Lolly Willowes
I'd seen Lolly Willowes by Sylvia Townsend Warner on a few rec lists for feminist literature, that sort of thing, and the people who crowdfunded the Mary Anning statue are crowdfunding her statue, also that sort of thing. So I eventually picked up Lolly Willowes. That was literally all I knew about it.
I'm so glad that was all I knew about it.
I'm extremely into this very clippy style, interwar vibe. Like Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons, one of my favourites.
Even Henry and Caroline, whom she saw every day, were half hidden under their accumulations — accumulations of prosperity, authority, daily experience. They were carpeted with experience. No new event could set jarring foot on them but they would absorb and muffle the impact. If the boiler burst, if a policeman climbed in at the window waving a sword, Henry and Caroline would bring the situation to heel by their massive experience of normal boilers and normal policemen.
Just... I love this.
First half of the book of Lolly's life, loved it. Third quarter of settling in, loved it. Final quarter? Knocked my socks off because I had no idea it was coming and thought for a moment I was hallucinating a story so precisely made for me. Like a Neverending Story type of situation.
And today her biography arrived in the post so I can read about her very serious looking girlfriend too.