Archive for the ‘Children/Young Adult’ Category

I finished reading The Hollow Land by Jane Gardam yesterday and it was perfect, as I have come to expect from her.  It was fluently, imaginatively written, full of haunting images and details I will not soon forget.  But there is one thing it is not: a children’s book.  And yet that is how it is marketed.

At its heart, there are two children (but child characters alone do not make a children’s book).  Bell Teesdale is eight when the book begins, a sensible country boy who, like the rest of his family, is pitching in with the haymaking on their Cumbrian farm.  Rain is expected so the family works through the day and into the moonlit night, to the despair of the London family renting the farmhouse next to the field.  A tractor circling outside their windows at midnight is not their idea of a relaxing summer holiday.  Tempers flare, words are exchanged, and both fathers are fuming by the time they go to bed.  But Harry, the London family’s very young son, and Bell subtly intervene and peace is made the next morning.

So begins the story of twenty years of friendship between the Teesdales and the Batemans, and most especially between Bell and Harry.  The entire Bateman family comes to love their country getaway, where Harry’s writer father comes to work during the school holidays, but Harry feels a particular bond with the place and is never happier than when exploring the fields, dales, and fells or communing with locals, like the egg-witch (whose story is one of my favourites) or the local chimney sweep.

Gardam is a master of the short story and while I always enjoy reading her stories, I sometimes feel frustrated by their brevity.  I want more!  Here, we have the perfect compromise: a collection of exquisitely composed stories all focused on the same people.  It’s not quite a novel – the stories jump about through the years and Gardam has no interest in explaining things the way she would do in a novel – but the satisfaction of getting to see lives progress and learn how things turn out for everyone as they age is absolutely here.

So why is it considered a children’s book?  A number of her early books are (this was published in 1981, relatively early in her career), but then again that classification seems to vary by publisher.  Some consider Bilgewater, A Long Way From Verona, and The Summer After the Funeral to be for younger readers, which I can somewhat understand.  Europa, who have been reissuing Gardam’s books over the past few years, consider those novels to be for adults and yet this collection they consider among her works for children.  I think that is stretching it.  It’s not inappropriate in anyway for a younger reader, it’s just written in a way I would think appeals to more mature readers.  A twelve-year old would be absolutely fine with it, but then twelve-year olds should be reading adult books and not children’s ones anyway.  The language, the sedate pacing, the frequent focus on adult concerns and thoughts, all seem to me to gear more towards an adult reader.  And Bell and Harry’s boyish activities seem perfectly tailored to the nostalgic adult reader who would like nothing more than to spend a summer day exploring abandoned mines or a winter’s one admiring extraordinarily icicles formed by a fierce, fast frost.

Regardless of your age, it’s a wonderful collection and, like Harry, I didn’t want my time there to end.

NOTE: Europa, despite their interesting classification of adult/children’s novels, having been doing great work reissuing Gardam’s older titles over the past few years.  The Hollow Land, Bilgewater, A Long Way From Verona, and a number of her other books are all currently available in excellent editions and all are well-worth reading.  She is a truly extraordinary writer.  And if you need more encouragement to get excited about Gardam, the Backlisted podcast did a wonderful episode on A Long Way From Verona that is well-worth a listen.

This post contains affiliate links from Book Depository, an online book retailer with free international shipping.  If you buy via these links it means I receive a small commission (at no extra cost to you).  


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An Old-Fashioned GirlLate on Christmas Day, I picked up An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa May Alcott.  I’d just finished watching the excellent 1994 version of Little Women and was feeling deeply nostalgic for Alcott, whose books (both the good and the very, very bad) I’d devoured as a child.  I’ve never particularly liked Little Women and its sequels (the rare case of the movie being more palatable to me than the book) but I’ve held on to my favourite Alcott books into adulthood.  I revisit them occasionally but it had been a few years since my last Alcott encounter, when I reread (with some reservations) Eight Cousins and Rose in Bloom.  On Christmas Day, I was in the mood for something old-fashioned and comforting and An Old-Fashioned Girl more than satisfied.  It, alongside L.M. Montgomery’s Anne books, is one of the rare volumes that delight me as much now as it did when I first read it twenty years ago.

