A few weeks ago, I expressed the need to read something light and fun, after finishing My Sister, My Love, which is wrenching and funny and awful all at once. [And LONG! What is with JCO- she's an incredible writer, but sometimes I feel like she's trying to squeeze every last word out of every single scene.]
Andrew duly went out and bought me a copy of The Women in Black, by Madeleine St John. I read her novel The Essence of the Thing years ago and loved it.
It was interesting to read The Women in Black. I didn't actually think it was that marvellous (it's just been published for the first time in Australia, despite the fact that MSJ was Australian, so we get the usual over-enthusiastic reviews). It's a very slight little novel, but I did enjoy the 'dress love' scenes, especially after reading Linda Grant's The Thoughtful Dresser.
My favourite:
She was experiencing for the first time that particular species of love-at-first-sight which usually comes to a woman much earlier in her life, but which sooner or later comes to all: the sudden recognition that a particular frock is not merely pretty, would not merely suit one, but answers beyond these necessary attributes to one's deepest notions of oneself. It was her frock: it had been made, however unwittingly, for her.
No comments:
Post a Comment