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Blaming
While on holiday in Istanbul, tragedy strikes, and suddenly the comfortably middle-aged, middle-class Amy is left stranded and a widow. Martha, a young American novelist, kindly helps her, but upon their return to England, Amy is ungratefully reluctant to maintain their friendship—on home soil she realizes that in normal circumstances, Martha isn't the sort of person she would be friends with. But guilt is a hard taskmaster, and Martha has a way of getting under one's skin.
190 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1976
33 people are currently reading
1454 people want to read
About the author
Elizabeth Taylor
69 books520 followersElizabeth Taylor (née Coles) was a popular English novelist and short story writer. Elizabeth Coles was born in Reading, Berkshire in 1912. She was educated at The Abbey School, Reading, and worked as a governess, as a tutor and as a librarian.
In 1936, she married John William Kendall Taylor, a businessman. She lived in Penn, Buckinghamshire, for almost all her married life.
Her first novel, At Mrs. Lippincote's, was published in 1945 and was followed by eleven more. Her short stories were published in various magazines and collected in four volumes. She also wrote a children's book.
Taylor's work is mainly concerned with the nuances of "everyday" life and situations, which she writes about with dexterity. Her shrewd but affectionate portrayals of middle class and upper middle class English life won her an audience of discriminating readers, as well as loyal friends in the world of letters.
She was a friend of the novelist Ivy Compton-Burnett and of the novelist and critic Robert Liddell.
Elizabeth Taylor died at age 63 of cancer.
Anne Tyler once compared Taylor to Jane Austen, Barbara Pym and Elizabeth Bowen -- "soul sisters all," in Tyler's words . In recent years new interest has been kindled by movie makers in her work. French director Francois Ozon, has made "The Real Life of Angel Deverell" which will be released in early 2005. American director Dan Ireland's screen adaptation of Taylor's "Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont" came out in this country first in 2006 and has made close to $1 million. A British distributor picked it up at Cannes, and the movie was released in England in 2009.
In 1936, she married John William Kendall Taylor, a businessman. She lived in Penn, Buckinghamshire, for almost all her married life.
Her first novel, At Mrs. Lippincote's, was published in 1945 and was followed by eleven more. Her short stories were published in various magazines and collected in four volumes. She also wrote a children's book.
Taylor's work is mainly concerned with the nuances of "everyday" life and situations, which she writes about with dexterity. Her shrewd but affectionate portrayals of middle class and upper middle class English life won her an audience of discriminating readers, as well as loyal friends in the world of letters.
She was a friend of the novelist Ivy Compton-Burnett and of the novelist and critic Robert Liddell.
Elizabeth Taylor died at age 63 of cancer.
Anne Tyler once compared Taylor to Jane Austen, Barbara Pym and Elizabeth Bowen -- "soul sisters all," in Tyler's words . In recent years new interest has been kindled by movie makers in her work. French director Francois Ozon, has made "The Real Life of Angel Deverell" which will be released in early 2005. American director Dan Ireland's screen adaptation of Taylor's "Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont" came out in this country first in 2006 and has made close to $1 million. A British distributor picked it up at Cannes, and the movie was released in England in 2009.
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October 13, 2022
Elizabeth Taylor, the British author, wrote this novel as she was dying.
It was published in 1976, after her death, and titled Blaming. The cover depicts a mournful woman sniffing the inside of her wrist.
It it had been up to me, I'd have named this story The Widow of Laurel Walk, and, for cover art, I'd have been inspired by this description of one of the many paintings in the book:
An old woman, lying a little sideways in a half-curtained bed, squinting through steel-rimmed spectacles at a book. Her thin hair loose on her shoulders. Under the bed, narrow slippers; and on a table beside her bottles of medicine, a paper fan, more books, a lamp with a glass globe. The hands of the clock at ten past five. The colours a foggy yellow and grey, with black.
Yet, despite the slipshod promotion of the book (and the inept title), this was still one of the most fantastic reads of my 70s project.
It turns out that I love Elizabeth Taylor's work in the same way that I have come to love May Sarton's and William Trevor's this year. They were all new-to-me in this past year, and I am passionately in love with all of their 70s work now.
This story is fascinating. The writing appears “light,” as though the author simply sat down with a notepad and scribbled away, without error. Those of you who have written a novel know that for writing to “appear light,” it is often the most labor intensive of all.
The ending is too abrupt, so it is imperfect, but it still receives five stars for me for the most important of reasons: I'd read it over and over again.
It's a story about loss, but, more importantly, it's a story about friendship. Or, maybe it's more a story about what makes a good friend, and what doesn't.
Martha, the writer in the story, declares to Amy, the widow of Laurel Walk, that Amy doesn't have friends because she's “simply not interested in other people.”
To me, this becomes this most important theme of this story: what makes a good friend, and what are the tenets of a good friendship?
In the background, we have Dora and Isobel, the most hilarious “odd couple” grandchildren, and they were so brilliantly written, I choked up a little when I got to the three page Afterword at the back and read what Ms. Taylor's adult daughter wrote about her:
The little girls in [this story] are a mixture of children that my mother knew. . . She understood children very well, and because of this they loved her. She found their conversations so interesting and would talk with them for hours. . .
I am a person who has had young children around me, always, and I have devoted so much of my life to children, I can not stand it when writers get their speech or mannerisms wrong. These two, Dora and Isobel, were so British and so hilarious, I found myself laughing out loud as I read their dialogue. Having just finished Tove Jansson's The Summer Book, another story centered around a grandmother and her granddaughter, I was delighted to encounter an echo of this theme.
At the risk of sounding corny, I'm just sighing with satisfaction over here. This is the true gift of the reader: to enter into such a world as this, and feel completely at home there.
It was published in 1976, after her death, and titled Blaming. The cover depicts a mournful woman sniffing the inside of her wrist.
It it had been up to me, I'd have named this story The Widow of Laurel Walk, and, for cover art, I'd have been inspired by this description of one of the many paintings in the book:
An old woman, lying a little sideways in a half-curtained bed, squinting through steel-rimmed spectacles at a book. Her thin hair loose on her shoulders. Under the bed, narrow slippers; and on a table beside her bottles of medicine, a paper fan, more books, a lamp with a glass globe. The hands of the clock at ten past five. The colours a foggy yellow and grey, with black.
Yet, despite the slipshod promotion of the book (and the inept title), this was still one of the most fantastic reads of my 70s project.
It turns out that I love Elizabeth Taylor's work in the same way that I have come to love May Sarton's and William Trevor's this year. They were all new-to-me in this past year, and I am passionately in love with all of their 70s work now.
This story is fascinating. The writing appears “light,” as though the author simply sat down with a notepad and scribbled away, without error. Those of you who have written a novel know that for writing to “appear light,” it is often the most labor intensive of all.
The ending is too abrupt, so it is imperfect, but it still receives five stars for me for the most important of reasons: I'd read it over and over again.
It's a story about loss, but, more importantly, it's a story about friendship. Or, maybe it's more a story about what makes a good friend, and what doesn't.
Martha, the writer in the story, declares to Amy, the widow of Laurel Walk, that Amy doesn't have friends because she's “simply not interested in other people.”
To me, this becomes this most important theme of this story: what makes a good friend, and what are the tenets of a good friendship?
In the background, we have Dora and Isobel, the most hilarious “odd couple” grandchildren, and they were so brilliantly written, I choked up a little when I got to the three page Afterword at the back and read what Ms. Taylor's adult daughter wrote about her:
The little girls in [this story] are a mixture of children that my mother knew. . . She understood children very well, and because of this they loved her. She found their conversations so interesting and would talk with them for hours. . .
I am a person who has had young children around me, always, and I have devoted so much of my life to children, I can not stand it when writers get their speech or mannerisms wrong. These two, Dora and Isobel, were so British and so hilarious, I found myself laughing out loud as I read their dialogue. Having just finished Tove Jansson's The Summer Book, another story centered around a grandmother and her granddaughter, I was delighted to encounter an echo of this theme.
At the risk of sounding corny, I'm just sighing with satisfaction over here. This is the true gift of the reader: to enter into such a world as this, and feel completely at home there.
May 30, 2023
There is an afterword in my edition of this novel, written by the daughter of Elizabeth Taylor, explaining why she feels this is Taylor’s most personal novel and detailing a few elements of true experience contained within. This novel was written as Taylor was dying. She knew she was dying. She fought hard to complete it before she did. That alone, her emphasis on being sure it was finished, tells you the importance she put in what she was trying to say.
Blaming is about loss, guilt, and responsibility–the responsibility we have one toward another as we go through life. As is the usual case with Taylor, it seems such a subtle and ordinary tale in so many ways. Amy, Nick, Martha…they are not extraordinary people, they are in many ways mundane, but Taylor seems to tell us repeatedly in her work that no individual is mundane, we simply fail to see beneath the surface and observe what is unique about them.
The interesting dynamic in this tale is between Amy and Martha, two women who are thrown together by circumstances, and who are seeking such different things from one another. Having recently become a widow, I felt Taylor excruciatingly accurate in painting what it is to lose a spouse, to navigate the way your own life changes, but also the manner in which it changes the way others see you.
But the worst of all was when she simply dreamed the truth – that she had lost him, came with relief from such a nightmare to realise bleakly that it was not. It was a bad way in which to face a day.
