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The Sun in Scorpio
The Sun in Scorpio [Feb 01, 1982] Sharp, Margery
- GenresFiction
Paperback
First published October 1, 1965
107 people want to read
About the author
Margery Sharp
80 books184 followersMargery Sharp was born Clara Margery Melita Sharp in Salisbury. She spent part of her childhood in Malta.
Sharp wrote 26 novels, 14 children's stories, 4 plays, 2 mysteries and many short stories. She is best known for her series of children's books about a little white mouse named Miss Bianca and her companion, Bernard. Two Disney films have been made based on them, called The Rescuers and The Rescuers Down Under.
In 1938, she married Major Geoffrey Castle, an aeronautical engineer.
Sharp wrote 26 novels, 14 children's stories, 4 plays, 2 mysteries and many short stories. She is best known for her series of children's books about a little white mouse named Miss Bianca and her companion, Bernard. Two Disney films have been made based on them, called The Rescuers and The Rescuers Down Under.
In 1938, she married Major Geoffrey Castle, an aeronautical engineer.
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
January 20, 2020
In 1965, when she was sixty years old, Margery Sharp published a lovely novel that drew on her memories of a spell of her childhood that she spent in Malta.
It was clear from her opening words that they were warm and happy memories.
Everything sparkled.
Below the low stone wall, beyond the rocks, sun-pennies danced on the blue Mediterranean; so dazzlingly, they could be looked at only between dropped lashes. (In 1913, the pre-sunglass era, light was permitted to assault the naked eye.) opposite, across the road called Victoria Avenue, great bolts of sunlight struck at the white stone buildings and ricocheted off the windows. A puff of dust was a puff of gold-dust, an orange spilled from a basket like a windfall from the Hesperides.
Everything sparkled, from the sun-pennies on the sea to the buckles on a cab horse’s harness, from the buttons on a child’s reefer jacket to the heavy gold pendant at a girl’s ear.
Everything sparkled or shone, even the stiff black hoods of the old women; serge or alpaca, worn smooth by use, under that sun a glossy blackbird-plumage.
Mr Pennon had a small private income, and that allowed him to move his family to the Next-Door-Island – next door to Malta. They were all happy there, but their feelings about the place would differ. Mr and Mrs Pennon, Muriel – their eldest child – and Alan – their youngest child – would always be expats. Only Cathy – their middle child – became a real islander. She was a true child of the sun and she thrived in the heat.
This is Cathy’s story.
It was lovely to watch as she enthusiastically joined the parade that her siblings ducked into a shop to avoid, and to see that she was was so completely at home that the approached and conversed with her island’s governor.
‘Aren’t you glad,’ began Cathy, ‘we’ve an Empire the sun never sets on?’
To her surprise, the Governor appeared to meditate. For a moment she wondered if age might have suddenly have turned him deaf. He was actually in his early forties, but to Cathy old as the hills.
‘Very,’ said the Governor at last. We Anglo-Saxons need the sun more than most, to warm and civilize us.’
‘I thought it was us who civilized the others,’ said Cathy, surprised again.
‘There are two ways of looking at everything, said the governor, ‘Suppose an Indian told you it was they who taught us to wash?’
‘I shouldn’t believe it,’ said Cathy at once.
‘You would be wrong,’ said the Governor, ‘and even the Army admits they taught us to play polo. Hows that for a civilizing influence?’
Cathy, struggling to follow him, scented irony …
When war seemed likely, Mr Pennon decided they that it was time to take his family ‘home.’ None of the children remembered England, but they had read about it in books by Kate Greenaway. Stories about warmth, community, fields, maypole dancing ….
The reality that faced them, in a dull London suburb, was rather different..
Everything dripped.
The skies dripped, the lampposts dripped, the pillar boxes dripped and the handles of the errand-boys’ bicycles. The ivy on the front of the house dripped, in the garden behind the the roof of the summer-house dripped and the derelict raspberry-canes surrounding it. Everything dripped, except when it froze.
Everything was cold. The streets were cold, it was cold on the trams and cold in the shops. A puff of breath showed on the cold air like a puff of smoke without a fire, the icy bite from the pavement penetrated leather sole and woollen stocking ….
Muriel and Alan adapted to a new way of life, but Cathy withered without the warmth of the sun and the air of her island.
