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My Life in Houses
‘I was born on 25th May, 1938, in the front bedroom of a house in Orton Road, a house on the outer edges of Raffles, a council estate. I was a lucky girl.’
So begins Margaret Forster’s journey through the houses she’s lived in, from that sparkling new council house, to her beloved London home of today. This is not a book about bricks and mortar though. This is a book about what houses are to us, the effect they have on the way we live our lives and the changing nature of our from blacking grates and outside privies; to cities dominated by bedsits and lodgings; to the houses of today converted back into single dwellings. Finally, it is a gently insistent, personal inquiry into the meaning of home.
So begins Margaret Forster’s journey through the houses she’s lived in, from that sparkling new council house, to her beloved London home of today. This is not a book about bricks and mortar though. This is a book about what houses are to us, the effect they have on the way we live our lives and the changing nature of our from blacking grates and outside privies; to cities dominated by bedsits and lodgings; to the houses of today converted back into single dwellings. Finally, it is a gently insistent, personal inquiry into the meaning of home.
272 pages, Paperback
First published November 6, 2014
22 people are currently reading
540 people want to read
About the author
Margaret Forster
67 books197 followersMargaret Forster was educated at the Carlisle and County High School for Girls. From here she won an Open Scholarship to Somerville College, Oxford where in 1960 she was awarded an honours degree in History.
From 1963 Margaret Forster worked as a novelist, biographer and freelance literary critic, contributing regularly to book programmes on television, to Radio 4 and various newpapers and magazines.
Forster was married to the writer, journalist and broadcaster Hunter Davies. They lived in London. and in the Lake District. They had three children, Caitlin, Jake and Flora.
From 1963 Margaret Forster worked as a novelist, biographer and freelance literary critic, contributing regularly to book programmes on television, to Radio 4 and various newpapers and magazines.
Forster was married to the writer, journalist and broadcaster Hunter Davies. They lived in London. and in the Lake District. They had three children, Caitlin, Jake and Flora.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 98 reviews
February 10, 2017
Years ago I read Georgy Girl and loved it, but since then none of Margaret Forster's books have appealed to me. This did though, so I was disappointed that it was so lacklustre a story of nothing at all. A very incomplete and selective autobiography woven into the theme of the houses she's lived in.
She lost me at the Beatles. When her husband was writing a biography of the band, three of them with their wives and girlfriends came to their house for tea or dinner at sdifferent times. She really wishes she said, that they had all come together so she could have gotten it over with in one go. That struck me as faux-jaded and very snobbish. Was she really that out of touch with the times? Earlier she had turned that sneer on a tenant of a previous house who had disdained the Sunday Times supplement, discarding it with sugar tongs, and here she was with the same attitude towards something new and part of popular culture herself.
What else can I say about the book? It was two and a half stars of blandness and an extra half for good writing. 3 stars. Just.
She lost me at the Beatles. When her husband was writing a biography of the band, three of them with their wives and girlfriends came to their house for tea or dinner at sdifferent times. She really wishes she said, that they had all come together so she could have gotten it over with in one go. That struck me as faux-jaded and very snobbish. Was she really that out of touch with the times? Earlier she had turned that sneer on a tenant of a previous house who had disdained the Sunday Times supplement, discarding it with sugar tongs, and here she was with the same attitude towards something new and part of popular culture herself.
What else can I say about the book? It was two and a half stars of blandness and an extra half for good writing. 3 stars. Just.
February 28, 2021
I'm not sure when I became obsessed with houses - reading about them, fantasising about them, and making my own nest inside of them - but in my middle-age I realise there are few things I care about more. I'm truly a homebody and really only feel happy, relaxed and safe in my own house. I found a true kindred spirit in Margaret Forster - and this memoir, with each chapter of her life corresponding to the house she was living in - was a pleasure to read on many levels.
Forster was born in 1938 in Carlisle, and like many families in post-war UK, her childhood home was a cramped council house. By middle-age, the success of her and husband Hunter Davies' writing careers meant that they could afford a substantial Victorian home in north London, a holiday home in the Algarve and another holiday home in the Lake District. Although this book is personal to Forster's life, it is also representative of the changes that took place in the 20th century property market. In 1962, she and her husband bought their first house: a Victorian semi-detached house in Dartmouth Park, the 'less desirable side of Hampstead Heath', for only £5000. At the time, it was completely unprepossessing. It need a new roof and every other kind of modernising, it was filthy, and almost worst of all, it had a sitting tenant on the top floor. In that time, most of the houses on the street (Boscastle Road) had bedsits; by the 1980s, they were all being updated, refurbished and enlarged. By the time of Forster's death in 2016, the houses on this street are considered quite posh and worth millions. I know, because, it is on a walking route I take several times every week.
