I’d been hankering to reread this one, so I snaffled it at the Sunday hippy market and didn’t resist temptation for very long. What a pleasure to reread it, now as an adult – Lucy Honeychurch’s coming to passion and life, thanks to Italy, tourism and Fabian philosophies held by joyous-contemplative Mr Emerson and depressive- contemplative son George (leave feminism out of this rescue scenario, you’re bound to be disappointed). I’d been suckered in to this story by the Merchant Ivory production I saw as a teenager, all afroth with frocks and Italy-worship, and reading the novel was like playing the movie in my head (sorry, Mr Forster, but it works to your favour, it really does). The characterisation is deft, the plotting faultless, the accesses of world-worship radiant. Fabulous; divine, even; highly recommended.
Where it came from: Market stall
Time and manner of reading: Evening snippet and devoted morning lie-in
Where it went: Keeper Shelf, possibly via MM
Reminds me of/that: The movie-from-book you see had better be a good one – there ain’t no gettin’ those actors out of your head on the reread
Who I’d recommend it to: Seekers of a good book, classic but light and full of beauty
Also reading: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon; Being Alive edited by Neil Astley; The Seven Sisters of the Pleiades by Munya Andrews; The Politics of Ecstasy by Timothy Leary