The story follows Cathy, and it keeps an eye on Muriel and Alan, as they grow up, establish themselves as adults, and go their separate ways. Muriel chooses a husband from a band of suitors and is happy as a wife and mother. Alan enjoys the bachelor life and appreciated the things that a successful career in banking gives him. Cathy drifts through life, until her sister steers her into a position as a governess and lady’s companion at a country house. It is a nice niche, she can move between the family upstairs and the staff downstairs as she likes, she achieves much while doing very little, but her heart remains with the Next-Door-Island.
The story spans more than three decades – the years of two wars and the years between – and the events of those years and the great changes that they brought are reflected. It is written with warmth and wit; it is populated by a wonderfully diverse band of characters, drawn with the understanding that comes from careful observation and thought; and that cast is deployed very effectively in a plot that appears simple and natural but is actually very cleverly constructed.
Cathy sits nicely in the pantheon of Margery Sharp heroines. She has the insouciance of Cluny Brown, the inscrutability of Lise Lillywhite, and the clear ambition of Martha Hogg – but not the means of achieving that ambition. She tries, when Muriel has a suitor who might be able to help, when she runs into other returnees from her island, but none of them share her ambition and all of them have other interests and concerns.
Her story ends at the end of WWII, with an unexpected twist and a wonderful possibility opening up.
I’d love to know what happens next, but it’s nice to be left with something to think about, and that ending – and this book – was pretty much perfect.
It was clear from her opening words that they were warm and happy memories.
Everything sparkled.
Below the low stone wall, beyond the rocks, sun-pennies danced on the blue Mediterranean; so dazzlingly, they could be looked at only between dropped lashes. (In 1913, the pre-sunglass era, light was permitted to assault the naked eye.) opposite, across the road called Victoria Avenue, great bolts of sunlight struck at the white stone buildings and ricocheted off the windows. A puff of dust was a puff of gold-dust, an orange spilled from a basket like a windfall from the Hesperides.
Everything sparkled, from the sun-pennies on the sea to the buckles on a cab horse’s harness, from the buttons on a child’s reefer jacket to the heavy gold pendant at a girl’s ear.
Everything sparkled or shone, even the stiff black hoods of the old women; serge or alpaca, worn smooth by use, under that sun a glossy blackbird-plumage.
Mr Pennon had a small private income, and that allowed him to move his family to the Next-Door-Island – next door to Malta. They were all happy there, but their feelings about the place would differ. Mr and Mrs Pennon, Muriel – their eldest child – and Alan – their youngest child – would always be expats. Only Cathy – their middle child – became a real islander. She was a true child of the sun and she thrived in the heat.
This is Cathy’s story.
It was lovely to watch as she enthusiastically joined the parade that her siblings ducked into a shop to avoid, and to see that she was was so completely at home that the approached and conversed with her island’s governor.
‘Aren’t you glad,’ began Cathy, ‘we’ve an Empire the sun never sets on?’
To her surprise, the Governor appeared to meditate. For a moment she wondered if age might have suddenly have turned him deaf. He was actually in his early forties, but to Cathy old as the hills.
‘Very,’ said the Governor at last. We Anglo-Saxons need the sun more than most, to warm and civilize us.’
‘I thought it was us who civilized the others,’ said Cathy, surprised again.
‘There are two ways of looking at everything, said the governor, ‘Suppose an Indian told you it was they who taught us to wash?’
‘I shouldn’t believe it,’ said Cathy at once.
‘You would be wrong,’ said the Governor, ‘and even the Army admits they taught us to play polo. Hows that for a civilizing influence?’
Cathy, struggling to follow him, scented irony …
When war seemed likely, Mr Pennon decided they that it was time to take his family ‘home.’ None of the children remembered England, but they had read about it in books by Kate Greenaway. Stories about warmth, community, fields, maypole dancing ….
The reality that faced them, in a dull London suburb, was rather different..
Everything dripped.
The skies dripped, the lampposts dripped, the pillar boxes dripped and the handles of the errand-boys’ bicycles. The ivy on the front of the house dripped, in the garden behind the the roof of the summer-house dripped and the derelict raspberry-canes surrounding it. Everything dripped, except when it froze.
