| Title | : | Love in a Cold Climate (Radlett \u0026 Montdore, #2) |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 0140009841 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9780140009842 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 249 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1949 |
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One of Nancy Mitford’s most beloved novels, Love in a Cold Climate is a sparkling romantic comedy that vividly evokes the lost glamour of aristocratic life in England between the wars.
Polly Hampton has long been groomed for the perfect marriage by her mother, the fearsome and ambitious Lady Montdore. But Polly, with her stunning good looks and impeccable connections, is bored by the monotony of her glittering debut season in London. Having just come from India, where her father served as Viceroy, she claims to have hoped that society in a colder climate would be less obsessed with love affairs. The apparently aloof and indifferent Polly has a long-held secret, however, one that leads to the shattering of her mother’s dreams and her own disinheritance. When an elderly duke begins pursuing the disgraced Polly and a callow potential heir curries favor with her parents, nothing goes as expected, but in the end all find happiness in their own unconventional ways.
Love in a Cold Climate (Radlett \u0026 Montdore, #2) Reviews
-
Love in a cold climate is a curtain raised on the great theatre, the universe of the happy few English high societies of the 1930s.
The narrator, Fanny, is a poor relative, young first, having always had one foot in the Hampton clan's very select universe. With all its quarters of nobility, a family of old stock, whose central figure is Lady Monroe, a willful woman, gossip, viper's tongue, and the monster of selfishness. Social fairs, bridges, the quest for the right party, courtesy visits between people from the same universe, and balls presented to young girls worldwide. They had described the entire closed universe of good aristocratic society in a controlled style embellished with the subtle art of understatement, which makes all the salt of English humor. Nevertheless, we experience some annoyance with stoicism, the narrator's complacency many rebuffs the shrew, Monroe. In front of the affectation, the ridiculous emptiness of this part of the human race and the plot's rather severe thinness.
It is a well-crafted, keyed novel, not unpleasant to read, a kind of social story, rather unforgettable. -
This 1949 farcical tale by Mitford is a riot. This group of wealthy British aristocrats who view themselves as the pinnacle of society, who have everything they could possible want, except maybe some common sense, or any sense at all for that matter, live only to gossip about their set, their affairs, their balls, etc. Even Fanny, the narrator, whom the reader comes to rely on as the only somewhat normal character, seems totally invested in the daily events of these silly people. I can see how this story, if casted properly, could make for entertaining film or television.
-
When the loo-paper gets thicker and the writing-paper gets thinner, it’s always a bad sign at home (Nancy Mitford, Love in a Cold Climate, Hamish Hamilton, 1949)
It is pretty standard, nowadays, to denigrate her as frivolous and out of touch, but I’ve always had a sneaking liking for Nancy Mitford, easily the loveliest of the Mitford sisters. Conventional modern Britain has obviously lost sight of a lot of the values that underly her books and are no longer valued in a country where Mr. Blair and the late Princess of Wales are held up as role-models. A lot of these contemporary prejudices have to do, of course, with her choice of vocabulary, well-illustrated, I think, in the above sentence that manages to refer to both loos and writing-paper. But there is more to Nancy Mitford than that. Two factors stand out in my own personal experience.
First, I am attracted, of course, by her fondness for France, where she lived for the last thirty years or so of her life is something that obviously binds me to her: the it is fascinating how France has always featured prominently in the lives and thoughts of some of England’s greatest sons, the first Duke of Wellington being, perhaps, the most striking example. Nancy Mitford’s relationship with Gaston Palewski, whom I count as one of the most prominent actors of France’s reconstruction in the post-war period, is of course echoed in this book by the character of Sauveterre, by whom the narrator is captivated at the beginning of the story. But the book is dotted with innumerable, accurate, yet fundamentally totally English instances of observation of the intricacies of post-war French society.
The second reason why I like Nancy Mitford is the detachment with which she viewed the England in which she grew up: her point of view was never one of rejection—she was English to the core—but it was open-minded and her books show a deep understanding of the social structures and mannerisms of England in that period, something which those who have reviewed her work fail to understand. She is perfectly aware of the absurdities of a system does not mean it has to be overturned, as this passage illustrates:“Nervous shock,” said Davey. “I don’t suppose she’s ever had a death so near to her before.”
“Oh yes she has,” said Jassy. “Ranger.”
“Dogs aren’t exactly the same as human beings, my dear Jassy.”
But to the Radletts, they were exactly the same, except that to them dogs on the whole had more reality than people.
Nancy Mitford’s writing, in that sense, is hardly just frivolous. It implicitly embodies a very English approach to the issues of the day: her emphasis is on the value of an age-old system miraculously maintained where it had vanished elsewhere combined with an insider’s view of its absurdities and the overall conviction that social structures are, on balance best left untouched but should not be taken too seriously.
English too is her approach to love-making. While important, it is not something to get carried away with:“I’ve loved him ever since I can remember. Oh, Fanny—isn’t being happy wonderful?”
I felt just the same myself and was able to agree with all my heart. But her happiness had a curiously staif quality, and her love seemed less like the usual enchanted rapture of old establishment, love which does not need to assert itself by continually meeting, corresponding with and talking about its object, but which takes itself, as well as his response, for granted.