I found this passage particularly poignant, for it often still happens to me and I suspect it might be so for years and years into the future. Amy is speaking to Gareth, both of whom have lost spouses:
“Last night I was watching the telly, and I suddenly took it for granted that he was sitting there, too, in his chair; like old married things, we always sat in the same chairs… well, you also know that… and I turned to him. I almost saw the shape of him out of the corner of my eye. ‘What rubbish!’ I said aloud, meaning the television. Can you imagine it?” “Yes.”
The title is both clever and telling. There is a lot of blaming that goes on in the novel. Thanks to the resident servant, Ernie, some of it is delightfully humorous. (This is another of Taylor’s skills–she treats depressing subjects, but she sprinkles humor in just the right places and in just the right amounts.) While Ernie's blaming is completely for others, most of the blaming here is self-directed and sadly justified, because we are all so self-absorbed and often downright selfish that we forget to be attentive to others, when perhaps we should.
Amy began to think that we all leave everything too late.
Perhaps this is what Taylor most wants to say. We leave it too late–all of us. There comes a moment when we will no longer be able to say or do what is generous, kind, thoughtful, or deserved; when we will regret our pettiness, our tendency to take things for granted, our selfishness–a time when we will have to live with the blame.
Blaming is about loss, guilt, and responsibility–the responsibility we have one toward another as we go through life. As is the usual case with Taylor, it seems such a subtle and ordinary tale in so many ways. Amy, Nick, Martha…they are not extraordinary people, they are in many ways mundane, but Taylor seems to tell us repeatedly in her work that no individual is mundane, we simply fail to see beneath the surface and observe what is unique about them.
The interesting dynamic in this tale is between Amy and Martha, two women who are thrown together by circumstances, and who are seeking such different things from one another. Having recently become a widow, I felt Taylor excruciatingly accurate in painting what it is to lose a spouse, to navigate the way your own life changes, but also the manner in which it changes the way others see you.
But the worst of all was when she simply dreamed the truth – that she had lost him, came with relief from such a nightmare to realise bleakly that it was not. It was a bad way in which to face a day.
I found this passage particularly poignant, for it often still happens to me and I suspect it might be so for years and years into the future. Amy is speaking to Gareth, both of whom have lost spouses:
“Last night I was watching the telly, and I suddenly took it for granted that he was sitting there, too, in his chair; like old married things, we always sat in the same chairs… well, you also know that… and I turned to him. I almost saw the shape of him out of the corner of my eye. ‘What rubbish!’ I said aloud, meaning the television. Can you imagine it?” “Yes.”
The title is both clever and telling. There is a lot of blaming that goes on in the novel. Thanks to the resident servant, Ernie, some of it is delightfully humorous. (This is another of Taylor’s skills–she treats depressing subjects, but she sprinkles humor in just the right places and in just the right amounts.) While Ernie's blaming is completely for others, most of the blaming here is self-directed and sadly justified, because we are all so self-absorbed and often downright selfish that we forget to be attentive to others, when perhaps we should.
Amy began to think that we all leave everything too late.
Perhaps this is what Taylor most wants to say. We leave it too late–all of us. There comes a moment when we will no longer be able to say or do what is generous, kind, thoughtful, or deserved; when we will regret our pettiness, our tendency to take things for granted, our selfishness–a time when we will have to live with the blame.
April 22, 2024
When I turned the last page of this book, I read the afterword, and all I wanted to do was cry and start the book over. I think this book may have replaced Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont as my favourite book by Elizabeth Taylor. Why? Because it was absolutely brilliant in its depiction of the characters feeling guilt and needing to assign blame.
This book is about Amy, primarily, whose husband dies suddenly while on vacation. She is aided so unselfishly by a young American woman, Martha. Amy knows she should feel gratitude, but really all she wants is to move on and be rid of Martha. An unlikely kind of friendship does develop though. So ultimately this book is about these two women and how they move forward.
This book is a mere 170 pages and yet it encompasses so much. Elizabeth Taylor blows my mind with her characterizations. Besides our two main protagonists, the two that stood out were Amy’s two granddaughters, Dora and Isobel. They provide the humour in this book. The words that came out of their mouths!!
For instance: “I do think that white blouse suits you, Grandma. It doesn’t show the dandruff.”
This book is about grief, it is about loneliness, friendship, family, guilt and blame. When something bad happens, there is a need to place blame, isn’t there?
In the afterword, her daughter lets us know that her mother was writing this book when she was dying. A quote that stood out to me re dying:
“ If you knew you had just a week, or a month perhaps, to live, what would you do?”
“ I should turn out my desk….oh, dear, drawer after drawer…throw away the shoddiest of my underclothes, and then…go on as before.”
This was Taylor’s last book, published after she was gone, and what a last book it was! Remarkable, heartbreaking and simply perfect!!
Published: 1976
This book is about Amy, primarily, whose husband dies suddenly while on vacation. She is aided so unselfishly by a young American woman, Martha. Amy knows she should feel gratitude, but really all she wants is to move on and be rid of Martha. An unlikely kind of friendship does develop though. So ultimately this book is about these two women and how they move forward.
This book is a mere 170 pages and yet it encompasses so much. Elizabeth Taylor blows my mind with her characterizations. Besides our two main protagonists, the two that stood out were Amy’s two granddaughters, Dora and Isobel. They provide the humour in this book. The words that came out of their mouths!!
For instance: “I do think that white blouse suits you, Grandma. It doesn’t show the dandruff.”
This book is about grief, it is about loneliness, friendship, family, guilt and blame. When something bad happens, there is a need to place blame, isn’t there?
In the afterword, her daughter lets us know that her mother was writing this book when she was dying. A quote that stood out to me re dying:
“ If you knew you had just a week, or a month perhaps, to live, what would you do?”
“ I should turn out my desk….oh, dear, drawer after drawer…throw away the shoddiest of my underclothes, and then…go on as before.”
This was Taylor’s last book, published after she was gone, and what a last book it was! Remarkable, heartbreaking and simply perfect!!
Published: 1976
June 8, 2019
This is Taylor’s last novel, I seem to have got a bit out of order in my reading of her, because there are still a couple left! Taylor knew she was dying whilst she wrote this and it was published posthumously in 1976. The plot, as always with Taylor, is fairly straightforward. Nick and Amy are a married couple in late middle age and on a cruise in the Eastern Mediterranean. They meet a rather awkward young American writer named Martha and spend some time with her. Nick dies suddenly (not a spoiler, it’s the point of the book). Martha helps Amy to get back home and they sort of become friends, although Amy is reluctant. We then meet Amy’s son and daughter-in-law and their two young children. There is also Ernie, who is a sort of live in housekeeper, who is something of a comic turn and Gareth, a friend of Amy’s and the local doctor (also a widower).
Jenny Diski summarizes the novel rather well:
"Everyone in this book lacks a talent for friendship. People either avoid connection or impose themselves. Taylor's acerbic talent is in pitting the power of social cohesion against a nagging individualism. The style is economical and elegant as well as horridly funny."
All the characters are rather lonely and isolated, but there is an underlying humour here. However the novel is bleak. There are two events at the end, one is tragic one is happy. Both feel tragic. The conversations with the two young children are brilliantly done and you can tell that Taylor was comfortable with children and spent time with them.
“To the children, first thing next morning, Maggie said, “I’m afraid dear Grandpa has died.”
“And gone to heaven,” Isobel said, as if her mother had left something out.
Maggie slightly inclined her head, not to be caught telling a lie by the God she did not believe in.
“And-Gone-To-Heaven” Isobel shouted, standing up, outraged, in her little bed.
“Yes of course.”
“Not everyone goes to heaven,” Dora, who was older said, “Egyptian mummies didn’t go. Or stuffed fishes.”
“No fishes never go,” Isobel agreed “sometimes I eat them. Chickens can’t go nor”
“I don’t really know about heaven,” Dora said in her considered way. “We haven’t done that at school yet. But I know they must go somewhere, or we’d be full up here. People coming and going all the time”
It’s an interesting and rather poignant and fairly brief novel with a distinct edge of humour.
Jenny Diski summarizes the novel rather well:
"Everyone in this book lacks a talent for friendship. People either avoid connection or impose themselves. Taylor's acerbic talent is in pitting the power of social cohesion against a nagging individualism. The style is economical and elegant as well as horridly funny."
All the characters are rather lonely and isolated, but there is an underlying humour here. However the novel is bleak. There are two events at the end, one is tragic one is happy. Both feel tragic. The conversations with the two young children are brilliantly done and you can tell that Taylor was comfortable with children and spent time with them.
“To the children, first thing next morning, Maggie said, “I’m afraid dear Grandpa has died.”
“And gone to heaven,” Isobel said, as if her mother had left something out.
Maggie slightly inclined her head, not to be caught telling a lie by the God she did not believe in.
“And-Gone-To-Heaven” Isobel shouted, standing up, outraged, in her little bed.
“Yes of course.”
“Not everyone goes to heaven,” Dora, who was older said, “Egyptian mummies didn’t go. Or stuffed fishes.”
“No fishes never go,” Isobel agreed “sometimes I eat them. Chickens can’t go nor”
“I don’t really know about heaven,” Dora said in her considered way. “We haven’t done that at school yet. But I know they must go somewhere, or we’d be full up here. People coming and going all the time”
It’s an interesting and rather poignant and fairly brief novel with a distinct edge of humour.
