Main centres: | 1-3 business days |
Regional areas: | 3-4 business days |
Remote areas: | 3-5 business days |
Published by John Murray, 2012, softcover, 360 pages, condition: new.
Entertaining, instructive, thought-provoking and hilarious, the unmistakeable voice of Deborah Devonshire rings out of this volume which combines her two collections of 'occasional' writings.
The pieces are broad and eclectic in their subjects, ranging from treasures unearthed while the kitchen was being redecorated, musings about the reason for the reworded town sign, tourism at Chatsworth, a ringside view of both John F. Kennedy's inauguration and funeral, and the value of deportment. No matter what she's writing about she is always affectionate, shrewd and uproariously funny.
Deborah Devonshire has had a long and interesting life, and this is a delightful collection of articles covering the many diverse subjects in which she is interested. There is lots about country life of course, about animals and people and the changing face of rural Britain, and about her beloved Chatsworth. there are articles about people she has known, and events she has witnessed, including very vivid descriptions of the inauguration of President Kennedy, and of his funeral.
There are many memorable passages I could quote, two of my favourites are about reading. Of her own feelings about books, the Dowager Duchess writes:
'I have read very few books and I have minded finishing them so much that I have often vowed not to start another. Coming to the end of some gripping story or reaching the inevitable death of the subject of a biography is like losing a friend whom you have begun to depend upon night and day in a secret liaison with the author. It is no good saying you can read it again. It is never the same the second time.'
This is quite unlike the way I feel about books myself, I can read favourite books again and again and enjoy them just as much, if not more, than the first time. But it is interesting to read her point of view. The other quote is about her father, of whom she says:
'My father's attitude to reading was most sensible. He only ever read one book and that was White Fang. He loved it so much he never read another because nothing could ever be as good. 'Dangerous good book' he used to say, 'no point in trying any more'.