Two opposing characters in Love in a Cold Climate, illustrate this observant, wittily detached, modern yet ultimately sympathetic approach: Uncle Matthew, the archetypal, old-fashioned, prejudiced and red-faced English country squire, whose life seems to revolve principally around his pet hates—anything foreign, cissies, intellectuals and Socialists—and Cedric, a very modern, exotic figure, probably inspired by Hamish St Clair-Erskine, a Scottish folle whom Nancy Mitford had rather hopelessly “dated” in the early 1930s.
I also confess a weakness for Nancy Mitford’s style: totally unpretentious, always elegant and with a choice of vocabulary for which she has grown famous, the result of breeding, good taste and sound judgment. Critics tend to focus on it as a reflection on a class-system, instead of looking at it for what it really is: the embodiment of early twentieth-century England at its very best. -
"Oh what a pity it happens to be Davey's day for getting drunk. I long to tell him, he will be so much interested."
This was such a problematic read for me!
This should have been a 5★ read for me. The book was very well written, witty & with a far better storyline than
The Pursuit of Love which I gave 4. 5★.
I know this was written as a satire but the part I can't stomach is It is never something I'm going to find funny. And this book, like The Pursuit of Love, treats death quite casually. Maybe that is to be expected in an author who lived through two world wars.
But I loved many of the characters (especially Cedric - so much fun!) & look forward to
Don't Tell Alfred the final book in this trilogy.
https://wordpress.com/view/carolshess... -
[7/10]
In the introduction to the novel, Alan Cummings remarks on the fascination exercited by Nancy Mitford writing, as she is:
throwing open the door at the zoo and letting us watch the animals.
She is an insider in the exclusive circles of Britain's high society, she knows all the dirty little secrets and she has the wit, the talent to make us laugh out loud at their antics. What attracted me most though about her first book in this Radlett / Montdore setting is the human frailty and the limitations that belonging to this privileged class also imply, like the lack of prospects for girls who are denied a higher education and whose only purpose in life is to acquire a husband and to be decorative.
Girls of her age, living at home, are hardly ever happy and Polly is a specially bad case because she has nothing whatever to do, she doesn't care for hunting, or parties, or anything much that I can see, and she doesn't get on with her mother. It's true that Sonia teases and lectures her and sets about it all the wrong way, she's a tactless person, but she is perfectly right, you know. Polly needs a life of her own, babies, occupations, and interests - an establishment, in fact - and for all that she must have a husband.
Polly Montdore (comes from Leopoldina, an early illustration of her mother's royal ambitions) is not in the same class as the serial faller in love Linda Radlett. She is the most beautiful heiress of her generation, yet she apparently has little interest in dancing the social fandango. As readers, we don't get into her head to see what really drives her, what her dreams and expectations are until rather late in the novel. The narrator is the same level headed and enchanting Fanny, daughter of two wandering socialites who abandoned her as a child to be raised like a cuckoo by relatives. She ends up, not surprisingly, choosing stability and a quiet household over adventures and melodramatic liaisons, but she is a quick witted witness to all the events surrounding Polly's romantic life that are at the core of the present novel. As a minor bother, I was getting warmed up towards Polly as she started to show signs of independence from her overbearing mother, when the author dropped her and started to focus almost exclusively on said mother. Lady Montdore is another great example of Mitford buffoons who hide a tragic alienation :
Love indeed - whoever invented love ought to be shot. exclaims the Dame as she finds out that Fanny intends to marry an Oxford don instead of an aristocratic ninny. For her, diamonds and social status are more important than feelings, probably the reason she has driven her daughter Polly away. Lady Montdore lives in bubble of self obsession, collecting deposed royalty, clueless about real life and social issues of her times. But she is fun to watch, especially after she meets Cedric, the cousin/heir from the colonies. My favorite scene is Lady Montdore getting into a huff with Fanny about literary talents:
She remembered to ask for Mrs Dalloway before leaving, and went off with the book in her hand, a first edition. I felt sure that I had seen the last of it, but she brought it back the following week, saying that she really must write a book herself as she knew she could do much better than that.
My least favorite scene of her illustrates her total lack of empathy and her callous nature
Despite finding the text more frivolous and less concerned with plot that the previous book, I derived the same satisfaction from the style of presentation and from the oddbal characters, many of them recurring ones, as the timeline and the location is parallel to the events from The Pursuit of Love . With Louisa and Linda married and gone from Alconleigh, the masters of mischief are younger girls Jassy and Victoria, indulged and ignored equally by their father and barely held in check by their mother. Best scene is their discovery of a psychoanalysis book at the library and then giving Rohrsach tests and passing judgement on the rest of their familyand on the manor staff:
- You're a very straightforward case of frustration - wanted to be a gamekeeper, were obliged to be a lord - followed, as is usual, by the development of over-compensation so that now you're a psycho-neurotic of the obsessive and hysterical type engrafted on to a paranoid and schizoid personality.
- Children, you are not to say these things about your father.
Another welcome returning character is Fanny's uncle Davey, whose hypochondria and health regimens had me rolling on the floor laughing:
He ate in turns like Gandhi and like Henry VIII, went for ten-mile walks or lay in bed all day, shivered in a cold bath or sweated in a hot one. Nothing in moderation. 'It is also important to get drunk every now and then'. Davey, however, was too much of a one for regular habits to be irregular otherwise than regularly, so he always got drunk at the full moon. Having once been under the influence of Rudolf Steiner he was still very conscious of the waxing and waning of the moon, and had, I believe, a vague idea that the waxing and the waning of the capacity of his stomach coincided with its periods.
