Below are several more reviews of the books which I’ve begun but haven’t finished.
Love from Nancy by Nancy Mitford
I had originally intended to read <i>Love from Nancy</i> last December, when Nancy Mitford was my now defunct online book group’s monthly author. I felt that it was a good volume to begin before I went on holiday, as it could be left whilst I was away and I wouldn’t have to try and remember the story, as it were. I liked the way in which the book was split into sections, and that each was accompanied by a biographical introduction of sorts. Despite this positive aspect, however, I was rather disappointed by the entire volume. I thought that Mitford’s letters would be fascinating, but they all struck the same chord after a while. Dare I say this? A lot of the correspondence here was dull and frequently similar, and I believe that all but die-hard enthusiasts of the Mitfords and their lives would find the collection the same. With regard to other letter collections which I’ve read recently, it lacks the enchantment of Beatrix Potter’s, the vivacity of Sylvia Plath’s, and the wit of Ted Hughes’.
Glimpses of the Moon and The Fruit of the Tree by Edith Wharton
I liked Wharton’s writing and descriptions in both of these books, but I struggle awfully with her characters. They are so unlikeable, particularly within the situations in which they are thrown together.
The Odd Flamingo by Nina Bawden
I really enjoy Bawden’s writing on the whole, but of late, I have found a couple of her novels rather hit and miss. This book was certainly a miss for me. I found the introductory paragraphs relatively interesting, but the characters were stolid and the protagonist very sexist and patronising (although this is perhaps more to do with the time in which The Odd Flamingo was written, rather than what Bawden wished him to be like). The storyline, on the whole, was rather dull, and Bawden does not present the male first person narrative perspective well in my opinion.
Crocodile on the Sandbank by Elizabeth Peters
I’ve read in several reviews that Amelia Peabody, the protagonist of this series of Elizabeth Peter’s, is incredibly difficult to like. She is. She is stubborn and sexist, and bases her entire life upon a series of ridiculous assumptions – for example, that a girl she comes across who has fainted on the street will be her travelling companion just like that, with no say so on her own part. The telling of the story reminds one of wading through rather dull treacle, and even though the book is told from the first person perspective, it lacks both personality and empathy. I am fascinated by Ancient Egypt, but I found this novel made the subject rather boring – something which I didn’t previously believe was possible. I gave up on the book before I’d even reached the mystery.