I'm addicted to reading. I feel like every cheesy Internet meme about loving books was created with me in mind; I can't browse in Exclusives because, when by the time I've made a list of all the novels I need to read, I am in the grips of a full-blown panic attack.
All the same, much as I feel ashamed to admit it, I have never clicked with the classics. I have friends who make a point of re-reading Jane Austen every year because, they say, her words are infused with beauty. I, on the other hand, feel like her words are bricks in a maze. I experience the same emotion when I watch anything to do with the CIA (now, who would have thought Jane Austen would have anything in common with spies?) - somewhere along the line, I miss a vital point and end up feeling stupid and frustrated.
So I almost hesitated when I saw Jo Baker's Longbourne. It was something of a conundrum: on the one hand, my sincere wish that I had been born into a time of corsets and cads makes me a sucker for anything set later than the 1950's; on the other, the cover's description of the book being Pride and Prejudice revisited was a little offputting.
How glad I am I listened to the first voice in my head. Longbourne looks at life with the Bennetts from the point of view of someone who had to handwash all those party frocks and create all those elaborate hairstyles. Seen from that perspective, Darcy isn't a dashing gentleman at all; but the reason for yet another tedious chore.
Baker writes with empathy and insight - so it's that rare find, a book that's not just a great story, but a magnificent piece of writing, too. In fact, her crafted sentences are the main reason this is such a joy. Not a single word is wasted; she writes with the confidence of a dancer doing intricate steps, yet knowing them so well she no longer needs to watch her feet,
This is a must read. Just make sure you have nothing lined up on your calendar.
All the same, much as I feel ashamed to admit it, I have never clicked with the classics. I have friends who make a point of re-reading Jane Austen every year because, they say, her words are infused with beauty. I, on the other hand, feel like her words are bricks in a maze. I experience the same emotion when I watch anything to do with the CIA (now, who would have thought Jane Austen would have anything in common with spies?) - somewhere along the line, I miss a vital point and end up feeling stupid and frustrated.
So I almost hesitated when I saw Jo Baker's Longbourne. It was something of a conundrum: on the one hand, my sincere wish that I had been born into a time of corsets and cads makes me a sucker for anything set later than the 1950's; on the other, the cover's description of the book being Pride and Prejudice revisited was a little offputting.
How glad I am I listened to the first voice in my head. Longbourne looks at life with the Bennetts from the point of view of someone who had to handwash all those party frocks and create all those elaborate hairstyles. Seen from that perspective, Darcy isn't a dashing gentleman at all; but the reason for yet another tedious chore.
Baker writes with empathy and insight - so it's that rare find, a book that's not just a great story, but a magnificent piece of writing, too. In fact, her crafted sentences are the main reason this is such a joy. Not a single word is wasted; she writes with the confidence of a dancer doing intricate steps, yet knowing them so well she no longer needs to watch her feet,
This is a must read. Just make sure you have nothing lined up on your calendar.
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