The ending of the novel I found extremely abrupt and unnecessarily optimistic given the preceding goings on, but considering the lack of an actual plot and the general chaos governing the life of the characters, there is no need for a moral: the merry-go-round will continue to spin, and the rich will continue to party like there's no tomorrow, learning nothing from the pain and loss they have temporarily experienced. And we, the public, will continue to be fascinated by their glittering images and keep buying those glossy glamour magazines.
In a slightly forced final note: after finishing the book I watched for the first time La regle du jeu by Jean Renoir, a black & white masterpiece describing French high society right before the outbreak of WWII. I think the movie will make a great companion piece to Nancy Mitford novels, given not only the author's fascination with France, but finding similarities in the behaviour of the elites both sides of the Channel. -
Cold-cool-cool
Girls expect only happiness from marriage. Why, then, do so many smart and middle-aged women not strive to fall into this trap?
Oh, the British upper class, in the intricacies of intrigues and relationships of which we consider ourselves competent, like a housewife from the nineties who said that she would drop everything and go to Santa Barbara, she knows everyone there. Well, at least in the case of Nancy Mitford, the storyteller's competence is undeniable.
Flesh of the flesh of the described environment, she belonged by right of birth to the golden youth. Although, as her heroine-narrator, rather to the lower boundary of the described layer - the Mitfords are a respected Gentry family. Entry into some living rooms, absolutely unattainable for the nouveau riche, was provided to her initially, despite her modest financial situation.
And literary talent and wit, combined in perfect proportion with benevolence, made it possible to become an insider writer, partly in the image of Jane Austen's heroines, who also belong to an untitled and poor, but well-born and respected social stratum. Remember how Liz Bennett says to Lady what's-her-name, who came to order her not to agree to Darcy's proposal: "He is a nobleman. I am the daughter of a nobleman. We are equal in this sense."
"Love in a cold climate", of course, has never been "Pride and Prejudice", and now it's not about the fact that the latter is a masterpiece, while the former is nothing more than a nice, unencumbered reading. I mean that a century and a half with the benefits of technological progress, serious social changes, two world wars between two books could not leave the story of the life of the English establishment, seen through the eyes of a poor and ugly, but decent intelligent and charming relative, the same.
Women are more free and less constrained by conventions. So the parents of the heroine-narrator are divorced, the mother is with her next husband (lover?) in Italy, her father is in Jamaica, she is brought up in a family of relatives, well-born and well-off, although not rich. Their other relatives are really rich and titled, with whom Fanny (Salute, Fanny Price, Mansfield Park) often visits. Not least because she is the same age as their daughter, Polly.
A late child, she is amazingly beautiful in childhood, and by adolescence turns into a real English rose. They say that on the water. fire and how others work can be watched endlessly, Polly Montdor is a worthy addition to this list, and wealth and nobility should open all doors to her. At debutante balls, she shines with dresses, jewelry and natural beauty... Remaining unclaimed.
There is something about this girl that makes potential suitors keep their distance. Time goes by, a decent party is still not being made up, Lady Montdor is tearing up and rushing, and her daughter, like a princess, is not laughing or a princess from the Bremen Town Musicians: "I don't want anything!"Of course she has a secret, of course we will find out what it is. And yes, it will be shocking, although at the same time respectable.
And everything will continue with no less shocking respectability. This, you know. when absolute, seemingly obscenity acquires the status of a sweet innocent eccentricity. And you look at it, and you think: damn, but you can do that. It is possible in a human way. That's what we are people for, to be able to understand and accept those who are different from ourselves."
Charming, cozy, nice book. Perfect for weekends.
Прохладно, ладно, ладно
Девушки ждут от брака только счастья. По чему же тогда столько умных и немолодых женщин не стремятся попасть в эту ловушку?
О, британский высший класс, в хитросплетениях интриг и отношений которого мы полагаем себя компетентными примерно как домохозяйка из девяностых, которая говорила, что вот бросит все и уедет в Санта-Барбару, она всех там знает. Что ж, по крайней мере в случае Нэнси Митфорд компетентность рассказчицы несомненна.
Плоть от плоти описываемой среды, она по праву рождения принадлежала к золотой молодежи. Хотя, как ее героиня-рассказчица, скорее к нижней границе описываемого слоя - Митфорды уважаемая семья джентри. Вхождение в некоторые гостиные, абсолютно недостижимые для нуворишей была обеспечена ей изначально, несмотря на скромное финансовое положение.
А литературный талант и остроумие в идеальной пропорции соединенные с доброжелательностью, позволили стать бытописателем-инсайдером, отчасти в образе героинь Джейн Остен, которые ведь тоже принадлежат к нетитулованной и небогатой, но родовитой и уважаемой общественной страты. Помните, как Лиз Беннет говорит леди-как-ее-там, явившейся, чтобы приказать ей не соглашаться на предложение Дарси: "Он дворянин. Я дочь дворянина. Мы в этом смысле равны."
"Любовь в холодном климате", конечно ни разу не "Гордость и предубеждение", и сейчас не о том, что последнее шедевр, в то время, как первое — не более, чем милое необременительное чтение. Я о том, что полтора столетия с благами технического прогресса, серьезными социальными изменениями, двумя мировыми войнами между двумя книгами не могли оставить рассказ о жизни английского истеблишмента, увиденной глазами бедной и некрасивой, но порядочной умной и обаятельной родственницы, прежним.