April 25, 2024
Elizabeth Taylor's last book, and maybe her best. What I love about Taylor's writing is her understated and subversive wit, with lines that take a few seconds to be fully realized. Her characters are not only realistic but sometimes unlikable. There were times in this novel when I truly disliked every single character, but yet could see a part of myself in each of them. I have failed as a friend just like Amy with Martha, yet I could see why Martha was so hard to like.
Amy's husband dies on a cruise to Istanbul, and Martha, a relative stranger, leaves the the boat to manage things til they can get back to England and Amy's son James can take over. Martha stays in touch and Amy is too obligated and courteous to rudely dismiss her, so an odd friendship develops. Amy is a bit self-centered, Martha is very scattered and disorganized. There's Ernie, Amy's live-in cook, housekeeper and sometimes butler.
Her son James wants to help but worries that she may become too dependent on him, financially and otherwise. His wife Maggie is worried as well. Their two children, 7 year old Dora and 4 year old Isobel are the stars of whatever scene they appear in.
A fairly simple plot, but as I said, I've been in each of these characters shoes at some point. The brilliance is in their portrayal with just a line or two of dialogue or description. Amy says that being a widow feels as though she's been disassembled and the parts put back together wrong. I'm not a widow, but have felt that same way at other life changes. As much as she longed for excitement sometimes, the boredom and messiness of married life is what she misses most.
As in real life, there's guilt and blame enough to go around. This is a book that leaves plenty to think about. No happy endings for all, but to quote Robert Frost, "The one thing I've learned about life is that it goes on."
Amy's husband dies on a cruise to Istanbul, and Martha, a relative stranger, leaves the the boat to manage things til they can get back to England and Amy's son James can take over. Martha stays in touch and Amy is too obligated and courteous to rudely dismiss her, so an odd friendship develops. Amy is a bit self-centered, Martha is very scattered and disorganized. There's Ernie, Amy's live-in cook, housekeeper and sometimes butler.
Her son James wants to help but worries that she may become too dependent on him, financially and otherwise. His wife Maggie is worried as well. Their two children, 7 year old Dora and 4 year old Isobel are the stars of whatever scene they appear in.
A fairly simple plot, but as I said, I've been in each of these characters shoes at some point. The brilliance is in their portrayal with just a line or two of dialogue or description. Amy says that being a widow feels as though she's been disassembled and the parts put back together wrong. I'm not a widow, but have felt that same way at other life changes. As much as she longed for excitement sometimes, the boredom and messiness of married life is what she misses most.
As in real life, there's guilt and blame enough to go around. This is a book that leaves plenty to think about. No happy endings for all, but to quote Robert Frost, "The one thing I've learned about life is that it goes on."
June 2, 2023
An expensive voyage with a cruise atmosphere attempt between Piraeus and Istanbul….goes astray —
which is only the beginning of more unsettling days —
Amy and Nick were a middle aged married couple from the UK. Nick had been sick for many months before this vacation. Now they were taking day trips - off the ship to visit the Blue Moss, other historical museums, the Spice and Grand bazaars -etc.
(I’ve been to all these places and have memories of children following me everywhere I went wanting money handouts and men hoping I’d give them sexual handouts) …..
Turkey in 1973 was very different than it is today.
But I’m getting off topic—
This was a wonderful novel… intimate — profoundly eye-opening wise—(themes of blame, regret, guilt and loss - are woven throughout)…
A beautifully written page turning grandiose.
Amy says to Nick while
“You’ve taken advantage of my love for you, she poured out, at my wish not to upset you, to get you back strong as you were. And to work. But you’ve been convalescent for too long to be good for you or me. I suppose I blame myself for your spoilt behaviour. But I shall make no more allowances from now on”.
Can you imagine your last words to your spouse being so chilly - only to have him die?
Well— Nick died on that getaway—
and of course there is much more to the story.
Enter Martha — another passenger that Nick and Martha meet on their vacation:
“Nice girl, Nick said beginning to undress”.
“Very”.
“Yet you don’t like her”
“For God’s sake, I hardly know her”.
“But you don’t like her”.
“Amy sighed. I like her well enough. At home, she wouldn’t be one of our friends”.
“Why not?”
Back home Amy goes —
We meet her son, his wife and their children.
We meet Ernie (a favorite character-all-around personal support for Amy).
And….
It’s not the end of Martha.
“In a way, Martha became part of the passing of time. Her visits grew frequent, and after she had gone home, Amy could notch up a little score of hours past, — not in pleasure, but passed — of a long day broken into. She discovered that something she had missed and needed were day-to-day shared trivialities; sudden thoughts, not important enough for saving, and an entire detail of events”.
“So Martha came and went in Laurel Walk, rather taken for granted, than welcomed”.
There were definitely moments of fury for Amy.
I won’t say anything more about the plot other than to say the notes at the end by Elizabeth Taylor’s daughter was really touching and meaningful.
This was the last book that Elizabeth Taylor wrote before she died. She had cancer while writing it. Bless her.
I enjoyed this book. A perfect novel!!
I read it two sittings—most of it while soaking in the pool with my ebook —(I like remembering where I was when I read a book that touched me like this has done).
Sara’s review inspired me….as friends do sometimes!
Thank you Sara!
Loved it.
And love you bunches!
which is only the beginning of more unsettling days —
Amy and Nick were a middle aged married couple from the UK. Nick had been sick for many months before this vacation. Now they were taking day trips - off the ship to visit the Blue Moss, other historical museums, the Spice and Grand bazaars -etc.
(I’ve been to all these places and have memories of children following me everywhere I went wanting money handouts and men hoping I’d give them sexual handouts) …..
Turkey in 1973 was very different than it is today.
But I’m getting off topic—
This was a wonderful novel… intimate — profoundly eye-opening wise—(themes of blame, regret, guilt and loss - are woven throughout)…
A beautifully written page turning grandiose.
Amy says to Nick while
“You’ve taken advantage of my love for you, she poured out, at my wish not to upset you, to get you back strong as you were. And to work. But you’ve been convalescent for too long to be good for you or me. I suppose I blame myself for your spoilt behaviour. But I shall make no more allowances from now on”.
Can you imagine your last words to your spouse being so chilly - only to have him die?
Well— Nick died on that getaway—
and of course there is much more to the story.
Enter Martha — another passenger that Nick and Martha meet on their vacation:
“Nice girl, Nick said beginning to undress”.
“Very”.
“Yet you don’t like her”
“For God’s sake, I hardly know her”.
“But you don’t like her”.
“Amy sighed. I like her well enough. At home, she wouldn’t be one of our friends”.
“Why not?”
Back home Amy goes —
We meet her son, his wife and their children.
We meet Ernie (a favorite character-all-around personal support for Amy).
And….
It’s not the end of Martha.
“In a way, Martha became part of the passing of time. Her visits grew frequent, and after she had gone home, Amy could notch up a little score of hours past, — not in pleasure, but passed — of a long day broken into. She discovered that something she had missed and needed were day-to-day shared trivialities; sudden thoughts, not important enough for saving, and an entire detail of events”.
“So Martha came and went in Laurel Walk, rather taken for granted, than welcomed”.
There were definitely moments of fury for Amy.
I won’t say anything more about the plot other than to say the notes at the end by Elizabeth Taylor’s daughter was really touching and meaningful.
This was the last book that Elizabeth Taylor wrote before she died. She had cancer while writing it. Bless her.
I enjoyed this book. A perfect novel!!
I read it two sittings—most of it while soaking in the pool with my ebook —(I like remembering where I was when I read a book that touched me like this has done).
Sara’s review inspired me….as friends do sometimes!
Thank you Sara!
Loved it.
And love you bunches!
April 28, 2012
A simple, poignant story that focuses on obligation, guilt and blame, rather than characters or plot - though it's not as depressing as it sounds.
It is set around the time of publication (mid '70s), though at times it could easily be a decade or two earlier (except that the name Amy feels very incongruous). Amy and Nick are a late middle-aged, middle-class couple on a Mediterranean cruise, as he recuperates from a major illness. A younger, American author called Martha attaches herself to them as the only other English speakers, and when Nick suddenly dies, she helps Martha with the arrangements.
The book is mainly about the relationship between Amy and Martha: Amy feels obligated to Martha, but has little in common with her, and finds her needy and annoying ("She did all that for me and I never want to see her again, she thought in shame"). Her visits, when they cannot be prevented, become a way to pass time, "rather taken for granted than welcome". At one point, her son James warns, "Don't for heaven's sake punish her because you owe her gratitude."
Is Amy too cold, selfish and ungrateful, or is she just a shocked and grieving widow? "No one cares for reminders that gratitude is due."
In addition, Amy's relationship with James is tinged with all sorts of guilt, exacerbated by his wife Maggie ("in spite of lack of warmth, their relationship was exemplary"), and their children Dora and Imogen. Worst of all, are the guilty feelings that arise when someone dies: what should one have done differently? The only two people who never blame are Amy's housekeeper Ernie and widowed doctor friend Gareth, but even so, their competence sometimes makes her ashamed of her own helplessness, which she tries to hide.
The social niceties and incongruities are acutely observed. This is the first Taylor I've read, but I can see why she's likened to Bowen, Austen and Pym (whom I have read). There is even a painfully funny scene where James and Maggie discuss his mother's widowhood, starting, "We must do all we can for her", diluting their suggestions the more they discuss it, so the scene ends "So nothing was done" (Shades of "Sense and Sensibility").