The story begins when fourteen-year old Polly Milton comes to Boston to stay with her friend, sixteen-year old Fanny Shaw.  Though the two girls had become fast friends when they met the previous summer, Fanny’s city life is a surprise to country-bred Polly.  Polly is amazed by her friend’s grown-up ways and very grown-up clothes.  Amazed but, to Fanny’s bewilderment, not particularly envious.  Though younger than her friend, Polly is in no particular hurry to grow up.  Not if it means wearing fussy clothes, never being able to run or toboggan, or being too sophisticated to play with Fanny’s younger siblings, fourteen-year old Tom and six-year old Maud, or be petted by the very loveable Mr. Shaw and his sweet mother, known to all as Grandma.

This is familiar stuff for Alcott fans: she loved to moralise about the virtues of wholesome innocence versus the corrupting effects of high society and vanity.  She just didn’t always do so persuasively.  Why couldn’t Meg March have one fun, guilt-free evening of flirting and pretty dresses?  Why did Rose Campbell have to be so violent in her disdain for “fashionably fast girls”?  And, most melodramatically of all, why did Charlie Campbell have to die to prove his creator’s point that frivolous pursuits are poisonous?  She takes a thankfully less heavy-handed approach here and it makes for a much better book.  Polly may be a little more prim than her friend (as Grandma Shaw says, Polly hasn’t “yet learned that modesty has gone out of fashion”) but both girls are kind and loving and generous.  The important difference Alcott shows us is that Polly, by embracing her true age, is free to have more fun and develop more meaningful relationships than Fanny can experience in her guise as a proper young lady of fashion.   Polly need not substitute sweets for meals, gossip instead of learn while at school, squeeze and stuff herself into a decorative but impractical dress, or put on airs when introduced to a young man.  She eats well, moves freely, and is able to enjoy the company of everyone she meets, young or old, male or female.

On top of all this, Polly has a gift for living: she appreciates all the opportunities that come her way and, most of all, she values the people in her life.  In the first section of the book, that is her main value: she teaches the Shaw family to show their affection for one another.  They had been a loving family before but in a more distant, absentminded way.  The siblings squabbled, all three were relatively thoughtless when it came to their parents, and, with the exception of Tom, they took their grandmother for granted.  With Polly as a gentle example, Maud and Fanny find themselves spending more time with their grandmother, all three begin to think more about how to lighten their father’s cares, and they even attempt to make friends with one another (not always successfully, but they get credit for trying).

This first visit cements Polly’s friendship with the Shaw family.  Four years later, when the story resumes, the relationship is just as strong.  Now a young woman of twenty, Polly has moved to Boston, found a room in a boarding house, and is teaching music to help pay for her younger brother’s university education.  Her days are busy between her teaching and her new friendships, but not too busy to see her old friends.

Grown-up (or, given that they are all still very young, more grown-up) Polly, Tom, and Fanny are more interesting than they ever were as children, perhaps because they all have more problems.  Fanny is languishing at home, with no purpose and no prospective husband in sight; Polly is busy all the hours in the day, between her teaching, her charitable efforts, and her new friendships with other young, determined, independent women (a fascinating group, particularly when you consider that the book was published in 1870); and Tom, poor, loveable Tom, has, I’m sorry to say it, turned into a bit of a dandy.  He spends too much, doesn’t take his schooling at all seriously, and has gotten himself engaged to a singularly awful girl.  Tom has always been my favourite Alcott character, so kind and big-hearted but full of reassuringly human failings, that his struggles pain me as much as they do Polly.

After a number of ups and downs, there are happy endings for Polly, Fanny, and Tom (little Maud, however, gets completely betrayed by her creator and is sentenced to a life keeping house for her father).  I’ve read this book so many times I’ve lost count but this was the first reading where I really appreciated the strength of the romantic relationships Alcott creates.  Fanny’s match is somewhat fairytale-esque but Polly’s feels excitingly real.   So many books glamorize the idea of an alpha hero, someone to take charge of situations and, all too often, the heroine.  Here, we have instead a healthier, more equal model for a marriage: a true partnership between two young people, just starting their lives.  Even before their marriage, we see Polly comforting and advising her future husband, pushing back when she disagrees with or is disappointed in him.  Polly doesn’t choose a husband who is perfect or who can rescue her and solve all her financial concerns: she chooses one who she will work hard beside to build the life they want.  And that is a rather lovely, special thing to see.

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The Summer After the FuneralJust a quick review today of The Summer After the Funeral by Jane Gardam, a slim novel that is just as entertaining, if not so well formed, as Gardam’s other works.