Женщины более свободны и менее скованы условностями. Так родители героини-рассказчицы в разводе, мать с очередным мужем (любовником?) в Италии, отец на Ямайке, воспитывается она в семье родственников, родовитых и обеспеченных, хотя не богачей. По-настоящему богаты и титулованы другие их родственники, у которых Фанни (салют, Фанни Прайс, "Мэнсфилд Парк") часто гостит. Не в последнюю очередь потому, что приходится ровесницей их дочери, Полли.
Поздний ребенок, та удивительно красива в детстве, а к отрочеству превращается в настоящую английскую розу. Говорят, что на воду. огонь и как другие работают можно смотреть бесконечно, Полли Монтдор достойное дополнение этого списка, а богатство и знатность должны открыть перед ней все двери. На балах дебютанток она блистает нарядами, драгоценностями и природной красотой... Оставаясь невостребованной.
Есть в этой девушке что-то, заставляющее держаться потенциальных женихов на расстоянии. Время идет, достойная партия все не составляется, Леди Монтдор рвет и мечет, а дочь, как царевна-несмеяна или принцесса из "Бременских музыкантов": "Ни-че-го я не хочу!" Разумеется, у нее есть тайна, разумеется, мы узнаем, в чем она заключается. И да, это будет шокирующе, хотя вместе с тем респектабельно.
А продолжится все не менее шокирующей респектабельностью. Такое, знаете. когда абсолютная, казалось бы, непристойность обретает статус милого невинного чудачества. И ты смотришь на это, и думаешь: блин, а ведь можно и так. Можно по-человечески. На то мы и люди, чтобы уметь понимать и принимать непохожих на себя".
Очаровательная, уютная, славная книга. Идеально для выходных. -
A companion novel to the delightful "The Pursuit of Love" (
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...), "Love in a Cold Climate" reunited me with Fanny's witty voice, with Uncle Matthew's teeth gnashing and Uncle Davey's ridiculous dieting, but while my dear Linda Radlett was mentioned from time to time, I'm afraid her absence took the shine off this installment of Mitford's silly and fun Oxfordshire chronicles.
"Love in a Cold Climate" focuses on a family who reside in the same region as the Radletts, the Montdore: the jewel in that family's crown in Polly, a radiant young woman, who despite her good looks and excellent pedigree, refuses to fall in love and get married, to her mother's never-ending frustration. No one can quite seem to understand why she can't form an attachment, until she picks the most scandalous possible match, her recently widowed uncle-by-marriage, and is disinherited by her parents. The void she leaves in their lives, however, will soon be filled by the arrival of a distant relative who is to inherit their estate now that Polly has been written out of the will, the dashing Cedric. As this story unfolds, Fanny gets married and begins her life as a young wife and mother in Oxford.
Charming and witty as it is, the fact that Polly and Cedric both grated my nerves made this a less enjoyable read for me than "The Pursuit of Love"; I had all but fallen in love with Linda, and while both stories occur around the same time (her marriage to Tony Kroesig is referred to a few times), she is only part of this story as an anecdote - and Lord Merlin is only briefly mentioned!
Still there is something irresistible about the gossipy nature of Mitford's stories, her hilarious descriptions of the eccentric characters who may or may not be based on real people (wink wink) and sharp commentary about the silly vacuousness of the landed gentry.
Sweet and entertaining, but a little thinner than its predecessor. -
I find Nancy Mitford such an underrated writer - is it that she's been pigeon-holed as one of the notorious Mitford sisters? It's unfair since at her best she has that sense of combined comedy and tragedy that Waugh demonstrates in, say,
A Handful Of Dust, and the story of 'cold' but beautiful Polly shows that Mitford can do depth without sacrificing her signature frothy sense of fun and attention to fashion details.
If
The Pursuit of Love deconstructed cultural myths of romantic love, then this book goes even further. Mitford never makes a big and obvious 'thing' about it but Fanny's response, in particular, makes it quite clear that she is aware and appalled.
Alongside this is the hysterical story of Cedric and his makeover of Lady Montdore, while Fanny herself gets married. It's very easy to treat this as merely a fun piece of twenties chic lit, but the treatment belies Mitford's exposé of very questionable behaviour at the heart of the Establishment.
Elegant, witty writing doesn't take away from an underlying seriousness. -
“Love indeed! Whoever invented love ought to be shot.”
It’s 1930’s England, and our narrator Fanny offers up some delicious dishing about her cousins, Lord and Lady Montdore, their daughter Polly, and a gaggle of others who run in their privileged circles. Fanny is a notch below them in status, but a frequent visitor to their homes, so is regularly subjected to their supercilious thoughts and hilarious conversations.
The humor is wicked--similar to Oscar Wilde.
“It’s no good, I thought, you always come up against this blank wall with old people, they always say about each other that they have never looked any different, and how can it be true? Anyway, if it is true they must have been a horrid generation, all withered or blowsy, and grey at the age of eighteen, knobbly hands, bags under the chin, eyes set in a little map of wrinkles …”
There is a plot of course--having to do with the better or worse of love and marriage--but it reads like one big gossip session. I listened to audio for part of this because it was just so fun to hear the rapid-fire dialogue. The character of Cedric, who appears towards the end, is a particular treat, and makes the whole read worthwhile.
