Appassionata is either the fourth or fifth in the utterly addictive Rutshire Chronicles – I’ve rather lost count, which surely says something about how merrily I’ve been galloping through them. As always, it was a sumptuous read; Jilly Cooper never fails to deliver her signature cocktail of passion, poshness, and chaos.
That said, this one could have done with a slight trim – say, 200 pages or so. The extended passages about orchestral politics and behind-the-scenes squabbles left me yearning for a bit more gallop and a bit less glissando. And while the sprawling cast of characters was impressive, it did make it tricky to feel truly invested in any of them – just as one started to pique my interest, along came another mezzo-soprano or troubled conductor.
Still, it was a delicious change of scene to trade in the stables for symphonies – a bit of Bach instead of bridles – although, between us, I’ll always prefer the thundering hooves and horsey drama.
The real treat? Glimpses of the inimitable Rupert Campbell-Black, naturally. Though I must say, I much prefer him centre stage, misbehaving outrageously, rather than lurking in the orchestral shadows. Here’s hoping Score, which I’m trotting off to next, gives him more of the limelight he so thoroughly deserves.
Perfectly frothy and full of flair – best enjoyed with a flute of something bubbly and absolutely no plans to be sensible.