After her elderly father’s death, Athene Price and her two siblings are shuffled off out of sight for the summer.  Elder brother Sebastian heads north to what he has described to his family as a Buddhist retreat (it’s not), younger sister Phoebe (better known as Beams) is sent to join a sickeningly jolly family by the sea, and Athene herself is bounced from one middle-aged female acquaintance to another – or at least that is the plan.  Meanwhile, their mother bounds round the country in search of gentile employment (for, though written in 1973, the book is set between the wars), writing breezy and slightly bossy letters to her offspring to update them on her findings:

My darling Mim, say your prayers, not particularly for us for we have nothing to fear (see Matthew vi.28: lilies of the field) but for the poor people of Putney who are entirely without occupation other than stirring their tea about.  The streets round Larpent Avenue are utterly silent and everyone makes a great point of not knowing the people next door.  A curious Christianity and I have told both them and this curate and continue to do so.  They have not one word to say in reply.

Athene is a model of all the virtues, an ideal daughter and sister, as dependable and calm as she is beautiful.  Compared to her siblings, her summer plans seem quite boring: a few weeks with her godmother, then a family friend, and then an aunt.  All perfectly respectable and perfectly dull, especially compared to what her siblings have planned.  But, of course, things do not go quite as planned.  She does quite well at the lifeless hotel where she spends the first few weeks, a period enlivened only by glimpses of a handsome boy, but once she moves on to her next destination things go horribly awry.  The next few weeks see Athene running away and spending the night in the cottage of a middle-aged painter before holing up in an empty boys’ dormitory and falling in love with a married schoolmaster.  It is only when the summer draws to an end that others discover what an eventful time she has had and Athene herself finally begins to deal with the fallout from her father’s death.

The plot is a little too flimsy and sequential to be all that interesting and the character development is minimal.  What is so fun about this book is Gardam’s wonderful way of turning a phrase.  What style she has!  When discussing the oddness of Athene’s name, Gardam contrasts it with the names that were normal at the time “back when middle-class English females were called breezy, artless names that went well with tennis.”  I love that.  Gardam also momentarily abandons Athene’s adventures to check in with her siblings.  Though Sebastian’s narrative is pretty standard, Gardam allows herself a bit of a freer rein when it comes to Beams, letting us glimpse the young girl’s summer diary:

Part 1, Sub. Sect. 1. Page 1.

My name is Beams, short for Moonbeams (big glasses), Phoebe at the font.  Ugly as sin.  Alas for me.

I am at present staying in Wales with the Padshaws.  I care nothing for the Padshaws and the Padshaws care nothing for anybody.  What they care about – all they care about – is things like caulking, tacking and drying facilities.  They have a boat.  They worship this boat.  It is a most interesting thing to observe, this boat worship, and I have already made a small study of it anthropologically.  I intend to become a psychiatrist eventually but at present I am studying anthropology as I believe that psychiatrists get pressed for time.

I could happily devour an entire book written from Beams’ perspective.

Not a special book and not a memorable one, but still a very enjoyable read.

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A Long Way From VeronaWith the first line of A Long Way from Verona by Jane Gardam, published in 1971 but set during the Second World War, Jessica Vye introduces herself to the reader bluntly but honestly:  “I ought to tell you at the beginning that I am not quite normal, having had a violent experience at the age of nine.”  This is not some mysterious Ada Doom-esque experience but it is one that has nonetheless changed her view of the world.  At the age of nine, Jessica, already of a literary bent, was told by an established author that she was a writer “BEYOND ALL POSSIBLE DOUBT!”  Now, at twelve, she still has her calling in mind but she is also struggling with the usual angst of an adolescent girl.  And twelve, as I can certainly remember, is not a fun age to be:

“How old are you about?”


“Oh, you poor thing!  Are you indeed?  I really hated twelve – and thirteen.  And then somebody told me that it was all to do with growing.  It was all to do with my inside.  With my stomach I believe in some way.  I was so relieved.  I had thought I was growing unpleasant and starting to hate everyone, and I didn’t want to be that sort of person at all.”

Reassured in this way by one of teachers at her school (an eminently wise and useful sort of woman, obviously), Jessica can focus her worries instead on the other things that are wrong with her:


The point is this – in three parts.  Tripartite.  Viz:

1. I am not quite normal

2. I am not very popular

3. I am able to tell what people are thinking.

And I might add

4. I am terribly bad at keeping quiet when I have something on my mind because


All of these faults are, unsurprisingly, the things that make her such an attractive protagonist.  Jessica is observant and forthright and impolitely interested in many of the people she comes across, especially the inappropriate ones (who she has a talent for stumbling across).  She is not remotely as odd as she seems to think herself but she is a memorable individual, a winning mix of earnestness and enthusiasm.  She can be a little bit over dramatic (Anne Shirley, for one, would have enjoyed some of Jessica’s theatrical gestures) but mostly she is just eager for activity and experience – neither of which seems within her grasp, either at her stodgy school or at home, where her socialist schoolmaster-turned-clergyman father, lovely but exhausted mother, and younger brother interest her very little.