Pure fun. -
In 1949 Americans were reading A Rage to Live, Point of No Return and The Big Fisherman. All rightfully forgotten today. Then Nancy Mitford erupted with this hilarious novel of U aristos that changed the conversation -- and readers are still talking. At the time readers here were fussed by Truman Capote's book photo of himself lounging on a settee; there was also consternation from critics about Vidal's same-sex saga, The City and the Pillar. Enter Nancy Mitford with her UK best-seller. As she tells it in Harold Acton's Memoir:
"Are you impressed? Even in America, where the reviews are positively insulting, it is on the best-seller list. I have a secret feeling the other novels on the market can't be that fascinating. Anyhow, I shall never write about normal love again; there is a far larger and more enthusiastic public for the other sort. America is taking exception to Cedric, the sweet pansy. It seems in America you can have pederasts in books so long as they are fearfully gloomy and end by committing suicide. A cheerful one who goes from strength to strength like Cedric horrifies them. They say he's too revolting...I write back, 'how can you hate him when he's such a love?'"
Cedric Hampton only appears in the last 75 pages, but he takes the story away from the deb balls and house party manners of the late 20s and the Bright Young Things not unlike the young Cecil Beaton, always seeking Beauty, with his camera. Meeting the craggy and dominating Lady Montdore, based on Violet Treufusis (famous for her affairs w Vita Sackville-West and Princess Edmond de Polignac), Cedric orders her rejuvenation with a face lift, weight loss, massages and designer clothes. The married Mondore is in high snit because her only daughter wed an old coot (with whom the Lady once had intimacy herself). Changing the Mondore Will, she decides to leave all to Cedric, another relative. In a Mitfordian scene the two adorn themselves with every family jewel in the house. It's visual insanity. Cedric had been living in Paris, kept by a Baron and arguing with other beaux. Now he moves in with Lord and Lady Montdore - though he still has a wandering eye....beware. "Having lovely cake and eating it too, which is one's great aim in life," muses Nancy.
Mitford's first great pash was for a Bright Young Thing who'd had a tumble with her brother Tom. She didnt always get to eat cake, but she was aware of the pastries on the U shelves, and a frisky sensibility was more important than being earnest. That's what bothered Americans. -
"Lady Montdore adorava qualquer representante da realeza. Era emoção genuína e completamente desinteressada pois adorava-os quer estivessem no exílio ou no poder e esse amor era consumado nas vénia que lhes fazia. No entanto, as vénias de Lady Montdore, tendo em conta a solidez da sua constituição física, não faziam lembrar os movimentos graciosos das espigas de trigo agitadas pela brisa. Deixava-se cair como um camelo e quando se levantava erguia primeiro o rabo como uma vaca numa performance estranha que se podia supor dolorosa para a executante, cuja expressão facial, porém, logo desmentia esta ideia. Os joelhos estalavam-lhe como tiros de revólver, mas o sorriso dela era celestial."
Este segundo volume da trilogia Raddlet e Montdore não teve a mesma força que o anterior para alimentar quase duas centenas de páginas com a biografia sanitizada das aristocráticas Mitford e amigos.
Felizmente, as narrativas independentes dos três volumes permitem ao leitor fazer uma escolha desobrigando-o de percorrer a série completa.
Face ao anterior, Amor Num Clima Frio é um romance de maior maturidade, de ritmo mais compassado, mas, curiosamente, menos cauteloso nas demonstrações xenófobas, misóginas etc. Além disso, a caricatura de que Mitford usa e abusa neste livro está largamente ultrapassada, e falha em conseguir captar a atenção dos leitores contemporâneos, arrisco dizer.
Sinto que ao longo da narrativa se quebraram um pouco o espírito mordaz e a crítica ácida que habitaram o primeiro volume. Entretanto, os personagens mantêm a sua vivacidade, são coloridas e familiares, mas o enredo não se desenvolve senão para lá da primeira metade do livro (aliás, o mesmo aconteceu com A Procura Do Amor).
" - O importante, querida - disse ela - é ter um casaco de peles mesmo bom. Quero dizer, um casaco adequado, escuro.(...)Não só fará com que o resto da tua roupa pareça melhor do que é, como não vais ter de te preocu par com mais nada, pois nunca precisarás de o despir. E sobretudo não te ponhas a gastar dinheiro em roupa interior, não há nada mais estúpido. Eu uso sempre a do Montdore, por exemplo."
A tradução também não me encantou - por qualquer razão a editora optou por não manter a tradutora do primeiro volume - resultando em dificuldades de leitura de que não havia necessidade nenhuma.
Valeu pelo tio Mathew e Lady Montdore, personagens satíricos por excelência, levados tão ao exagero que perdem qualquer verosimilhança servindo apenas de bom divertimento.
"Lembrou-se de me pedir Mrs. Dalloway antes de se ir embora e lá partiu, de livro na mão, uma primeira edição. Tive a certeza de que era a última vez que lhe punha a vista em cima mas ela devolveu-me o livro na semana seguinte, dizendo que de facto tinha de se pôr a escrever porque podia fazer muito melhor do que aquilo." -
Why have I waited so long in my life to read this wonderful little gem? It's just so delicious, a pure delight. A comment on the back cover says it is "... a wickedly funny satire, brilliantly lampooning upper-class society". They don't mention that you will laugh out loud on public transport while reading it, or that you are torn between racing through this confection at high speed it or devouring it slowly to savour and enjoy every little morsel. Highly recommended reading, and I look forward to following the characters into other of Ms Mitford's works.