The children provide plenty of humour, individually and in their sibling rivalry: Dora (the elder) is the more sympathetic character, but very knowing, and capable of being quite manipulative, albeit in a charming way, whereas Isobel is horridly selfish, rude and spoilt (fun to read about, but not to meet!).
I hope that Taylor didn't see too much of herself in Martha, in whose books "objects took the place of characters" and who uses vague research as an excuse for unwanted nosiness. When she visits, Amy realises she is "like a tiresome child... but unlike a child she can't be reprimanded". Despite her inquisitiveness, at other times she is strangely and frustratingly indifferent to people and social norms - yet has the audacity to accuse Amy of being uninterested in people. She also has a knack of expecting things and tacitly making other people feel guilty for not anticipating this, though to what extent this is deliberate is not clear.
The other link between Martha and the children is how they see themselves in the mind of others. Isobel "was disturbed, as many children and all egoists are... by the idea of a non-existence at any time with relation to the present" and Martha has similar concerns that when she goes away, she'll be able to picture Amy's life, but that Amy "won't be able to imagine ME, or my life. That makes me feel unreal".
By the end of the book, Amy is blaming herself for some aspect of everyone's life, including her own, with a smidgen or respite when "she was relieved... to be able to say that there was blame lying elsewhere".
The final questions is "What else could I have done?", and I'm not sure I have a satisfactory answer to that, because I'm not sure that anything else would necessarily have led to a happier outcome.
It is set around the time of publication (mid '70s), though at times it could easily be a decade or two earlier (except that the name Amy feels very incongruous). Amy and Nick are a late middle-aged, middle-class couple on a Mediterranean cruise, as he recuperates from a major illness. A younger, American author called Martha attaches herself to them as the only other English speakers, and when Nick suddenly dies, she helps Martha with the arrangements.
The book is mainly about the relationship between Amy and Martha: Amy feels obligated to Martha, but has little in common with her, and finds her needy and annoying ("She did all that for me and I never want to see her again, she thought in shame"). Her visits, when they cannot be prevented, become a way to pass time, "rather taken for granted than welcome". At one point, her son James warns, "Don't for heaven's sake punish her because you owe her gratitude."
Is Amy too cold, selfish and ungrateful, or is she just a shocked and grieving widow? "No one cares for reminders that gratitude is due."
In addition, Amy's relationship with James is tinged with all sorts of guilt, exacerbated by his wife Maggie ("in spite of lack of warmth, their relationship was exemplary"), and their children Dora and Imogen. Worst of all, are the guilty feelings that arise when someone dies: what should one have done differently? The only two people who never blame are Amy's housekeeper Ernie and widowed doctor friend Gareth, but even so, their competence sometimes makes her ashamed of her own helplessness, which she tries to hide.
The social niceties and incongruities are acutely observed. This is the first Taylor I've read, but I can see why she's likened to Bowen, Austen and Pym (whom I have read). There is even a painfully funny scene where James and Maggie discuss his mother's widowhood, starting, "We must do all we can for her", diluting their suggestions the more they discuss it, so the scene ends "So nothing was done" (Shades of "Sense and Sensibility").
The children provide plenty of humour, individually and in their sibling rivalry: Dora (the elder) is the more sympathetic character, but very knowing, and capable of being quite manipulative, albeit in a charming way, whereas Isobel is horridly selfish, rude and spoilt (fun to read about, but not to meet!).
I hope that Taylor didn't see too much of herself in Martha, in whose books "objects took the place of characters" and who uses vague research as an excuse for unwanted nosiness. When she visits, Amy realises she is "like a tiresome child... but unlike a child she can't be reprimanded". Despite her inquisitiveness, at other times she is strangely and frustratingly indifferent to people and social norms - yet has the audacity to accuse Amy of being uninterested in people. She also has a knack of expecting things and tacitly making other people feel guilty for not anticipating this, though to what extent this is deliberate is not clear.
The other link between Martha and the children is how they see themselves in the mind of others. Isobel "was disturbed, as many children and all egoists are... by the idea of a non-existence at any time with relation to the present" and Martha has similar concerns that when she goes away, she'll be able to picture Amy's life, but that Amy "won't be able to imagine ME, or my life. That makes me feel unreal".
By the end of the book, Amy is blaming herself for some aspect of everyone's life, including her own, with a smidgen or respite when "she was relieved... to be able to say that there was blame lying elsewhere".
The final questions is "What else could I have done?", and I'm not sure I have a satisfactory answer to that, because I'm not sure that anything else would necessarily have led to a happier outcome.
July 15, 2022
My first Elizabeth Taylor and her last, published posthumously. Sometimes the most poignant novels are those that explore ‘ordinary’ lives. Amy’s husband dies suddenly on holiday and and we follow her through the first year of grieving. There is so much to identify with as we all essentially follow the same path after the death of someone very close. Amy isn’t the most likeable character. She’s flawed, selfish, socially awkward most of the time, sometimes bitter and unkind, sometimes the opposite. In other words, human.
Light relief was found in her granddaughters, Dora (7) and Isobel (4), who are hilarious. They are perhaps a little precocious but I found their behaviour quite endearing. Whether I’d feel the same if I met similar children in real life, I’m not so sure!
I’m so impressed by Taylor’s insight into the complex thought processes we all go through and I found myself empathising with almost everyone at some level. We all think we know other people but what I think this book tells us is that none of us knows what’s going on in anyone else’s head but our own. Often, we don’t even understand ourselves. I will look forward to reading more of her work.
[My only quibble is with the publishers. I’d love to know what the cover illustration has to do with the content of the book!]
Light relief was found in her granddaughters, Dora (7) and Isobel (4), who are hilarious. They are perhaps a little precocious but I found their behaviour quite endearing. Whether I’d feel the same if I met similar children in real life, I’m not so sure!
I’m so impressed by Taylor’s insight into the complex thought processes we all go through and I found myself empathising with almost everyone at some level. We all think we know other people but what I think this book tells us is that none of us knows what’s going on in anyone else’s head but our own. Often, we don’t even understand ourselves. I will look forward to reading more of her work.
[My only quibble is with the publishers. I’d love to know what the cover illustration has to do with the content of the book!]
June 1, 2013
What I like about this book is its subtlety. It is about a grieving widow Amy whose husband, on the first pages of the book, dies while they are vacationing aboard a tourist cruise liner. However, unlike Janice Galloway's The Trick Is to Keep Breathing, almost all the next pages of the book deal with the widow's relationships with the people around her: Martha her new friend who helps her deal with her husband's corpse and when back in the US, her son James and his wife Maggie and their small daughters Dora and Isobel. Amy's dead husband Nick almost got sidetrack and references to his memories come far and between. It is as if the story as told from Amy's perspective is how she wants to forget the pain that she feels so she avoids mentioning about her husband. It is as if the book itself is a form of her denial to deal with her loss. I have underlined these because for me this is what makes this book unique. It does not mention the pain but the structure of the book actually is the manifestation of the pain. The pain of loss.
This book was written by Elizabeth Taylor (not the dead actress) when she was suffering from cancer. This was published posthumously in 1976 and is considered as her last book.
Why blaming? Amy blames many people for what life she has after Nick's death. She even blames herself. She is not faultless though because the people around her are almost insensitive and indifferent towards her in her solitude. For me who was luckily raised in a warm loving family, this seems artificial but I am not sure how British people deal with loss and so, at times, I did not find the things that are supposedly funny (according to my friends who've read this book) just like the funny scenes in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. Some British humor just don't jive with me, I guess.
But still the subtlety and the structure of this book are, for me, what make this read a bit memorable.
This book was written by Elizabeth Taylor (not the dead actress) when she was suffering from cancer. This was published posthumously in 1976 and is considered as her last book.
Why blaming? Amy blames many people for what life she has after Nick's death. She even blames herself. She is not faultless though because the people around her are almost insensitive and indifferent towards her in her solitude. For me who was luckily raised in a warm loving family, this seems artificial but I am not sure how British people deal with loss and so, at times, I did not find the things that are supposedly funny (according to my friends who've read this book) just like the funny scenes in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. Some British humor just don't jive with me, I guess.
But still the subtlety and the structure of this book are, for me, what make this read a bit memorable.
March 9, 2017
"What else could I have done?" she asked the rain.
Elizabeth Taylor is an author of whom I was dimly aware, as someone best known for not being better known or as one of the hidden treasures of the English novel, but was re-drawn to my attention by the Mookse Madness book tournament on the Mookse and Gripes Forum (https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...)
Blaming was her last novel, written when she knew she was dying of cancer, and published posthumously.
It tells the story of Amy, an Englishwoman suddenly bereaved on a cruise holiday, and her rather odd relationship with Martha, an American novelist, also on the trip who, uninvited, decides to also leave mid-cruise and take Amy under her wing, but ends up being as much of an emotional burden to Amy as a help. Through their story and that of Amy’s family – her son, daughter-in-law and two, rather precocious, children – her somewhat comic butler Ernie and her Doctor and family friend also recently bereaved – Taylor creates a compelling study of relationships, bereavement, grief, guilt and (self-)blame.
The prose is noticeable for its deliberately understated quality, with a focus on emotions repressed and implicit. The generous introduction from John Keates, searching for a comparison, suggests Austen or even Chekhov – whose prose Nabokov famously described as having"a tint between the colour of an old fence and that of a low cloud" (Lectures on Literature, 1980).