A sort of wildly inappropriate love interest in introduced for Jessica and he is perfect, though not for her, as Jessica quickly realises.  If I hadn’t already been adoring this book, the appearance of Christian, a surly fourteen-year old communist who Jessica meets while staying with his family (his father is a Dean), would have converted me.  He is beautiful  – Jessica thinks him as attractive as Rupert Brooke, who, having recently seen a photograph of him in a book, had previously been her male ideal – but awful.  Having asked Jessica’s parents’ permission to take her out, they embark on their memorable first outing – a trip to the local slums to educate Jessica on the plight of the poor.  This trips goes disastrously awry and it is PERFECTION.

It is such a delightfully-written book and I adored how very free and breezy Gardam’s writing was and how wonderfully direct Jessica was.  The entire time I was reading, I had that feeling of almost nervous excitement that comes over me whenever I find a new favourite author.  There is something so confident and intriguing about the way Gardam writes that I am always terribly excited to turn the page and see what else she has in store for the reader.

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Betsy's WeddingBetsy’s Wedding by Maud Hart Lovelace begins where Betsy and the Great World ended: it is September 1914 and Betsy is on a ship, coming back to America after having spent the last nine months touring Europe.  Waiting for her when she docks is Joe Willard, the boy she has loved since high school.  Their past quarrels are forgotten and, now assured on one another’s love, the two young people are only too eager to start their life together.  Less than a week later they are married and setting up house near Betsy’s family in Minneapolis.

The book covers the first few years of Betsy and Joe’s marriage, as Joe works and Betsy struggles to cook and keep house.  They have their family nearby and almost all of their friends have stayed in the area (Betsy has been reunited with her beloved “Crowd”, who she missed so much while in Europe) so most of the book is devoted to Joe and Betsy’s interactions with others.  This was my first introduction to Tacy, already married and, before the book is over, a mother of two, and to their other great friend, Tib, an outgoing German-American blonde whose speech is unnaturally peppered with German exclamations.  I suddenly felt very thankful that neither of them had featured in Betsy and the Great World.

After reading two other Maud Hart Lovelace books, I should have known not to expect any emotional depth but, even so, I was disappointed by how shallow this book was.  Betsy is full of resolutions when she gets married and, as she adjusts to married life, there are some fleeting reflections as she learns to adapt to life with Joe but, for the most part, any serious issue is ignored.  Betsy mentions a few times the desire for a child but, when none appears, no comment is made as to her disappointment.  Her writing career, which had been so important to her in previous books, is barely mentioned, except for when she turns down a writing job with the excuse “I already have a job…And it’s important, and very hard. It’s learning how to keep house.”  Instead of emotional development, we get an action-filled account of what is going on with Betsy’s Crowd.  Honestly, the two main challenges Betsy faces in this book are 1) learning how to cook (thank goodness she married a husband who knows how) and 2) finding a husband for her friend Tib, whose lack of interest in marriage shocks poor Betsy and Tacy:

“She isn’t even thinking about getting married!” Betsy cried.  “She goes out all the time but she doesn’t give a snap for the men.”

“When girls don’t marry young,” Tacy said profoundly, “they get fussier all the time.”

“That’s right.  You know the old saying about a girl going through the forest and throwing away all the straight sticks only to pick up a crooked one in the end.” Betsy looked wise as befitted an old married woman.

“There’s a lot of truth in that.”

“And Tib will soon be earning so much money that she won’t meet many men who earn as much money as she does.”

“That would be bad.”

“And then she’ll start driving around in her car, and getting more and more independent, and she won’t marry at all, maybe!  And then what will she do when she’s old?”

Lovelace is partially tongue-in-cheek here, but only partially.  There are dozens of things that mark this book as being of its time (1955) but none more than this.  If I had read this passage as an eight or nine year old, I would have thrown the book down in disgust and returned to the non-Stepford –esque heroines in my books from forty or fifty years earlier.

Having now read this, I think I can safely put my interest in the series to rest.  I have heard from a number of enthusiastic Betsy-Tacy fans since I started sampling Lovelace’s books but I am afraid I will never be able to count myself among their ranks.  Still, it was interesting to read a few books from the series and I had much more patience for them now that I would have if I’d come to them as a child.  I can at least understand their simple, nostalgic appeal, even if I don’t feel it.

