I don't know exactly why the fiction written by women in the 1930s appeals to me so much, but it does. I knew from the very first page that I was going to enjoy this little novel. The author, Vita Sackville-West, was a choice of the Dead Writers Society in the first quarter of this year.
It is the story of a person who got chivvied into a life that she didn't really want, preventing her from following her heart to the life of a painter. When she is in her late eighties, her husband dies, leaving her finally to do what she actually wants for what remains of her life. It turns out that she wants her family to leave her alone. Against their advice, she rents a small house and proceeds to do what she wants, which seems to be largely assessing her life and visiting with new friends.
In actuality, Lady Slayne has led a privileged existence, protected from difficulty by her husband and his money. Her inability to pursue her art career has been the only impediment in her life, but that has blighted her happiness. So she feels perfectly fine about arranging her final years just as she chooses. Why shouldn't she?
It's difficult to avoid thinking of Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own, with the argument that creatives women need space of their own to practice their craft. This author, Vita Sackville-West, had an intimate relationship with Woolf and they undoubtedly discussed this very subject. I've never felt very motivated to read Woolf, but this book may have changed my mind on that prejudice.
If you enjoy this book, might I suggest that you also try Elizabeth von Arnim's The Enchanted April and/or Winifred Watson's Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day.
No comments:
Post a Comment