Memory.
What is it? How much can we depend on it for truth? Who dictates what
it's made of, and how can the deception of a moment forever influence
the perception of a lifetime? What are you left with when you build a
life of lies, inventing days, events, entire decades? And who has the
right to it's secrets?
Judith Kinghorn proved her writing prowess in The Last Summer,
and she returns to the emotion-heavy transitional period before World
War I. While there is a poignant romance that plays a strong role in the
plot, the focus falls on the unreliable history of an elderly lady of
the old order. Cora de Chevalier de St. Leger lived a life filled with
more sparkle and glamor than a fairy princess. She was the toast of the
Continent and maintained her dominance within the high society of Paris
and Rome right through her later years. And when she returns to England
for the last time the village people are enamored of her charm and the
air of a glorious history draped about her like a heady perfume. But
there are a few who notice the wrinkles in her stories, and one reaches
out to find the truth.
Cecily Chadwick wants so much more than
the staid, passionless life of the quiet English countryside. When the
handsome Jack Staunton draws her into his orbit she senses a chance to
grasp not only love, but the excitement she craves. When he introduces
her to his grandmother, though, Cecily discovers the mystery which will
become the axis upon which all of their worlds will circle upon: who is
this lady and what is the truth beneath the stories of bright ballrooms,
French castles, and balmy summers spent in palatial villas. What is the
key to unlocking the puzzle of Cora's memories, a series of
seeming-fantasies?
Wedged in the very heart of the contention
between honesty and fairytale is Cora's long-time friend, Sylvia. She
was there almost from the first. She knows much of the story first-hand
... but not all. Obsessed with learning the reality of her friend's
life, Sylvia refuses to allow anything to stand in her way. She doesn't
hesitate to lock horns with Cecily, whom she views as a rival for Cora's
affection and confidence, and even her relationship with the elderly
countess comes up short when weighed against unearthing what she seeks.
She proves to have been the author of one of the greatest lies which
dictated Cora's chances of happiness in the end.
Nearly epic in
scope and fearlessly plunging the depths of human consciousness,
Kinghorn has crafted a nuanced tale of love. Not just romantic love, but
the devotion between friends -- a tie which can be as destructive as it
is strong. The love of individual history, a past immaculate in its
cherished creativity. A love for truth, even if it is not yours to
discover. She demands us to consider just what the nature of that which
is called "history," and our own role in crafting it is.
Where
Kinghorn fell short was the way in which she transitioned from past to
present within a scene. It is very dramatic to have that dynamic to the
story, but it was executed poorly. The story's strengths far
out-distance its failing, however, and the characters we spend such a
brief time with shine as a memory as rich and delightful as any Cora
invented. I can't help but wonder what Kinghorn will treat us to next.
She is quickly establishing a reign of glory over the portion of
historical fiction dealing with the English during The Great War. Bravo!
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