Mr. and Mrs. Heywood are the ultimate homebodies.  They have no objection to their children traveling, though, and so when the Parkers finally shove off for Sanditon, they have Charlotte Heywood, one of the daughters of the family, in tow.

As the Parkers and Charlotte drive to Sanditon, Mr. Parker regales Charlotte with a lengthy description of the town and its inhabitants – including his fellow Georgian club promoter, Lady Denham, who it actually turns out is super cheap; his sisters and younger brother Arthur, who went to the Mr. Woodhouse school of self-diagnosis; and his other brother, Sidney:

Sidney says anything, you know.  He has always said what he chose, of and to us all.  Most families have such a member among them, I believe, Miss Heywood.  There is someone in most families privileged by superior abilities or spirits to say anything.  In ours, it is Sidney, who is a very clever young man and with great powers of pleasing,  He lives too much in the world to be settled; that is his only fault.  He is here and there and everywhere.  I wish we may get him to Sanditon.  I should like to have you acquainted with him.

I see you, Jane Austen.  It seems pretty clear that Sidney is intended to be Charlotte’s love interest, but he doesn’t turn up until near the end of Austen’s chapters.  What kind of love interest would Sidney be?  Hard to say – from this description he could be a Bingley, a Darcy, or a Wentworth type, probably not a Tilney or Knightley.  But it does appear that Austen has Sidney in mind for the romantic hero, especially after Charlotte meets the other eligible bachelor of the neighborhood, the young baronet Sir Edward Denham, who turns out to be (a) somewhat ridiculous; (b) hard up for cash and therefore required to marry for money; and (c) into someone else.  Sir Edward’s step-aunt, the dowager Lady Denham, grills Charlotte about her intentions in a slightly watered down Lady Catherine de Bourgh manner (but with more satisfaction than Lady “I should have been a great proficient” Catherine gets out of Lizzy in Pride and Prejudice).

‘Indeed!  He is a very fine young man, particularly elegant in his address.’

This was said chiefly for the sake of saying something, but Charlotte directly saw that it was laying her own to suspicion by Lady Denham’s giving a shrewd glance at her and replying, ‘Yes, yes, he is very well to look at.  And it is to be hoped that some lady of large fortune will think so, for Sir Edward must marry for money.  He and I often talk that matter over.  A handsome young fellow like him will go smirking and smiling about and paying girls compliments, but he knows he must marry for money.  And Sir Edward is a very steady young man in the main and has got very good notions.’

‘Sir Edward Denham,’ said Charlotte, ‘with such personal advantages may be almost sure of getting a woman of fortune, if he chooses it.’

This glorious sentiment seemed quite to remove suspicion.

See, Lady Denham, you have nothing to worry about.

Because there’s really no plot to speak of – Austen died before she got there – the real enjoyment factor in Sanditon is the characters.  Their dialogue is just as sparkling as in Austen’s finished novels, and I found myself laughing out loud at the Parker family’s and the other characters’ foibles, and especially at Charlotte’s gently clear-eyed reactions to them.  Mr. Parker being Tom Haverford, I saw Charlotte as the Ann Perkins of the crew.  Essentially good-hearted, definitely cute, polite to a fault, and always getting dragged into weird exchanges with people.

(Is this entire review just an excuse to post Parks and Recreation gifs?  Maybe.  It might be.)

Anyway – Austen spends the first twelve chapters getting all her pieces into their places.  The Parker sisters show up, bringing their hypochondria with them, and also a family from the West Indies, or a girls’ school, or both?, with the sickly heiress of Lady Denham’s dreams, Miss Lambe (also one of the only people of color in all of Austen’s work – and I imagine Austen was quite ahead of her time in writing this character), and Sidney Parker pops up as well.  Just as it seems the action is about to get going – it stops.  And we’ll never know exactly what Austen had in mind for these characters.  Would Sir Edward Denham get dragged into a marriage of convenience with Miss Lambe, or would he successfully seduce Miss Clara Brereton, his rival for Lady Denham’s fortune?  Would Sidney Parker turn out to be the hero after all?  Would Charlotte Heywood, with her wit and good sense (like a combination of Lizzy Bennet and Elinor Dashwood) fall for Sidney Parker, if he is in fact the hero?  Would the Parker sisters and Arthur ever get over their hypochondria?  Would club promoter Mr. Parker make Sanditon the hippest destination on the coast?  We don’t get to find out – but we can use our imaginations.

Now I’m down to just The Watsons and my volume of Jane Austen’s letters.  I don’t know how I am going to live in a world where I’ve read everything that Austen has written.  Send wine, folks.

Reading is my oldest and favorite hobby. I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t love to curl up with a good book. Here are my reads for April, 2020…

Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont, by Elizabeth Taylor – First off, this is Elizabeth Taylor the Important British Writer, not Elizabeth Taylor the Hollywood Ingenue.  Okay!  That disclaimer done and dusted, I really enjoyed Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont.  The titular character, Mrs Palfrey, widowed and well-off but generally ignored by her family, moves into the Claremont Hotel, London, to spend her golden years surrounded by a cast of other cast-offs, where she befriends a young writer.  This is one of those books in which not much happens, plot-wise, but it’s beautifully written and the characters are superb.  It’s a moving portrait of aging and inter-generational friendship.

Heidi, by Joanna Spyri – I was looking for some comfort reading, and picked up Heidi for the first time since I was a child.  I was immediately immersed in the world of the Swiss Alps – surrounded by craggy snow-covered peaks, mountain wildflowers, and bleating goats.  It was a lovely respite, and made me crave a trip to Switzerland.

