I enjoyed this book a great deal. All of Howard's books (that I've read) are very much of their time - she has a gift for portraying the slightly grubby feel of post-war England - bed sits and inconveniences - in contrast to the pre-war comfort of more established/monied homes. In this she sometimes reminds me of aspects of Barbara Pym's novels, and Mary Renault's Purposes of Love. The action of the story takes place over a weekend, mostly spent in the country, and concerns a widow, her two daughters, an old lover and a poet who, by the standards of their world at least, is slightly odd. The real meat of the story, however, is in the heads of the protagonists, their pasts and their feelings. As always, Howard creates real and interesting characters, and as always there is the strong impression that she is drawing heavily on her own life. Although I enjoyed the book very much, the impressions it leaves of Howard's views on the relations between men and women are disturbing. The two sisters drift along, letting life 'happen' to them, and although the reasons for this are explored, they don't seem altogether satisfactory. This is partly to do with changed social mores, but I think also to do with Howard's own life experience. Nevertheless, it is a beautifully written and lingering novel.