Some examples:
Her son James, discussing her rather ungrateful reaction to Martha’s assistance:
At least she is not being stoical, he thought. She may recover sooner because of that. Not spend her grief in dribs and drabs, or put in on the slate for a stunning repayment.
And:
James was telling her things all the time nowadays, as of the true roles were reversed, and he had become her parent, and much more censorious than the ones she had really had..
Isobel (aged 4 and a half):
With her finger-tips under the gushing tap, she had tried to sort out the problem of her own identity and of the limits of its being. She was disturbed, as many children and all egoistic are (and she was both), by the idea of a non-existence at any time in relation to the present.
Dora (7) and Isobel
Isobel at once sensed someone was getting more from the contact than she. "Let me down," she cried, bashing away Amy's arms, kicking her shins. "I'm not a baby."
"Then why behave like one?" Dora asked, now unscrewing without fuss the top of a very difficult peanut-butter jar.
It wouldn't be good to have a sister like that, Amy thought.
Ernie – whose wife had left him suddenly one day
He decided to have a little rest from his teeth, and he put them carefully in a cup of water, then began to beat the steak with a rolling-pin, and he thought about his non-existent wife, and tried to knock her into shape, too.
Mrs Francis Martha's widowed landlady
She did not like Martha having sex under her roof. After all, she did not have it herself. She would clatter about in the kitchen next to Martha's room when Simon Lomas was there, knowing perfectly well what was going on on the other side of the wall, and thinking it bad manners. She was amazed that Martha could give a lecture on Henry James, and then behave in such a way with one of her students. If only she could stop them, she would think, as she filled the kettle with a great rush of water and slammed it down on the stove.
The introduction highlights Taylor as being misunderstood as filed incorrectly under "the lady novelist of good family whose works can be enjoyed, without fear of being thought too arty or clever, for their perfect amalgam of serious intentions and impeccable decorum" (a label he then applies rather unfairly to Elizabeth Bowen and Ivy Compton-Burnett) and adds “ it seems extraordinary, for example, that her books were generally judged middlebrow rather than highbrow, to the extent that their critical reception sometimes tended to suggest a position at the superior end of the popular women's fiction market.”
There is certainly much subtlety to Taylor’s work and the form in which she presented it, and the unfortunate overshadowing of her name by the famous actress, may well have hidden this to her detriment.
The Virago Modern Classics edition also comes with an afterword from Taylor's daughter, best read after the novel itself, which explains the origin of various elements of the story.
Certainly a novelist I will revisit.
Elizabeth Taylor is an author of whom I was dimly aware, as someone best known for not being better known or as one of the hidden treasures of the English novel, but was re-drawn to my attention by the Mookse Madness book tournament on the Mookse and Gripes Forum (https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...)
Blaming was her last novel, written when she knew she was dying of cancer, and published posthumously.
It tells the story of Amy, an Englishwoman suddenly bereaved on a cruise holiday, and her rather odd relationship with Martha, an American novelist, also on the trip who, uninvited, decides to also leave mid-cruise and take Amy under her wing, but ends up being as much of an emotional burden to Amy as a help. Through their story and that of Amy’s family – her son, daughter-in-law and two, rather precocious, children – her somewhat comic butler Ernie and her Doctor and family friend also recently bereaved – Taylor creates a compelling study of relationships, bereavement, grief, guilt and (self-)blame.
The prose is noticeable for its deliberately understated quality, with a focus on emotions repressed and implicit. The generous introduction from John Keates, searching for a comparison, suggests Austen or even Chekhov – whose prose Nabokov famously described as having"a tint between the colour of an old fence and that of a low cloud" (Lectures on Literature, 1980).
Some examples:
Her son James, discussing her rather ungrateful reaction to Martha’s assistance:
At least she is not being stoical, he thought. She may recover sooner because of that. Not spend her grief in dribs and drabs, or put in on the slate for a stunning repayment.
And:
James was telling her things all the time nowadays, as of the true roles were reversed, and he had become her parent, and much more censorious than the ones she had really had..
Isobel (aged 4 and a half):
With her finger-tips under the gushing tap, she had tried to sort out the problem of her own identity and of the limits of its being. She was disturbed, as many children and all egoistic are (and she was both), by the idea of a non-existence at any time in relation to the present.
Dora (7) and Isobel
Isobel at once sensed someone was getting more from the contact than she. "Let me down," she cried, bashing away Amy's arms, kicking her shins. "I'm not a baby."
"Then why behave like one?" Dora asked, now unscrewing without fuss the top of a very difficult peanut-butter jar.
It wouldn't be good to have a sister like that, Amy thought.
Ernie – whose wife had left him suddenly one day
He decided to have a little rest from his teeth, and he put them carefully in a cup of water, then began to beat the steak with a rolling-pin, and he thought about his non-existent wife, and tried to knock her into shape, too.
Mrs Francis Martha's widowed landlady
She did not like Martha having sex under her roof. After all, she did not have it herself. She would clatter about in the kitchen next to Martha's room when Simon Lomas was there, knowing perfectly well what was going on on the other side of the wall, and thinking it bad manners. She was amazed that Martha could give a lecture on Henry James, and then behave in such a way with one of her students. If only she could stop them, she would think, as she filled the kettle with a great rush of water and slammed it down on the stove.
The introduction highlights Taylor as being misunderstood as filed incorrectly under "the lady novelist of good family whose works can be enjoyed, without fear of being thought too arty or clever, for their perfect amalgam of serious intentions and impeccable decorum" (a label he then applies rather unfairly to Elizabeth Bowen and Ivy Compton-Burnett) and adds “ it seems extraordinary, for example, that her books were generally judged middlebrow rather than highbrow, to the extent that their critical reception sometimes tended to suggest a position at the superior end of the popular women's fiction market.”
There is certainly much subtlety to Taylor’s work and the form in which she presented it, and the unfortunate overshadowing of her name by the famous actress, may well have hidden this to her detriment.
The Virago Modern Classics edition also comes with an afterword from Taylor's daughter, best read after the novel itself, which explains the origin of various elements of the story.
Certainly a novelist I will revisit.
July 26, 2019
Sadly, I have come to the end of Elizabeth Taylor Reading Project, reading her novels chronologically. This one is the last she wrote and I shall miss them. Fortunately, I still have a few collections of her short stories to go.
When Amy's husband dies while on holiday in Istanbul, Martha, an American the couple met on the boat, gives up the rest of her holiday to help Amy home. Once there, Amy doesn't really want to continue their friendship as she's not the sort of person she would usually mix with. Martha is not so easily put off. Amy and most of the other characters no longer know how to deal with each other, leading to feelings of guilt, remorse, and blame.
As others have said, this is more of a character study than a plot-driven story.
When Amy's husband dies while on holiday in Istanbul, Martha, an American the couple met on the boat, gives up the rest of her holiday to help Amy home. Once there, Amy doesn't really want to continue their friendship as she's not the sort of person she would usually mix with. Martha is not so easily put off. Amy and most of the other characters no longer know how to deal with each other, leading to feelings of guilt, remorse, and blame.
As others have said, this is more of a character study than a plot-driven story.
April 19, 2025
5 (original rating: 4.5)
The Virago editions of Taylor's work are cursed with some terrible introductions. Just a book before this one, the commissioned writer opens her preface of Taylor's novel "The Wedding Group" with the exclamation "Poor Elizabeth Taylor!" and then proceeds to suggest different titles for the book because she personally hates "The Wedding Group." Both seems very inappropriate to me, downright impolite. Now here, for "The Blaming," the colleague introducing the book takes great pains to quote a sentence from another, totally unrelated Taylor novel, because he finds that sentence not a good sentence, and it's important to him to point out that Elizabeth Taylor sometimes wrote not so good sentences. I mean, wow.
Taylor attracts weird advocates of her work, unserious and condescending people. That's hilarious, because she writes with great humor and a lot of sublimated anger about, you know, unserious and condescending people. "Blaming" is one of her darkest and at the same time most hopeful novels, morally ambiguous as always, very sad, and at times hilariously funny, especially when she writes about children.
The Virago editions of Taylor's work are cursed with some terrible introductions. Just a book before this one, the commissioned writer opens her preface of Taylor's novel "The Wedding Group" with the exclamation "Poor Elizabeth Taylor!" and then proceeds to suggest different titles for the book because she personally hates "The Wedding Group." Both seems very inappropriate to me, downright impolite. Now here, for "The Blaming," the colleague introducing the book takes great pains to quote a sentence from another, totally unrelated Taylor novel, because he finds that sentence not a good sentence, and it's important to him to point out that Elizabeth Taylor sometimes wrote not so good sentences. I mean, wow.
Taylor attracts weird advocates of her work, unserious and condescending people. That's hilarious, because she writes with great humor and a lot of sublimated anger about, you know, unserious and condescending people. "Blaming" is one of her darkest and at the same time most hopeful novels, morally ambiguous as always, very sad, and at times hilariously funny, especially when she writes about children.
January 16, 2016
Another great Elizabeth Taylor, the last she wrote before she died. This book deals with loss, friendship and life continuing. Although sad, the parts describing the two children were lovely, beautifully written observation of children being intense, funny and exhausting. Lovely afterword by Elizabeth Taylor's daughter.