Lodestars Anthology: Switzerland, by Various Authors – Not ready to say goodbye to Switzerland after turning the last page of Heidi, I picked up the Lodestars Anthology issue featuring the country and spent a blissful evening reading all about the travel and cultural experiences on offer there (interspersed with stunning photographs).  It was such a treat, but it made the wanderlust even more intense.

Elizabeth and Her German Garden, by Elizabeth von Arnim – This was a re-read for me.  I adore Elizabeth von Arnim’s work and I’ve been slowly collecting early editions of many of her books, including her Elizabeth trilogy.  When I first read Elizabeth and Her German Garden a few years ago, I loved it but was saddened by her description of her husband, the Man of Wrath.  This time, I found he didn’t feature as prominently as I’d thought he did, and I got the sense that Elizabeth was rolling her eyes at some of his pompous pronouncements and that he was indulging her in turn.

The Solitary Summer, by Elizabeth von Arnim – Elizabeth and the Man of Wrath make a bet: she claims that if she is given a summer to be completely solitary in her garden, she will not get lonely.  He thinks she won’t last a week.  (Elizabeth is a Baroness, so “completely solitary” doesn’t actually mean completely solitary; there is a staff of gardeners, house servants, her three daughters – the April Baby, the May Baby and the June Baby, also sometimes just known as April, May and June – and their nanny.  And she occasionally has to do her duty by visiting the villagers and billeting a soldier.)  Who wins the bet?  Well, you’ll have to read and see if Elizabeth gets lonely.  The garden and nature writing is gorgeous, and I want to be friends with Elizabeth.

The Adventures of Elizabeth in Rugen, by Elizabeth von Arnim – Elizabeth takes it into her head to walk the circumference of Rugen, a German island in the Baltic Sea, where you can (apparently?) swim with luminescent starfish and jellies.  Unfortunately, being a Proper German Woman, she can’t just wander off alone, and none of her friends will sign on to a multi-day hike.  (Call me, Elizabeth!)  So Elizabeth ends up taking along her placid servant, Gertrud, and an excitable carriage-driver, August, and hijinks ensue.  Midway through the trip, she bumps into a relative and even more hijinks ensue.  This was the funniest of the Elizabeth books – I was shaking with laughter during the scene in which Elizabeth and Gertrud fall out of the carriage and August drives off pell-mell, not realizing that his horses are pulling an empty carriage.  And it also caused me to lose an evening to reading travel guides to Rugen and planning yet another trip.

The Man in the Queue (Inspector Alan Grant #1), by Josephine Tey – Let’s get this out of the way first: there are no dinosaurs.  I know, you’d think Alan Grant…  Okay, I can’t keep that up.  The Man in the Queue is the introductory book in a series featuring Inspector Alan Grant of Scotland Yard.  Inspector Grant is tapped to investigate the murder of a man standing in a theatre queue.  The man, who has no identification, was stabbed in the back in the midst of a crowd of potential witnesses, yet no one saw the crime.  How do you track an invisible murderer of a nameless man?  So – I enjoyed this, but I found it hard going at times (blame the pandemic); I think I’ll like Tey’s other works even more.

To War with Whitaker, by Hermione, Countess Ranfurly – Dan and Hermione Ranfurly had been married a year when World War II broke out.  Dan, the Earl of Ranfurly, was a member of a Yeomanry unit, and His Majesty’s Army had an odd rule that regular Army wives could follow their husbands to war, but Yeomanry wives could not.  Mothers, grannies, sisters, aunts, and servants – all welcome, but wives, no.  (And that’s where the title To War with Whitaker comes in.  Whitaker was Lord Ranfurly’s portly valet, who accompanied him to the war.  When Dan announces that they would be joining his unit, Whitaker responds: “To the war, my Lord?  Very good, my Lord.”)  Lady Ranfurly, 25, adventurous, and madly in love with her husband, decides that she’s not staying home, and she essentially bandits the war – and To War with Whitaker is her diary recording the experience.  There’s a lot more to be said about this wonderful book; I will be writing a full review here because I loved every word and am not ready to say goodbye to Hermione, Dan, Whitaker or any of their friends.

A Shropshire Lad, by A. E. Housman – What I thought I would be reading: 63 poems about nature and the changing of the seasons in a classic English region.  What I actually read: 63 poems about death, murder, executions and war.  All very accomplished, no doubt.  But not what I was really looking for.  I knew there was going to be some death, but I also thought there would be more… I don’t know, cricket with the Vicar?  Clearly the fault lies with me, but if this is on your list, maybe wait for less anxious times.

Wicked Autumn (Max Tudor #1), by G. M. Malliet – Nether Monkslip is the quintessential English village, the kind that you’d do well to avoid according to Crime Reads.  So it should be no surprise that the unpopular head of the local Women’s Institute is murdered in the Village Hall at the “Harvest Fayre.”  The death looks like an accident, but Max Tudor – the handsome Vicar of the village church and ex-MI5 agent – knows better.  So!  I didn’t actually guess the killer on this one, but I got 85% of the way there and I probably would have figured it out had I been reading this book with more than 30% of my attention.  I did like it, and will definitely continue with the series.  The village was a complete cliche, and I loved that.

Well, that does it for another month of quarantine reading.  Despite my plans to read through my Classics Club list, I have not actually dug into many weighty tomes during this time, and I’ve felt decidedly blah about reading in general – I think to the point that I might be experiencing a reading slump.  I’m in good company, I know.  The fact that there are so many books on this list is a testament to how little TV I watch (and that, at least this month, was largely because we only have one TV and someone else is always monopolizing it).  I’m sad that, while there are so many wonderful books on this list, I struggled to pick them up.  It’s always nice to visit with Elizabeth von Arnim, of course, and To War with Whitaker is destined to be one of my favorites of the year.  But this has really been a little bit of a half-hearted month of reading.

What did you read in April?