Everything was cold. The streets were cold, it was cold on the trams and cold in the shops. A puff of breath showed on the cold air like a puff of smoke without a fire, the icy bite from the pavement penetrated leather sole and woollen stocking ….
Muriel and Alan adapted to a new way of life, but Cathy withered without the warmth of the sun and the air of her island.
The story follows Cathy, and it keeps an eye on Muriel and Alan, as they grow up, establish themselves as adults, and go their separate ways. Muriel chooses a husband from a band of suitors and is happy as a wife and mother. Alan enjoys the bachelor life and appreciated the things that a successful career in banking gives him. Cathy drifts through life, until her sister steers her into a position as a governess and lady’s companion at a country house. It is a nice niche, she can move between the family upstairs and the staff downstairs as she likes, she achieves much while doing very little, but her heart remains with the Next-Door-Island.
The story spans more than three decades – the years of two wars and the years between – and the events of those years and the great changes that they brought are reflected. It is written with warmth and wit; it is populated by a wonderfully diverse band of characters, drawn with the understanding that comes from careful observation and thought; and that cast is deployed very effectively in a plot that appears simple and natural but is actually very cleverly constructed.
Cathy sits nicely in the pantheon of Margery Sharp heroines. She has the insouciance of Cluny Brown, the inscrutability of Lise Lillywhite, and the clear ambition of Martha Hogg – but not the means of achieving that ambition. She tries, when Muriel has a suitor who might be able to help, when she runs into other returnees from her island, but none of them share her ambition and all of them have other interests and concerns.
Her story ends at the end of WWII, with an unexpected twist and a wonderful possibility opening up.
I’d love to know what happens next, but it’s nice to be left with something to think about, and that ending – and this book – was pretty much perfect.
September 26, 2019
Recently picked this up at a bookstore.
Not my favorite Margery Sharp, but that's a little like saying it's not my favorite chocolate eclair. It's still pretty damned good, and reminded me to look for other novels of hers I haven't yet read. Her writing is equal parts satirical and affectionate. The tone certainly owes something to both Austen and Thackery.
Sharp is one of a number of underrated British female novelists who wrote incisive and entertaining novels of low and middle-class Britons in the 20th century who don't quite know how to cope with a rapidly changing world.
Not my favorite Margery Sharp, but that's a little like saying it's not my favorite chocolate eclair. It's still pretty damned good, and reminded me to look for other novels of hers I haven't yet read. Her writing is equal parts satirical and affectionate. The tone certainly owes something to both Austen and Thackery.
Sharp is one of a number of underrated British female novelists who wrote incisive and entertaining novels of low and middle-class Britons in the 20th century who don't quite know how to cope with a rapidly changing world.
August 1, 2021
3.5 Another unusual and interesting tale from Margery Sharp, but I would rate others higher than this one. Still, the story line kept me attentive, and she wound things up very well. The heroine Cathy was quite an odd bird, but I couldn’t help rooting for her. There were also some interesting details of wartime life.
May 19, 2016
For most of the book I kept thinking I really disliked the main character (aka the "attendant sprite" which is a genius conceit) but by the end I was cheering with the twists and turns and the perfect ending. There was a lot of British-isms (particularly war era) that totally went over my head - that was a bit annoying at first but then I just realized most of them weren't that important so I ignored them.
June 5, 2024
Having read most of Sharp's books for adults now, this is the only one which is weighed down with the predicament of the main character to the extent that there is no relief. Not even the unusually satisfactory ending for Cathy changes that. It's a total downer. And the ending is so odd that one wonders if Sharp felt that it had to be tied up in what is not a deus ex machina, but might just as well be, in order to make up for the relentlessly dreary, unhappy life she presented here for her readers. Looking back on it a couple of months after reading it, it strikes me still as unsettling, if not disturbing. But please read it!
January 25, 2020
This was a quirky little book with a quirky heroine. Written by Margery Sharp, known for her children’s books- Bianca the Mouse. It was mildly entertaining but seemed disjointed.
November 7, 2024
Such a beautiful, bittersweet tale. Margery Sharp is a master of telling wonderful witty stories that resonate as real. This one has all the hallmarks of a Sharp book but it also carries an undercurrent of sadness.
May 8, 2020
Margery Sharp is as sharp and witty per usual!
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews