Utterly charming, surprising, and fascinating story about … not only the NOT Pink but Raspberry Suit worn by Jackie Kennedy but about dressmaking in Paris and New York in 1960, the fabrics, the materials, the chalk, the little Irish seamstresses. the acid smelling old women who ran the sewing shop that knocked off the Chanels, the Nina Riccis, the Diors, worn by the New York and Boston society wives, daughters, sons, set. And of course, by Jackie.
Grace, who practices psychiatry on Manhattan Island, relays a story about one of her patients to the interviewer from Vogue: At a very early point in their relationship, before they were married, her husband told her that she had ugly feet. She accepted this, and having accepted this one instance of rejection, of distaste, she might have, or could have, or should have anticipated that it preceded another rejection, for another part of her body, and thence perhaps for her person.
In other words, this patient, this woman, had an opportunity to anticipate an undesirable outcome, and that opportunity passed her by. This woman should have known, Grace thinks. And Grace thinks that her son is beautiful, and her apartment is unfair, and her husband is an angel; but he seems to have disappeared, and he is not answering his blackberry, and she has never ever ever thought that her husband, Jonathan, would leave her.
A conspicuously intelligent society wife with perfect manners and an unfaithful husband is driving home from the country club and her BMW is hit by a huge truck. Stuck inside the car, she promises the Gods to do good, if only she does not go up in flames. She does not. Jane is saved by an elderly man with a knife from a nearby nursing home, and she keeps her promise. Suddenly, everything changes… Or maybe just Jane changes.
A sweet, engaging, well plotted, well told tale about how a woman can use her good sense and good appetites to do good. Enchantingly read by Isabelle Gordon.
Charming English tale about a newly divorced English mother with ungrateful children and a lying, wretched, smarmy ex-husband. She talks to her neighbor about renting her lovely old house, and finds a job selling pretty cottages for a land developer… Sweet tale about moving on.
A well upholstered, crisply intelligent middle aged police inspector newly widowed from her faithless, politically agile husband, is called back to work after many years. She colors her hair, tries to eat less, and reconnoitres her domestic life across and through the investigation of a murder, the enmity of the young office bitches, the appreciation of her male colleagues, and the sideline of society parties and friendships accompanying her old world inherited wealth.
There weren’t any cabs of course. There weren’t any cabs because it was 4:35 in the afternoon and the government workers were streaming out of the Library and the Capital and the Senate and the House office buildings and besides that, it was snowing. They haven’t yet decided what to do about snow in Washington…When it snows really hard the government shuts down, the schools close and everybody goes home and waits for it to melt. It was snowing hard now.
When its snowing at the beginning of a Ross Thomas chapter, there’s a senator or a cop by the end.
Clever social critique wrapped up in smart, pretty fiction, with a side of acerbic wit. Beautifully thought out by a very ordered English-speaking mind.
“Look, Preacher, I don’t need saving; I’m not interested in dating, and I’d just as soon not be your friend. So why don’t you go peddle ‘let’s be friends’ somewhere else,” she tells Noah when he tries talking to her at lunchtime at school.
We have the perfect subject of the unconscious: a 15 year old orphan, a little tough, a little charming, a little liar with a heavy need for home. “Regan Truman” walks into old Jeremiah’s life as though she belongs there, makes a deal, and stays. Harmony is a town that happens when she makes the town her home.
Well crafted character flaws in this 21st century noir detective story with a cheating wife and an ex-circus dick.
A serious Swede, heir of a prestigious Accounting firm, talks to his tour bus driver who must, like him, return to an unwanted fate, a little farm waiting for him to take it over: “I’m no good at going out looking for sheep that have got stuck on their back with their legs in the air, and turning them the right way up…” .
And somehow the Swede finds himself in a nearby village, at a wonderful old Irish House, eating supper at the same hotel table as a displaced, twice-divorced Hollywood movie star, a bitter retired schoolmistress, an anchorless, childless Dr & Dr couple and a heartbroken librarian with an occasional feel for the future. There at that table he takes out his nickle harp and plays for his fellow guests, who like him, are homeless, and suddenly at home.
The remarkable Maeve Binchy throws these oddments of people together in a place that becomes their home for a time, and from the joyful encounters of strangers comes magic and hope and the exchange of fates.