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A review by bhnmt61
September by Rosamunde Pilcher
3.0
The problem for me in reading a Rosamund Pilcher novel is that all the good women, the lovable women, are domestic goddesses. They find great fulfillment in their homes, their cooking, their gardening. They would never serve a guest a convenience food item or take them out for dinner instead of serving them a first-rate homecooked meal.
I'd rather read a book. I’m a decent cook, but I don't get much enjoyment out of it. Our home is nice, but I am bored senseless by the traditional crafts of homemaking. When we entertain, it's because I want to spend time with the people we've invited, it's not about the food or the decorations or the freaking fresh flowers. Reading a book where women like me are invariably lonely, lost souls who end up as shriveled old spinsters just gets irritating after awhile.
But still I read all the way through this one (600+ pages) in a couple of days with a minimum of skimming, so there must have been something about it that worked for me. I almost put it down in disgust when she couldn't let go of the madwoman-in-the-attic level portrayal of the mentally ill Lottie. It was an almost comically stereotyped characterization. And there was some soap opera melodrama in the middle that just felt forced, like Pilcher felt like she had to throw in something she deemed racy to keep up with the times.
But I know this novel is much beloved by many. I've probably given you enough information here so that you can tell if you, like me, would find it close to intolerable. Two and a half stars rounded up to three, because my 3 ratings mean “good enough to finish” and I did finish it.
I'd rather read a book. I’m a decent cook, but I don't get much enjoyment out of it. Our home is nice, but I am bored senseless by the traditional crafts of homemaking. When we entertain, it's because I want to spend time with the people we've invited, it's not about the food or the decorations or the freaking fresh flowers. Reading a book where women like me are invariably lonely, lost souls who end up as shriveled old spinsters just gets irritating after awhile.
But still I read all the way through this one (600+ pages) in a couple of days with a minimum of skimming, so there must have been something about it that worked for me. I almost put it down in disgust when she couldn't let go of the madwoman-in-the-attic level portrayal of the mentally ill Lottie. It was an almost comically stereotyped characterization. And there was some soap opera melodrama in the middle that just felt forced, like Pilcher felt like she had to throw in something she deemed racy to keep up with the times.
But I know this novel is much beloved by many. I've probably given you enough information here so that you can tell if you, like me, would find it close to intolerable. Two and a half stars rounded up to three, because my 3 ratings mean “good enough to finish” and I did finish it.