This, early, tale of a middle-aged woman opening a bookshop in an East Anglian village ends with such unmitigated sadness it's unkind to recommend it except for its clear-eyed (and often funny) evocation of an isolated community in the 1950s. Fitzgerald has an unerring instinct for the power-loving selfishness of 'proper' people intent on eliminating anything they have not thought of themselves, and the innocent, optimistic heroine's downfall rings all too true. It lived with me.
(Annabel Bedini - bwl 75 Winter 2015 ) |
