She knew, or thought she knew, that Frenchwomen were hideously ugly, but with an ugliness redeemed by great vivacity and perfect taste in dress... So all in all she was unprepared for the scene that met her eyes on entering...This is Mitford's unapologetic memoir of her own romance with a charming but decidedly not monogamist Frenchman, and really, with the idea of France itself. What works here is the casual seduction of a really independent Englishwoman by the whole of French culture; maybe something that viewed in macro might also be about the unbreakable quality of French cultivation and polish, remarkably unbowed by the world wars. The observations of the Narrator are what makes this book fly, always reasonable if not practical, and never too deeply indebted to settling scores or rooting for any specific side. What doesn't work is the daily-diary kind of structure, which relies too heavily on what happened on a given day. If you have a very unpremeditated, free-wheeling narrator telling the tale, it feels as if there must be, at a minimum, some backstage logic to tie things up. Not to be to focused on this lack though, the book very nearly makes it along the casual lines of this structure-- which does good things for the pacing and drive-- until one of the set-pieces fails along the way. (And then the "oh, do have a look, darling" perspective goes wobbly. In my reading the central Famous Children Ball thrown by Mme. Marel goes flat, and sinks the arc of the book in so doing. Shame, really, since a Mitford-trademark wicked-humourous blowout there would have carried the whole thing).Uneven, but still well worth the read, as the sacred-cow-puncturing and biting euphemism always manage to cover any soul-baring that might have been imminent; we are English here, after all. Having rushed back to London after one too many infidelities courtesy le husband, our Narrator expects a comforting wave of the home country to wash away all of that Continental nonsense; somehow, though, after France the English seem ridiculous too, not just stodgy but loopy and shallow. We watch as Mitford's vision clears, and the larger picture comes into focus. In the Vintage edition's introduction to The Blessing, Caryn James mentions that Mitford had originally been commissioned by producer Alexander Korda to write this in screenplay form; as it happened the production never began, and Mitford rescued the material as a Novel. This reinvention may have something to do with the uneven structure and occasional lapses I found; what may have seemed impossible to sacrifice from the screen version, like the Children's Ball, might have been reconsidered one too many times. Other aspects, like the central positioning of Sigismond, (who is in fact the Blessing of the title) are neatly bundled and tied up at the end -- as if ready for the shooting script of the movie. Who knows, this probably could have been done a half a dozen different ways, and this, as we all must agree, is one of them.
A comical novel about a naive English woman who marries a charming French man only to find that her new husband is an insatiable flirt whose liaisons with other women are as essential for his livelihood as breathing. According to the French man the two were never validly married, as he is nominally Catholic and they were married in a registry. He intends to wait and see whether they should be married in a Church. Grace, a nominal Protestant, eventually leaves him after finding him in bed with another woman, but even afterwards she longs for him to come and repent and take her home.Their son discovers that life with separated parents is more to his liking because he is spoiled as each tries to win his favour over the other. Their new love interests also that the child is the key to their lover's heart and do all they can to impress him.The son manages to deceive both parents to keep them apart, and is only discovered at the end. His clever deceptions are the most enjoyable part of the story.Ultimately Grace must eventually accept her husband's weaknesses as part of his character and culture, in the hope that he'll grow out of it with time. The two come back together even after they have had a civil divorce and before they are 'validly' married in a Church, and it seems that she has been won over by his charming, immoral ways.Intelligently written and at times entertaining, there is not much to be learned from the content other than the immorality of French high society and that the only danger is in getting caught. Reviewed for www.GoodReadingGuide.com
What do You think about The Blessing (1998)?
On one level, this is a frivolous, entertaining story about a couple, their marital difficulties, and the little heathen they call their son (the "blessing" of the title). On a deeper level, Mitford skillfully tells of culture clash, love, and family dysfunction, using her own situation (and clear-eyed self awareness) to poignant effect. The humor is more subtle than that of Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate, some has faded due to time, but The Blessing is still laugh out loud funny in parts and giggle-worthy throughout most of the pages. Finally, I hold up Sigi, the little brat, as yet another reason why I am never having children. Thank you, Nancy, for reinforcing that wise decision.
—Cari
“Grace thought to herself how different all this was going to look in a few weeks, when it had become familiar. Houses are entirely different when you know them well, she thought, and on first acquaintance even more different from their real selves, more deceptive about their real character than human beings. As with human beings, you can have an impression, that is all. Her impression of Bellandargues was entirely favourable, one of hot, sleepy, beautiful magnitude. She longed to be on everyday terms with it, to know the rooms that lay behind the vast windows of the first floor, to know what happened around the corner of the terrace, and where the staircase led to, just visible in the interior darkness. It is a funny feeling to visit your home for the first time and have to be taken about step by step like a blind person.”
—Laura
Marvelous for Mitford's exquisite devotion to France and French society, but the characters begin to grate, ever so slightly. Whereas her frivolous society girls in The Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate come across as charming despite their ridiculousness, I spent most of this novel wanting to shake everyone, but especially Grace and Charles-Edouard. Let us not even speak of their offspring, the precocious plot moppet extraordinaire Sigi, though it is fair to say that Mitford gave him an excellent set-up and explanation for why he is as selfish and manipulative as he is. Still doesn't repress the urge to shake. Oddly enough, I think this is the closest Mitford ever really gets to a happily ever after. That's exactly as funny and depressing as it should be.
—notyourmonkey
