For posterity's sake, I have to admit that this is an important novel, and also it's exquisitely written remembrances make it an interesting work of literary skill, but for some reason all the dots were there, but they just didn't connect for me.
I didn't hate this book, but I far from enjoyed it. The experience of reading it seemed to me, more like it was something that had to be done rather than something I had elected to do for pleasure.
A wonderful piece of writing...warm, funny...why can't alll adolesents be like this?!!
Lee's description of cosy Cotswold life is unbearably twee at times, but his writing is pure poetry. All things considered, he could be describing a sewer - his lyrical prose would still more than make up for it.
Resonates with half-imagined memories of my very early childhood, and a sense of the just-out-of-reach past.
God is white, middle-class and English! A book known more for style over substance, but nevertheless beautifully descriptive and evocative of idyllic rural life. An archetype of the unconscious!
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