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Betsy and the Great WorldI only discovered Maud Hart Lovelace after I started blogging.  Her Minnesota-set Betsy-Tacy series of children’s books have insipid titles that would have earned my contempt if anyone had tried to press them on me when I was young (Betsy and Tacy Go Over the Big Hill, Heaven to Betsy, and Betsy Was a Junior) but she had so many fans in the book blogging world that I had to try her for myself.  I started with a non-Betsy-Tacy book (Emily of Deep Valley) and thought it was fine.  At the time, I remarked that I didn’t think, based on the brief glimpse of Betsy provided in Emily of Deep Valley, that I could face any of the books focused on her.  But then I found a copy of Betsy and the Great World for sale at the library for 50 cents and decided to take a chance.

After two years of university, Betsy Ray has had enough.  She convinces her parents that, as an aspiring writer, she is not getting a lot of value from her math and science classes.  They agree and instead offer up an education of a different sort: a year abroad, travelling in Europe.  (Note: this was not the offer my parents made to me whenever I complained about my university classes.  Tragically.)  Unsurprisingly, she is ecstatic and, in possession of a flashy wardrobe and lots of enthusiasm, she sets off for Europe.  It is January 1914, she is twenty-one years old, and the world seems full of possibilities.

The book follows Betsy through her shipboard adventures, her travels on the continent (Germany, Italy, Switzerland, France), and her arrival in England – just in time for war to be declared.  Through it all, she does her best to make new friends and keep up her writing even as she struggles with homesickness and a longing for Joe, the boyfriend she had parted from before leaving and is now fearful of having lost forever.

The highlights of the book for me were the descriptions of the places Betsy visits.  Betsy herself was wildly uninteresting but I loved hearing about her walks through Munich, her wanderings around Venice, and her instant love affair with London.  The only part of Betsy’s journey I did not enjoy was her brief stay in Oberammergau, where the piety of the citizens, many of them actors in the village’s famous Passion Play, was taken far too seriously by the young American (and her creator).

Though I developed absolutely no interest in or attachment to Betsy over the course of the novel, I was impressed by Lovelace’s descriptions of Betsy’s mood changes and the frequent waves of homesickness that plagued her.  Lovelace has a disarmingly honest was of talking about unpleasant or negative emotions (which were also a feature of Emily of Deep Valley).

But there were things that outweighed the honesty and the enchanting travel details: so much of the story is focused on Betsy’s new friendships (both platonic and romantic) and the episodic and repetitive nature of these relationships felt lazy.  Yes, Betsy seems to be a young woman who makes friends (and conquests) easily but I longed for some more substantial development.  Her need to surround herself with a group of people, to form a clique (or, in her words, a Crowd) in each new place, saddened me.  By the end of the book, Betsy has seen many places and had many wonderful experiences but it is not clear how much she has actually learned, particularly about herself.

There is one feature I cannot decide if I should classify as a positive or a negative: Betsy’s garish wardrobe.  Maud Hart Lovelace describes her heroine’s costumes in loving detail and the vast majority of them are awful – laughably so.  Betsy has a particular fondness for a red-green hat, worn with a pale green dress and a scarlet jacket.  There is also a matronly-sounding maroon silk evening dress.  And she wonders how people know she is an American even before she speaks!  The illustrations don’t help either, making her look either ten years behind the fashions or forty years ahead of them.

Clearly, this was not an instant favourite with me, though there is something intriguing about Lovelace’s writing, though it is very uneven.  I am even a little bit tempted to read the final Betsy-Tacy book, Betsy’s Wedding.  But while I can somewhat stomach grown-up Betsy, the idea of reading about her childhood escapades sends a shiver up my spine.  No.  Just…no.  I cannot face that.

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Holiday by Harry Morley

Holiday by Harry Morley

I’m one week into my holiday and I’ve managed to read three books already that featured vacationing characters.  I feel an immediate sympathy between myself and a book when this sort of coincidence occurs, though there is also a kind of comparison that happens: is their (fictional) holiday more appealing than mine?  Would I rather be off having the kind of adventures they are having?  But I am very happy where I am right now, thank you very much, and happier still to be able to share in these fictional holidays at the same time. 

