"Terror-stricken and alone following an auto accident, Catherine Mills, newly arrived in England from the United States, looks for shelter at the nearest farmhouse. Suffering from amnesia, she is taken in by a gentle, compassionate man in the village of Melling in Yorkshire. But it is essential that she find and share the secrets of her past about her son and her ex-husband."
[Copied Material] Books like this -- for all their distant, tender (a favorite word) concern with modern times and tender compassion (""Yet these children had great purity"") really have very little to do with them and only asseverate the fact that the umbilical tag ""women's fiction"" will outlast them. Thus Catherine, in England, takes sanctuary after an accident with a writer Axel; she is divorced and she has her problem -- a son Jon who has been involved with a Weatherman-type bombing in New York; Axel Iris his -- slowly revealed -- a wife and the inability to find a direct object for the word love. Mrs. Buckmaster is a sentimentalist and she doesn't give you very much to think about unless it might be a sentence like ""She was not a woman. She was something that had happened."" You wonder when -- yesteryear?