February 4, 2020
This book was a quick but a disappointing read. Especially disappointing because I was spoiled by my first experience with reading Elizabeth Taylor…Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont. That book was so clever, so good. This book was just so different…seemed like clever sentences and dialog thrown in for the mere sake of being clever…because people really don’t say such things, think such things, and behave in such ways, do they? There is a four year old Isobel in this book and she at times sucks her thumb (so she is still acting like a baby…so it’s like OK I can believe this) but then out of the mouths of babes comes this existentialist crisis when she is talking to her grandmother (the main protagonist of the story) and her older sister Dora (maybe 7 years old) when she is told she was not “there” when her mother was growing up as a girl:
“You weren’t there,” Dora said.
It was beyond belief to Isobel, and outrage, that sometime, somewhere, she had not existed.
“Rude pig,” she screamed, and then fled to wash her hands and think of answers.
…With her finger-tips under the gushing tap, she had tried to sort out the problem of her own identity and of the limits of its being…
That went beyond the pale for me. With that said, I must admit I had not read the Introduction nor the Afterword. The Afterword was written by her daughter and there I learned that while Elizabeth Taylor was writing this novel, she was dying of cancer. It was a loving tribute from her daughter to her mother. The book was published posthumously. So that put a different light on things.
I still have a lot of novels of Elizabeth Taylor to get through (her oeuvre)…and I was quite impressed with “Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont” and am aware that she has been re-discovered as a respected English author of the 20th century. Hence why I have in my stack of TBR book a bunch written by her. So I will read on.
“You weren’t there,” Dora said.
It was beyond belief to Isobel, and outrage, that sometime, somewhere, she had not existed.
“Rude pig,” she screamed, and then fled to wash her hands and think of answers.
…With her finger-tips under the gushing tap, she had tried to sort out the problem of her own identity and of the limits of its being…
That went beyond the pale for me. With that said, I must admit I had not read the Introduction nor the Afterword. The Afterword was written by her daughter and there I learned that while Elizabeth Taylor was writing this novel, she was dying of cancer. It was a loving tribute from her daughter to her mother. The book was published posthumously. So that put a different light on things.
I still have a lot of novels of Elizabeth Taylor to get through (her oeuvre)…and I was quite impressed with “Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont” and am aware that she has been re-discovered as a respected English author of the 20th century. Hence why I have in my stack of TBR book a bunch written by her. So I will read on.
August 20, 2021
Elizabeth Taylor’s writing is absolutely brilliant. In this final novel, which she wrote while dying and became too weak to do edits in her chair, she examines grief. Her daughter wrote a touching tribute in the end of my edition. It took Taylor three years to write this book. And while reading, it’s clear the attention she paid to her details. She captures the complexity of grief in its logical and illogical forms. How it changes people and the awkwardness of social interactions after a tragic loss. I found parts incredibly relatable and sympathetic.
The novel opens introducing the readers to Nick and Amy Henderson. They are on holiday following Nick’s recovery from surgery and illness. Nick is weakened yet determined to savor each moment. Amy tries to support this but is at the end of her patience. They meet a fellow traveler, Martha, and a sort of friendship begins. When tragedy strikes, Martha escorts a grief stricken Amy back to England. The rest of the novel examines Amy’s grief and resumption of her life. Part of her new life now includes Martha. Who initially I thought had ulterior darker motives but over the course of the novel my thoughts on her changed. Which was one reason I thoroughly enjoyed this novel: the characters are dynamic and layered. Amy continues to hold Martha at an arm’s length yet also recognizes her need for human interaction. Their friendship is prickly. The book ends in a stunning way. I’m still trying to process it and am glad I will be discussing it with a book club.
Highly recommend and even more so if you are able to read it with a friend or bookclub.
The novel opens introducing the readers to Nick and Amy Henderson. They are on holiday following Nick’s recovery from surgery and illness. Nick is weakened yet determined to savor each moment. Amy tries to support this but is at the end of her patience. They meet a fellow traveler, Martha, and a sort of friendship begins. When tragedy strikes, Martha escorts a grief stricken Amy back to England. The rest of the novel examines Amy’s grief and resumption of her life. Part of her new life now includes Martha. Who initially I thought had ulterior darker motives but over the course of the novel my thoughts on her changed. Which was one reason I thoroughly enjoyed this novel: the characters are dynamic and layered. Amy continues to hold Martha at an arm’s length yet also recognizes her need for human interaction. Their friendship is prickly. The book ends in a stunning way. I’m still trying to process it and am glad I will be discussing it with a book club.
Highly recommend and even more so if you are able to read it with a friend or bookclub.
April 16, 2015
This is not so much plot driven as it is a study in interpersonal relationships. How much do we acknowledge our need to connect to others beyond superficiality. Taylor wrote this as she was dying of cancer which may be the reason that the story involves death as the precipitating event in the story. I liked the fully realized characters and as it was written in 1975 there is a hint of changing social conventions.
June 26, 2017
When her husband dies suddenly on a cruise, English Amy is helped home by an onboard acquaintance, a younger American woman named Martha, who seems fascinated by her. Amy is neither brave enough to cut her nor interested/kind enough to be a real friend to her, and so the one-sided "friendship" continues until quite a startling development near the end of the book.
Amy is so wishy-washy that she's hard to like, although Elizabeth Taylor does her best to make us at least understand her. What's great about this book is not so much the characters but the atmosphere of stilted English 1970s life for people who had been young in wartime and were now approaching their later years feeling lost, and the way that none of the adult characters really connect, even Amy and her grown-up son, creating a pervading sense of loneliness. Fortunately, there are two children who provide some much-needed energy and humour - although not a lot of love. Love is lacking in this world.
Amy is so wishy-washy that she's hard to like, although Elizabeth Taylor does her best to make us at least understand her. What's great about this book is not so much the characters but the atmosphere of stilted English 1970s life for people who had been young in wartime and were now approaching their later years feeling lost, and the way that none of the adult characters really connect, even Amy and her grown-up son, creating a pervading sense of loneliness. Fortunately, there are two children who provide some much-needed energy and humour - although not a lot of love. Love is lacking in this world.
August 12, 2013
Wow. Amy is such a difficult and interesting character on so many levels. And Taylor is fearless in how she has written her. Would make a great discussion book. I'd rate this 4.5 really, not quite perfect but pretty damn close.
If you get this edition, don't read the afterword by Taylor's daughter until after you've read the novel -- it contains a significant spoiler which I wish I hadn't read before I'd finished the novel. I have a bad habit of reading those first -- and they put it at the end for a reason.....D'oh.
If you get this edition, don't read the afterword by Taylor's daughter until after you've read the novel -- it contains a significant spoiler which I wish I hadn't read before I'd finished the novel. I have a bad habit of reading those first -- and they put it at the end for a reason.....D'oh.
November 19, 2021
Blaming was Elizabeth Taylor’s final novel, written when the author knew she was dying of cancer. There is a particular poignancy to it, a consequence perhaps of Taylor’s impending mortality. It is, nevertheless, an excellent novel, a characteristically perceptive story of blame, guilt and selfishness – more specifically, what we do when our selfishness catches up with us and how we sometimes try to shift the blame for our failings onto others.
The novel revolves around Amy Henderson, whom we first encounter in the middle of a holiday with her husband, Nick. The Hendersons are typical Taylor protagonists, drawn from the middle-class world that she knew so intimately. Well into middle age, the couple have a comfortable lifestyle, a married son, James, and two granddaughters, Dora and Isobel.
To aid his recovery from an operation, Nick has embarked on a Mediterranean cruise with Amy – a trip that is proving rather trying for various reasons. While Nick is determined to make the most of various sightseeing opportunities, Amy would much rather stay on the ship, passing the time by reading and relaxing. As a result, there is an unmistakable note of tension in the air as Amy tries to control her frustration with Nick and a packed timetable of outings to various Turkish mosques.
And so it had been in some ways a trying holiday – she fussing over him with the patience of a saint, but inwardly quick to be bored, or irritated by such prolonged sight-seeing; and he determined to miss nothing, as if it were his last chance. (p. 10)
Things take a turn for the worse when Nick passes away in his sleep while onboard the ship, leaving Amy in shock and with no family nearby for support. The one person to hand is Martha, a young American novelist who has already attached herself to the Hendersons as the only other English-speaking passengers on board. (In truth, Amy has already spent a little time with Martha, before Nick’s death, albeit out of politeness rather than any desire to be friends.)
Martha gallantly steps in, abandoning her plans for the remainder of the cruise to accompany Amy back to London, where both women happen to live. On their arrival in London, Martha delivers Amy into the hands of James, who together with a family friend, the gentle widower, Gareth Lloyd, will take care of Amy and the funeral arrangements for Nick.
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The novel revolves around Amy Henderson, whom we first encounter in the middle of a holiday with her husband, Nick. The Hendersons are typical Taylor protagonists, drawn from the middle-class world that she knew so intimately. Well into middle age, the couple have a comfortable lifestyle, a married son, James, and two granddaughters, Dora and Isobel.
To aid his recovery from an operation, Nick has embarked on a Mediterranean cruise with Amy – a trip that is proving rather trying for various reasons. While Nick is determined to make the most of various sightseeing opportunities, Amy would much rather stay on the ship, passing the time by reading and relaxing. As a result, there is an unmistakable note of tension in the air as Amy tries to control her frustration with Nick and a packed timetable of outings to various Turkish mosques.