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I loved this one as well. In my later years, I really came to dislike "series" novels. Nancy Mitford never ended her novels on a cliffhanger, so I didn't mind that she pulled out characters from her other novels and told an offshoot story line.
I found the entire family riveting, and this is ironic, because I really dislike gossipy rags like the Inquirer and their ilk. -
It’s over three weeks since I finished this book, and any initial thoughts I had in my head about it have flown out of my head again. What remains, as a starting point for this review, is a criticism passed on to me by someone, that Nancy Mitford sanitises her eccentric, terrible family. I think that if she hadn’t, she probably couldn’t have written anything at all! Such a formation would surely demand to be worked through. At least two of her sisters embraced the dark side (Fascism!), while Nancy was early led into social and psychological satire. In the opening pages Lord Mountdore, for instance, highly acclaimed as the archetypal English nobleman, is easily dispensed with:
“My cousin Linda and I, two irreverent little girls whose opinion makes no odds, used to think that he was a wonderful old fraud, and it seemed to us that in that house it was Lady Mountdore who really counted. Now Lady Mountdore was for ever doing common things and mean and she was intensely unpopular, quite as much disliked as her husband was loved, so that anything he might do that was considered not quite worthy of him, or which did not quite fit in with his reputation, was immediately laid at her door. ‘Of course she made him do it.’ On the other hand I have often wondered whether without her to bully him and push him forward and intrigue for him and ‘make him do it’, whether in fact, without the help of those very attributes which caused her to be so much disliked, her thick skin and ambition and boundless driving energy, he would ever have done anything at all noteworthy in the world.”
The voice of the narrative of Love in a Cold Climate is that of Fanny, a cousin of the ‘Radlett’ family (Mitford’s own). Fanny’s ‘Uncle Matthew’ would be had up for child abuse these days. He refused to educate his daughters, vented his furious prejudices on his family in violent rages and, allegedly, would even take to hunting his children with dogs, as a variation on foxes. Yet they looked up to him. Of course they must have. He was the huge figure in their lives, the standard they could adopt, or from which they could deviate. Don’t read this book if you are sensitive about racial (or any) prejudice – in Uncle Matthew it abounds, and defines him, but it is present in other characters too, and not in any way that deems it particularly reproachable. The book is satirical about an entire way of life; the swift incisiveness of the writer’s pen does not focus on any particular prejudice – there are so many opportunities for satirical humour in the home-grown aristocracy. The whole thing is like a mad and glittering show – indeed that’s the way the current television drama of The Pursuit of Love, her earlier novel, which I haven’t read, is presented – but in Love in a Cold Climate Fanny’s voice is sober and reassuring. There is, then, something solid underlying the eccentric world of these English aristocrats in the early twentieth century. There has to be something strong, and decent, which holds them up – and which tolerates them, as does Fanny.
I loved the exaggerated characters – the harmless ones, that is, such as this one – I won’t name him, to avoid a spoiler. This is from the moment when Fanny meets him:
“A glitter of blue and gold crossed the parquet, and a human dragonfly was kneeling on the fur rug in front of the Montdores, one long white hand extended towards each. He was a tall, thin, young man, supple as a girl, dressed in rather a bright blue suit; his hair was the gold of a brass bed-knob, and his insect appearance came from the fact that the upper part of his face was concealed by blue goggles set in gold rims quite an inch thick.”
This character later falls foul of Uncle Matthew while buying a copy of Vogue magazine at a station (I’ll omit the details of Uncle Matthew’s rage):
“You’d never think,” (says our dragonfly friend), “that buying 'Vogue' could be so dangerous? It was well worth it, though, lovely Spring modes”.
I did find this novel highly entertaining, with its sparkling humour and lacerating wit. I liked the way that personal misfortune (such as Fanny’s desertion by her mother, known as “The Bolter” because of her habit of ‘bolting’ with a succession of men) is made light of, indeed, mentioned only as if in passing. The characters can surprise, within their narrow range of opportunity to do so; while social judgement is rigid, and acid, moral judgement is light. Sexual attraction is presented as scarcely accountable, and more or less inexplicable. The structure, such as it is, hinges on this interplay of relationships; and the bizarreness of this ensures that the world Nancy Mitford describes is held at a distance – and distance is so essential to comedy.
A very brief 'introduction' in the Penguin edition that was lent to me explains that Nancy Mitford started writing “in order to relieve the boredom of the intervals between the recreations established by the social conventions of her world”. I haven’t read anything else by her, but this short biographical note mentions the range of her novels, biographies, essays and translations, and she was awarded the CBE in 1972. So I guess she must have shown ‘Uncle Matthew’ a thing or two.
“Twenty-three and a quarter minutes past,” Uncle Matthew was saying furiously, “in precisely six and three-quarter minutes the damned fella will be late.”
How’s that for unaccountable fury? But there is a later episode when Fanny come to realise that,
“The fact is that Uncle Matthew’s tremendous and classical hatred for me, which had begun when I was an infant and which had cast a shadow over all my childhood, had now become more legend than actuality. I was such an habitual member of his household, and he such a Conservative, that this hatred, in common with that which he used to used to nurture against Josh, the groom, and various other old intimates, had not only lost its force but I think had, with the passage of years, actually turned into love; such a lukewarm sentiment as ordinary avuncular passion being of course foreign to his experience.”