The Honey QueenI had never heard of The Honey Queen by Cathy Kelly but that’s probably because it just came out this year.  I’d never read anything by Kelly before but, if this is anything to go by, she’s very Maeve Binchy-esque and I mean that in the best possible way.  Set just outside Cork, The Honey Queen focuses on a perhaps slightly too large cast of characters and the struggles facing each of them.  The highlight is the friendly and always sympathetic Lillian.  In her sixties, Lillie was given up for adoption at birth and taken in by an Australian family.  Recently widowed, she is still coming to terms with her husband’s death when her sons discover that she has a younger brother, Seth, in Ireland.  Seth immediately invites her to visit and Lillie, a little to her surprise, finds herself agreeing to come.  Lillie and Seth’s scenes made me tear up far more often than I should probably admit but as it is the purpose of heart-warming women’s fiction to elicit such tears I felt quite satisfied.  Lillie recognizes that Seth is going through a difficult period in his marriage and does her best to take the pressure off of him and his wife, Frankie, and allow them the time to figure things out.  She’s rather Mary Poppins-like, but less severe.  But this is only one of several households featured in the novel and all of them are interesting.  There’s even a twenty-something female character who opens up a knitting and sewing shop – something I know will appeal to some of my readers!  I will definitely be looking out for more Cathy Kelly books when I get home to the library.

Boys, Bears, and a Serious Pair of Hiking BootsBoys, Bears, and a Serious Pair of Hiking Boots by Abby McDonald was a surprise.  I found it while combing through the library’s e-book catalogue and, being intrigued by the blurb, downloaded this YA novel about a suburban New Jersey teenager who spends a summer with her godmother in the British Columbian Interior.

Jenna is an industrious seventeen year old who is devoted to environmental issues.  She cheerfully organizes protests and rallies, knows how to charm people into signing her petitions, and loves having equally passionate friends in her school’s Green Teen group.  With her parents heading (separately) out of town for the summer, Jenna finds herself going off to stay with her newly married godmother, Susie, in a small town in BC, where Jenna’s environmentalist beliefs clash with the reality of life in the wilderness.

Generally, my issues with romantic YA fiction overlap quite closely with my arguments against chick-lit: I can’t stand books about girls and women who spend all their time thinking about boys and how they look.  Thankfully, Jenna does very little of this and her only concern with footwear (the most annoying chick-lit cliché) is with having waterproof boots appropriate for outdoor pursuits.  Clearly, a girl after my own heart.  There are boys – they’re right there in the title – but they are Jenna’s friends before anything romantic begins to develop, the guys who take her rafting, fishing, rock climbing, and hiking.  That’s part of the real appeal of this book for me: Jenna does stuff.  A lot of stuff.  She throws herself into projects and I loved her excitement over the tourism website she and her new friends build, highlighting all the local outdoor activities, and the B&B that Susie and her husband are opening.  Jenna has her insecurities and concerns but mostly she is a confident, positive young woman with lots of energy that she’s trying to figure out how to channel.  She reminds me far more of myself as a teen than most fictional heroines do.

Nights of Rain and StarsMost recently, I reread Nights of Rain and Stars by Maeve Binchy.  There’s nothing quite like a Maeve Binchy when you’re on holiday and no matter how many times I read her books I am always happy to pick them up again.  (In fact, since finishing this one I’ve started rereading Scarlet Feather, one of my favourite Binchys.)  Nights of Rain and Stars focuses on four travellers who witness a tragedy in the Greek town where they are staying.  Away from their homelands, the four characters – Thomas, David, Elsa, and Fiona – find themselves drawn to the small community as they try and escape the problems they left behind.  Thomas, an academic on sabbatical, is missing his son back in California and dreading the influence the boy’s new stepfather will have on him.  David, a quiet and sensitive young Englishman, is avoiding the parents who expect him to go into the successful family business.  Elsa, a former news presenter, is trying to escape an old lover back in Germany and Fiona, a young Irish nurse, is clinging to the ne’er-do-well boyfriend her family and friends disapprove of.  With guidance from Vonni, an Irishwoman who’s been in Greece long enough to count as a local, they slowly begin to get their lives in order and face up to the conflicts they had thought to escape.

This isn’t Binchy’s best but it is still delightful.  Cathy Kelly might be Binchy-esque but nothing beats a bona fide Binchy.  Last time I read Nights of Rain and Stars, it was the dead of winter (or, you know, possibly April) in Calgary and I remember being holed up inside while a blizzard raged outside.  This time, I read it in the sunshine, hiding under an umbrella from the hot sun.  In either climate, it was a treat.

I have only a few more days left before we begin the drive home so will hopefully get some more suitably vacation-y reading in between now and then!

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