And so it had been in some ways a trying holiday – she fussing over him with the patience of a saint, but inwardly quick to be bored, or irritated by such prolonged sight-seeing; and he determined to miss nothing, as if it were his last chance. (p. 10)
Things take a turn for the worse when Nick passes away in his sleep while onboard the ship, leaving Amy in shock and with no family nearby for support. The one person to hand is Martha, a young American novelist who has already attached herself to the Hendersons as the only other English-speaking passengers on board. (In truth, Amy has already spent a little time with Martha, before Nick’s death, albeit out of politeness rather than any desire to be friends.)
Martha gallantly steps in, abandoning her plans for the remainder of the cruise to accompany Amy back to London, where both women happen to live. On their arrival in London, Martha delivers Amy into the hands of James, who together with a family friend, the gentle widower, Gareth Lloyd, will take care of Amy and the funeral arrangements for Nick.
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July 12, 2019
This sharp-eyed novel about grief and responsibilities to others has some wonderful scenes. When Amy’s husband dies in a foreign city, fellow tourist Martha takes her under her wing, but when she returns home, Amy has mixed feelings about Martha’s efforts to continue the relationship. The author is an acute observer of people’s follies and peccadillos, and the heroine’s young granddaughters, Dora and Isabel, are both realistic and extremely funny. There is also an afterword by her daughter who shares some wonderful stories about her mother. 3.5 stars
December 18, 2023
A juicy concoction of tragedy and comedy, this novel is about blame, guilt, and bereavement – and as with all good fiction, also so many other things. Taylor, in her writing, floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee. Her prose is delicate, agile and sharp. Her characters are pathetic and real, and her stories are full of punchlines, one-liners, dark jokes that wound – and in her relentless piercing manner these jokes, over time, begin to feel like lashings over that wound.
I’ve read most of Taylor’s fiction and, speaking generally, her brutal observations of her characters and their emotional states are counterbalanced by a clear compassion. It was harder for me this time around to feel it. But then I felt it, towards the end, the humanity, and it brought the novel to a great close.
In my edition of the book, there are two quotes by writers that perfectly and succinctly summarise who Elizabeth Taylor is as a writer, and why she’s one of my all-time favourites. I want to share them:
1. ‘Always intelligent, often subversive and never dull, Elizabeth Taylor is the thinking person’s dangerous housewife. Her sophisticated prose combines elegance, icy wit and freshness in a stimulating cocktail – the perfect toast to the quiet horror of domestic life.’
2. ‘The very English art of seeming is both respected and satirised. Again and again, the world of objects, routines and domestic necessities is expertly drawn, and beneath that the world of half-conscious feelings, suppressed longings, denied impulses, stifled resentments . . . She is adept at capturing the ways people interact – and how they fail to; how words, thoughts, actions glance off each other in unpredictable directions; how even those closely related can live curiously parallel existences.’
I’ve read most of Taylor’s fiction and, speaking generally, her brutal observations of her characters and their emotional states are counterbalanced by a clear compassion. It was harder for me this time around to feel it. But then I felt it, towards the end, the humanity, and it brought the novel to a great close.
In my edition of the book, there are two quotes by writers that perfectly and succinctly summarise who Elizabeth Taylor is as a writer, and why she’s one of my all-time favourites. I want to share them:
1. ‘Always intelligent, often subversive and never dull, Elizabeth Taylor is the thinking person’s dangerous housewife. Her sophisticated prose combines elegance, icy wit and freshness in a stimulating cocktail – the perfect toast to the quiet horror of domestic life.’
2. ‘The very English art of seeming is both respected and satirised. Again and again, the world of objects, routines and domestic necessities is expertly drawn, and beneath that the world of half-conscious feelings, suppressed longings, denied impulses, stifled resentments . . . She is adept at capturing the ways people interact – and how they fail to; how words, thoughts, actions glance off each other in unpredictable directions; how even those closely related can live curiously parallel existences.’
December 10, 2022
Elizabeth Taylor’s final novel is a study of middle class snobbishness and selfishness, perceptively observed and carefully written. Amy is on holiday when her husband Nick dies suddenly, and she is supported by a younger American woman, Martha. When they return to London, Amy is reluctant to continue the acquaintance but their lives somehow remain connected until further tragedy occurs.
This was for me a classic example of how Taylor’s unsympathetic characters still maintain the interest and make the reader examine their own prejudices and recall small acts of ingratitude or unkindness. Amy and her family are often impatient and irritated with each other yet unwilling to speak their minds, and lack the spontaneous generosity of the more disorganised Martha. The secondary characters such as the eccentric manservant Ernie and Amy’s precocious and indulged (yet sometimes hilarious) granddaughters add further insightful moments.
Art as always is a supporting theme in the novel - Nick was a painter and Martha is a writer - and helps to further illuminate the differences between Amy and Martha, while also providing brief moments of contact. I didn’t feel this was the best of Taylor’s novels, and was surprised to find it on the 1001 list, but it was still clever and skilfully written and an interesting read.
This was for me a classic example of how Taylor’s unsympathetic characters still maintain the interest and make the reader examine their own prejudices and recall small acts of ingratitude or unkindness. Amy and her family are often impatient and irritated with each other yet unwilling to speak their minds, and lack the spontaneous generosity of the more disorganised Martha. The secondary characters such as the eccentric manservant Ernie and Amy’s precocious and indulged (yet sometimes hilarious) granddaughters add further insightful moments.
Art as always is a supporting theme in the novel - Nick was a painter and Martha is a writer - and helps to further illuminate the differences between Amy and Martha, while also providing brief moments of contact. I didn’t feel this was the best of Taylor’s novels, and was surprised to find it on the 1001 list, but it was still clever and skilfully written and an interesting read.
December 9, 2012
The final novel in the Librarything Virago group’s yearlong centenary readalong, it has been a fantastic reading event. Pop over to Laura’s blog to read Libraything member Dee’s post about what we have read and what we all thought.
Blaming was Elizabeth Taylor’s final novel written in something of a hurry during her final illness, when she knew that she was dying. It is a novel much more character driven than plot driven – as I think is much, if not all of her work. It is a novel about guilt, bereavement and blame.
Amy is a very recognisable Elizabeth Taylor character. Middle aged, middle class, she is often reserved, holding back her thoughts and feelings, taking little interest in people around her. While on holiday aboard ship with her husband Nick, Amy is suddenly widowed, left stranded and bewildered in a foreign country. Incapacitated by grief Amy is befriended by Martha an American writer, a little odd and certainly the type of woman who Amy would generally have had little time for. However Martha takes charge of Amy, accompanying her back to England, even though it means cutting her own holiday short. Once home, Martha proves rather difficult to shake off. Amy is surrounded by people, her son James and his wife Maggie with their two “little girls” the superb Isobel and Dora (brilliant child characters again from Elizabeth Taylor – she knew children so absolutely. Ernie Pounce a kind of male housekeeper who with his new false teeth and slight hypochondria loves nothing more than to fuss around after “madam,” and Gavin, physician and dear old friend, the widower of her one time best friend, calls in regularly. Amy feels no need of Martha, but feels guilty after the care Martha took of her, and allows Martha to visit. However it appears that Martha has some need of Amy, she is a rather lonely figure, happy to push herself forward, inviting herself to Amy’s house, questioning Amy and Ernie about their lives with no embarrassment – seemingly unaware of any awkwardness. Martha soon becomes a regular part of Amy’s life, and Amy finds she has rather less need of James and Maggie, much to their obvious relief. However when a vulnerable Martha herself is in need of support – she is tragically let down by Amy.
Often in Elizabeth Taylor’s novels, it is the peripheral characters that provide the humour that she injects so beautifully even into her more poignant works. In Blaming the gentle humour is provided by Ernie, and Amy’s grandchildren, the “little girls”
“To the children, first thing next morning, Maggie said, “I’m afraid dear Grandpa has died.”
“And gone to heaven,” Isobel said, as if her mother had left something out.
Maggie slightly inclined her head, not to be caught telling a lie by the God she did not believe in.
“And-Gone-To-Heaven” Isobel shouted, standing up, outraged, in her little bed.
“Yes of course.”
“Not everyone goes to heaven,” Dora, who was older said, “Egyptian mummies didn’t go. Or stuffed fishes.”
“No fishes never go,” Isobel agreed “sometimes I eat them. Chickens can’t go nor”
“I don’t really know about heaven,” Dora said in her considered way. “We haven’t done that at school yet. But I know they must go somewhere, or we’d be full up here. People coming and going all the time”
Published after her death this novel brings to a close the work of a remarkable writer; it seems a fitting note to end on. There is an obvious reflective poignancy to this novel, in her brilliantly understated way Elizabeth Taylor draws a discreet veil over her own work. In the afterword to my edition Joanna Kingham writes very movingly about her mother’s battle to finish this novel and the true story behind one of the incidents involving the children.
Incidentally did anyone else notice the marvellous homage to Jane Austen in the scene between James and Maggie at the beginning of Chapter 5? As soon as I read it this time (I know I missed it the first time I read Blaming) I thought ‘oh that’s just like in Sense and Sensibility!’ – And sure enough Jonathan Keates in the introduction to my edition (I read introductions after the novel) draws attention to the very same thing.
Blaming was Elizabeth Taylor’s final novel written in something of a hurry during her final illness, when she knew that she was dying. It is a novel much more character driven than plot driven – as I think is much, if not all of her work. It is a novel about guilt, bereavement and blame.