I don’t think Nancy Mitford needs any moral justification for this novel when she can write with such entertaining and profound brilliance, but there it is, in such sharp observation of the unfathomable, her defence and her rapier. -
A wonderful book full of completely eccentric characters! I just love it.
Years ago, I watched a Masterpiece Theater adaptation of this book and just loved it. But, it was years ago and all I remember was I laughed and laughed.
This book was full of the wonderfully eccentric characters that you found in the aristocratic, British upper class in pre-, during, and post-war England. I really have to read all the rest of Nancy Mitford's books.
It's a wonderfully, delightful book and a lot of fun to read. -
4.5, rounded up.
This is more a companion piece than a sequel to
The Pursuit of Love, since it covers roughly the same period, but with a different focus - that is, on Polly Hampton, another of the narrator's friends, rather than Linda Radlett, as in the first book. Sadly, I didn't find Polly of as much interest as Linda, although her mother, Lady Montdore, rather steals much of the first part of the book - and she's quite a character.
One of the main reasons for me reading both books though, is that the character of Cedric Hampton, a distant relation of Polly's, to whom her parents leave her fortune when she disgraces herself by marrying her elderly uncle, is based upon Stephen Tennant, who I've been reading about. Cedric doesn't appear until literally the last 70 pages -- but then he completely takes over and is well worth the wait.
There is a third volume in the series written years later and focusing on the narrator, Polly herself, which I will be reading shortly also. I've grown quite fond of Mitford's rather silly but delightful tomes. -
I don't remember what I expected from this book but it definitely wasn't the biting social satire of upper class England in the 1930s that I found. This book is hilarious and so well written. There is a large cast of characters but they are each perfectly delineated and the wit is sparkling. I love the narrator's snarky voice (especially in the first half) and they way the author makes you share Fanny's cynicism about everything she observes while at the same time understanding her fondness for the appalling people she is surrounded by. There are so many great lines I know I will have to read this book again to relive them.
As a brilliant observer of human foibles Nancy Mitford is a direct descendant of Jane Austen. She writes about the same class of people attempting to observe all the old traditions in a much more decadent age. The absurdities that result from this are just delightful, from 'Boy' whose fondness for young girls is tolerated by all, to the epically selfish and egotistical Lady Montdore, to Cedric, the "effeminate" young man (ie. raving queen) who is the most loveable character in the book and manages to have his cake and eat it to. Unlike Austen this is no morality tale where everyone gets what they deserve and the ending is pure gold. Can't wait to read more from Nancy Mitford. And to think this cost just $1 on Amazon. What a gem. My only disappointment is that I didn't realise this was a sequel to the Pursuit of Love so I could have read that first. Many people claim that it's actually better than this book so I'm looking forward to it. -
I finished this and cast my eye over other reviews (always eager to know what people think). And I was struck by the number of friends who felt the book was utterly ruined by "the light-hearted depiction of pedophilia". Now I really don't want to get into a silly 'AkShUlY iTs hEbEpHiLiA' debate. But it seemed strange to me that Boy Dougdale's lecherous behaviour toward teenage girls should be viewed as unmentionably evil.
I thought every social circle had at least one lechy old man, who is ultimately harmless, but who gives overblown compliments to girls, hugs that are slightly too long, sloppy kisses, uninvited shoulder massages, and the insistence that you call him 'Uncle' whatever your relationship. Yeah, it's gross and inappropriate but our reaction as girls was pretty much the same as the Radlett girls: we laughed at him, called him names behind his back, and were certainly never afraid of him - or afraid that his minor gropes might turn into something more serious. In fact, we viewed him as a ridiculous old man - very much an appropriate subject for comedy.
Did I misread the book? Was Mitford too subtle for me? Does Boy Dougdale actually do more than slimy groping? Because it's made very clear that Polly is not his victim - at the age of 20 she's the instigator of their marriage and he's the reluctant swain who never dreamed that if he patted a girl's bum at 14, she might drag him up the aisle 7 years later. Isn't that funny or am I just evil? -
Interesting. Very readable. Could not put it down. I am so glad I did not live then or there. It is hard to rate. The writing is very good, so 4 stars for that. The point of the story, hmmmm... I think I need to think about this. Fanny was precious and seemed the port in the storm. Fascinating look at human behavior. I don't know. I probably need to read more by this author or from this time period; it was rather a shock to my system from what I am used to reading.
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I absolutely adored "The Pursuit of Love" si O was super excited for this book. Unfortunately it felt flat compared to the first book.
Gone are Fanny's amusing ralatives, gone her unique, witty voice. There's basically no plot but instead of we have lots and lots of casual paedophilia. -
a fluff, a something of nothing, that is so very dated and non-funny.
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Preferred The Pursuit of Love. Will continue with Don't Tell Alfred and The Blessing.
"It was a favourite superstition of Uncle Matthew's that if you wrote somebody's name on a piece of paper and put it in a drawer, that person would die within a year. The drawers at Alconleigh were full of little slips bearing the names of those whom my uncle wanted out of the way, private hates of his and various public figures such as Bernard Shaw, de Valera, Gandhi, Lloyd George, and the Kaiser, while every single drawer in the whole house contained the name Labby, Linda's old dog. The spell hardly ever seemed to work, Labby having lived far beyond the age usual in Labradors, but he went hopefully on, and if one of the characters did happen to be carried off in the course of nature he would look pleased but guilty for a day or two." -
Secondo libro, ma autoconclusivo, di una trilogia. Delizioso.
L’humor e la causticità inglese presentati nella migliore maniera.
La scena si svolge a in Inghilterra a cavallo fra le due Grandi Guerre. L’aristocrazia è ancora in auge ma pian piano si sente che comincia a perdere potenza mischiandosi con disinvoltura con la borghesia. E’ qui che si innesta la storia. Fra scandali, feste, cene di gala e lustrini, l’affresco di una generazione prende vita con note fresche e divertenti.
Una lettura consigliatissima per chi vuole passare qualche ora di leggerezza con una copertina addosso, fa freddo lì! -
I think I preferred this one to Pursuit of Love by the same author. A delightful, charming and witty piece of fiction. We meet Fanny again, along with her aunts, uncles and cousins. This time the book focuses more on Fanny herself and her relationship with the Montdores and their daughter Polly who is Fanny's best friend.
The book covers quite a few years from their "coming out" to high society to their marriages, all manner of socialising and babies.
Nancy Mitford has written a thoroughly entertaining story and a funny, sometime cynical commentary on the early 20th century English Society. It gives you a few chuckles along the way too ☺️ -
Terrifyingly wonderful, do admit!
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Four and a half.
Love, attraction and ageing are themes which Mitford explores with style and skill. Eccentric behaviour and entitlement along with thoughtful and sensitive writing makes this a wonderfully engrossing read.
Thank you Mary for sending me this book which is full of sparkling, sharp wit! -
История про то, как в одной семье все были несчастны, а благодаря умному гею все стали счастливы.
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I have many times already sung the praises of Nancy Mitford. She really is a gift to 20th century English writing, and I love her snarky, gossipy biographies. Her novels are lightly fictionalized versions of her own life, and Love in a Cold Climate is no different.
Paralleling the events of
The Pursuit of Love, Fanny narrates the life of her cousin Polly, lately returned from India (where her father was Viceroy), who hopes that the cold climate of Britain will help her avoid tedious love affairs. (Clearly, she does not realize that she's in a Nancy Mitford novel so she had better be prepared for some drama). Instead of tedious love affairs, Polly finds herself involved in a possibly incestuous marriage and disowned (poor girl) after failing to maintain her cold exterior in the rainy UK.
One element of the novel I found fascinating was a portrayal of an openly gay man, who Nancy Mitford obviously outs at his first appearance. Nancy Mitford, in her other biographies, had been very sympathetic to Frederick the Great's arguably non-cisgender identity and so I was fascinated to see that Mitford so clearly discussed a somewhat taboo subject for the 1949 publication date (and regardless of the laws against it under which Alan Turing would later suffer and die). Nancy Mitford, despite being the usually conservative and proper of the Mitford sisters, resists the urge to sensationalize, though Fanny of course gets a gay best friend to get advice on art from. Mitford was ahead of her time but falls back on stereotypes, though of course she's making careful fun of everything and everyone all the time.
Fanny, the intrepid narrator of two interesting family histories, is the fly on the wall narrator who continues to live her life around these events, and I'm even more fascinated by her than the others in her family. In a sense Fanny takes on the role of Nancy in the extended family, since Nancy for a while had the most settled life of the Mitford sisters (no running away with Churchill's nephew to America and a distinct lack of Nazi sympathies) in this lightly fictionalized world. Fanny is always observing, always behind the scenes, and I really appreciate the narrative form that essentially makes you into Fanny's confidante.
Definitely a must read for Nancy Mitford fans who have finished her biography or for those who want a little more insight into the legendary Mitford sisters family dynamic (though Jessica's
Hons and Rebels is another must read as well). -
The success of failure of all human relationships lies in the atmoshere each person is aware of creating for the other.
First of all, like in
The Pursuit of Love the characters created the story, not the way around. This way the novel is always more real.
Nonetheless, I must admit I didn't like much (as a human being) most of the main characters (including Polly), but I did like them as marvelous examples of the class. I am sure Nancy Mitford knew them (their prototypes).
The main story (Polly's) could be a bit controversial even today. Moreover, when I started to describe the plot (who was who for who etc.) it sounded like some kind of soap-opera. Nonetheless, I wasn't bored or annoyed. I loved reading it. Even a predictable end didn't spoil the book. I was simply charmed by Mitford's style of writing and by the world of those times and people.
But still, these characters, this romance, and the fact that it was less funny and that it was sadder than 'The Pursuit of Love' gave me a bit less pleasure than the previous book. If the rating had more points, e.g. ten I would have given it only one (not two) point less than 'The Pursuit..." -
Delizioso!
Ho deciso di approcciarmi all’autrice in seguito alla lettura di un libro nel quale ella compariva tra i personaggi principali e, ora posso affermarlo con assoluta certezza, mai scelta fu migliore.
Sono certa che molti giudicheranno questo libro frivolo, superficiale e lezioso poiché, effettivamente, esso non è esente da una gran abbondanza di gossip, di pettegolezzo e di trattamenti cosmetici così peculiari e bizzarri da risultare stucchevoli.
Non lasciamoci ingannare: le vicende narrate dalla Mitford sono una rappresentazione decisamente puntuale dell’Inghilterra di inizio ‘900 e assumono una connotazione ancora più veritiera e fedele in quanto ispirate alla sua stessa famiglia di nobili origini.
Una Jane Austen più audace, un romanzo chick-lit d’antan, un’autrice che vorrò sicuramente incontrare nuovamente in futuro.