Amy is a very recognisable Elizabeth Taylor character. Middle aged, middle class, she is often reserved, holding back her thoughts and feelings, taking little interest in people around her. While on holiday aboard ship with her husband Nick, Amy is suddenly widowed, left stranded and bewildered in a foreign country. Incapacitated by grief Amy is befriended by Martha an American writer, a little odd and certainly the type of woman who Amy would generally have had little time for. However Martha takes charge of Amy, accompanying her back to England, even though it means cutting her own holiday short. Once home, Martha proves rather difficult to shake off. Amy is surrounded by people, her son James and his wife Maggie with their two “little girls” the superb Isobel and Dora (brilliant child characters again from Elizabeth Taylor – she knew children so absolutely. Ernie Pounce a kind of male housekeeper who with his new false teeth and slight hypochondria loves nothing more than to fuss around after “madam,” and Gavin, physician and dear old friend, the widower of her one time best friend, calls in regularly. Amy feels no need of Martha, but feels guilty after the care Martha took of her, and allows Martha to visit. However it appears that Martha has some need of Amy, she is a rather lonely figure, happy to push herself forward, inviting herself to Amy’s house, questioning Amy and Ernie about their lives with no embarrassment – seemingly unaware of any awkwardness. Martha soon becomes a regular part of Amy’s life, and Amy finds she has rather less need of James and Maggie, much to their obvious relief. However when a vulnerable Martha herself is in need of support – she is tragically let down by Amy.
Often in Elizabeth Taylor’s novels, it is the peripheral characters that provide the humour that she injects so beautifully even into her more poignant works. In Blaming the gentle humour is provided by Ernie, and Amy’s grandchildren, the “little girls”
“To the children, first thing next morning, Maggie said, “I’m afraid dear Grandpa has died.”
“And gone to heaven,” Isobel said, as if her mother had left something out.
Maggie slightly inclined her head, not to be caught telling a lie by the God she did not believe in.
“And-Gone-To-Heaven” Isobel shouted, standing up, outraged, in her little bed.
“Yes of course.”
“Not everyone goes to heaven,” Dora, who was older said, “Egyptian mummies didn’t go. Or stuffed fishes.”
“No fishes never go,” Isobel agreed “sometimes I eat them. Chickens can’t go nor”
“I don’t really know about heaven,” Dora said in her considered way. “We haven’t done that at school yet. But I know they must go somewhere, or we’d be full up here. People coming and going all the time”
Published after her death this novel brings to a close the work of a remarkable writer; it seems a fitting note to end on. There is an obvious reflective poignancy to this novel, in her brilliantly understated way Elizabeth Taylor draws a discreet veil over her own work. In the afterword to my edition Joanna Kingham writes very movingly about her mother’s battle to finish this novel and the true story behind one of the incidents involving the children.
Incidentally did anyone else notice the marvellous homage to Jane Austen in the scene between James and Maggie at the beginning of Chapter 5? As soon as I read it this time (I know I missed it the first time I read Blaming) I thought ‘oh that’s just like in Sense and Sensibility!’ – And sure enough Jonathan Keates in the introduction to my edition (I read introductions after the novel) draws attention to the very same thing.
March 20, 2017
There's a whole generation of (probably underrated) British women writers that followed Virginia Woolf I've completely missed out and I'm quite determined to fix that. I started with Barbara Pym, continued with Elizabeth Taylor and Elizabeth Bowen & Dorothy Whipple will follow. Reccomendations appreciated.
July 21, 2013
Just finished Elizabeth Taylor's Blaming. It is quite her best book (of the half a dozen or more I've read). Dolorously, hysterically funny and perfect. In the Virago edition I have, there's an afterward by one of her daughters and it's so satisfying to have that peek into Taylor's later life.
May 4, 2008
A- Really interesting, good writing, story about a woman whose husband dies and who doesn't really know how to love or connect
September 28, 2021
Individually beautiful sentences and descriptions of interactions, yet it left me cold. -- I suppose I am cold.
May 5, 2023
I am not sure that l can be entirely objective when it comes to this author. l am completely enamoured with her writing but thoroughly amazed at just how forgotten her work has become. Perhaps the neglect is tied to her glamorous actress namesake? Still, this title, Blaming is Taylor’s last work, published posthumously and it is, actually, a gem.
Despite the continual action of blaming that many of the characters actively involve themselves in, l am inclined to think that the title ‘Blaming’ is conceived in the gerund form. Moral obligation and responsibility, plus guilt and remorse are the primary themes of this story which begin as a well observed dissection between strangers, who become friendly on vacation. Then a personal tragedy occurs. This transmutes into a poignant reminder of how vital humane and considerate actions are in bolstering support in times of dire need.
Taylor’s prose is understated, always, but in this text it is worth noting because the author is dying of cancer and the main character is full of self recriminations for feelings that she cannot be compelled to alter. Clearly, we cannot be forced to like another person even when they have acted selflessly, towards our needs.
There is a beguiling sense of grace in this subtle piece of work.
5 stars ⭐️ ⭐️⭐️⭐️ ⭐️
Please read this author!
Despite the continual action of blaming that many of the characters actively involve themselves in, l am inclined to think that the title ‘Blaming’ is conceived in the gerund form. Moral obligation and responsibility, plus guilt and remorse are the primary themes of this story which begin as a well observed dissection between strangers, who become friendly on vacation. Then a personal tragedy occurs. This transmutes into a poignant reminder of how vital humane and considerate actions are in bolstering support in times of dire need.
Taylor’s prose is understated, always, but in this text it is worth noting because the author is dying of cancer and the main character is full of self recriminations for feelings that she cannot be compelled to alter. Clearly, we cannot be forced to like another person even when they have acted selflessly, towards our needs.
There is a beguiling sense of grace in this subtle piece of work.
5 stars ⭐️ ⭐️⭐️⭐️ ⭐️
Please read this author!
November 18, 2014
My inadvertent discovery of the novels of Elizabeth Taylor has added a great deal of pleasure to my reading over the past couple of years. 'Blaming', which is Taylor's last book, was written while the author was seriously ill and was published posthumously. It's not perhaps Taylor's best work but it's nonetheless a good read, one that bears all of Taylor's trademark characteristics: a skilful dissection of a peculiarly British form of middle-class existence and loneliness; great wit; a sharp ear for dialogue, particularly that of children; and compassion. I enjoyed it.
There's little in the way of linear plot. 'Blaming' is essentially the story of a young woman's attempt to come to terms with early widowhood. Middle-class Amy's husband Nick dies while the couple are on holiday abroad, a holiday they had embarked on because Nick had been unwell and was convalescing from surgery. Before Nick's death, a young American woman, Martha, a fellow holiday-maker, had come into the couple's life. Martha becomes a seemingly unwelcome means of emotional support for Amy when the pair return to England after the holiday tragedy. But then tragedy strikes again.
As in the other Elizabeth Taylor novels that I've read, the characterisation in 'Blaming' is excellent. It's a slight, sketchy story that won't perhaps live long in the memory. It is, however, suffused with the mordant wit and the elegance that give Taylor's stories their distinctive aura. On the surface, 'Blaming' is a light read. But, while it's most certainly not a major novel, there is rather more to it than immediately meets the eye. It's a compelling and convincing account of the ridiculousness and the pathos that constitute a major part of all our lives. 7/10.
There's little in the way of linear plot. 'Blaming' is essentially the story of a young woman's attempt to come to terms with early widowhood. Middle-class Amy's husband Nick dies while the couple are on holiday abroad, a holiday they had embarked on because Nick had been unwell and was convalescing from surgery. Before Nick's death, a young American woman, Martha, a fellow holiday-maker, had come into the couple's life. Martha becomes a seemingly unwelcome means of emotional support for Amy when the pair return to England after the holiday tragedy. But then tragedy strikes again.
As in the other Elizabeth Taylor novels that I've read, the characterisation in 'Blaming' is excellent. It's a slight, sketchy story that won't perhaps live long in the memory. It is, however, suffused with the mordant wit and the elegance that give Taylor's stories their distinctive aura. On the surface, 'Blaming' is a light read. But, while it's most certainly not a major novel, there is rather more to it than immediately meets the eye. It's a compelling and convincing account of the ridiculousness and the pathos that constitute a major part of all our lives. 7/10.
March 19, 2013
First of all I can see that Elizabeth Taylor is a talented author who has honed her skill (this is the last of her novels, but the first that I have read) because I find the book a compelling read, despite the fact that we have yet another middle class protagonist with too much time and money on her hands. Women of our generation with full time jobs, a house to run, grandchildren, children and elderly parents to care for must surely wonder why on earth these women don't find something to DO! I have the same difficulty with Anita Brookner's novels which is why I have put her works to one side. The difference here is that I shall seek out Elizabeth Taylor's other works and hope for a heroine that I can relate to in some way.
All we know of Amy is a litany of the tings that she dislikes, which makes her a character without depth (a truely 'flat character' to quote Forster in Aspects of the Novel) but I am not quite at the end so perhaps there is more to be revealed in the final chapters.
And there was, but it did not make me relate to Amy. I would like to be able to understand what had happened to make her so truely selfish.
All we know of Amy is a litany of the tings that she dislikes, which makes her a character without depth (a truely 'flat character' to quote Forster in Aspects of the Novel) but I am not quite at the end so perhaps there is more to be revealed in the final chapters.
And there was, but it did not make me relate to Amy. I would like to be able to understand what had happened to make her so truely selfish.
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