Undoubtedly, one of the reasons I enjoyed this book is my sense of fondness and familiarity with the area of London in which Forster made her permanent home. When she and her husband first moved to London, after graduating from Oxford University, they had the magical experience of living in a flat at Heath Villas, in the Vale of Health. Several years ago, when I separated from my husband and left the house in the country in which we had lived for 20 years, I also moved to Hampstead. I was entranced by the area for much the same reasons as Forster:
Like Forster, I'm attracted to houses with history attached to them. Aesthetically, there is nothing that appeals to me more than a Georgian or Regency house. However, house ownership does have its inevitable downsides and old houses have even more need of maintenance than new ones. As much as Forster celebrates the security and comfort a house can provide, she does not neglect to point that houses are in a constant state of decay - just like bodies. When her beloved Boscastle Road house was discovered to have subsidence, and required costly foundation work, she wrote this:
The house which needs constant attention - and sometimes more drastic 'surgery' - becomes analogous to her own health struggles with cancer - first in her 30s and then again in her 60s and 70s. The way she lives in her own house inevitably changes, too.
As a biographer, most notably of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Daphne du Maurier (another one-time resident of Hampstead), Forster was keenly aware of how important these writers' houses were in the nurturing and enabling of the writing practise. She also came to believe that it was important to visit a house in order to really understand how the writer inhabited it - or was inspired by it. Many people would love to be able to visit Menabilly, du Maurier's home in Cornwall for 25 years - and the place that the writer identified as one of the primary loves of her life.
Forster's life and homes are not nearly so dramatic as du Maurier's; indeed, one reason that I enjoyed this book is that it had an identifiable, let's say 'homely', quality about it. She is pragmatic, too, whilst still being very attuned to the way that an attachment to houses structures many a life.
Forster was born in 1938 in Carlisle, and like many families in post-war UK, her childhood home was a cramped council house. By middle-age, the success of her and husband Hunter Davies' writing careers meant that they could afford a substantial Victorian home in north London, a holiday home in the Algarve and another holiday home in the Lake District. Although this book is personal to Forster's life, it is also representative of the changes that took place in the 20th century property market. In 1962, she and her husband bought their first house: a Victorian semi-detached house in Dartmouth Park, the 'less desirable side of Hampstead Heath', for only £5000. At the time, it was completely unprepossessing. It need a new roof and every other kind of modernising, it was filthy, and almost worst of all, it had a sitting tenant on the top floor. In that time, most of the houses on the street (Boscastle Road) had bedsits; by the 1980s, they were all being updated, refurbished and enlarged. By the time of Forster's death in 2016, the houses on this street are considered quite posh and worth millions. I know, because, it is on a walking route I take several times every week.
Undoubtedly, one of the reasons I enjoyed this book is my sense of fondness and familiarity with the area of London in which Forster made her permanent home. When she and her husband first moved to London, after graduating from Oxford University, they had the magical experience of living in a flat at Heath Villas, in the Vale of Health. Several years ago, when I separated from my husband and left the house in the country in which we had lived for 20 years, I also moved to Hampstead. I was entranced by the area for much the same reasons as Forster:
Twentieth-century life fell away, and I always felt that any minute one of the literary luminaries who had lived in the Vale might suddenly appear to admire the view I was admiring. Entering our house, the intense silence added to this feeling that this could not be London, that I could be living so near to its centre.
Like Forster, I'm attracted to houses with history attached to them. Aesthetically, there is nothing that appeals to me more than a Georgian or Regency house. However, house ownership does have its inevitable downsides and old houses have even more need of maintenance than new ones. As much as Forster celebrates the security and comfort a house can provide, she does not neglect to point that houses are in a constant state of decay - just like bodies. When her beloved Boscastle Road house was discovered to have subsidence, and required costly foundation work, she wrote this:
It had been a reminder that bricks and mortar are not as solid as they look. Nothing about a house remains solid. We were only just beginning to learn that maintenance work never stops, something that may be obvious but it hadn't been to us. And it needs a certain attitude of mind to cope with the loads of things to do with looking after a house which need attention, the bodily equivalent of regular hair-cutting, teeth-filling and so on. We didn't have the right attitude. We moaned and groaned every time there was a leaking pipe, or a faulty electrical connection or a tile came off the roof. A house, our beloved house, was then in danger of becoming a nuisance, something we were close to resenting because it took up too much time to look after. We had to remind ourselves that we were very, very grateful to have a house at all.
The house which needs constant attention - and sometimes more drastic 'surgery' - becomes analogous to her own health struggles with cancer - first in her 30s and then again in her 60s and 70s. The way she lives in her own house inevitably changes, too.
As a biographer, most notably of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Daphne du Maurier (another one-time resident of Hampstead), Forster was keenly aware of how important these writers' houses were in the nurturing and enabling of the writing practise. She also came to believe that it was important to visit a house in order to really understand how the writer inhabited it - or was inspired by it. Many people would love to be able to visit Menabilly, du Maurier's home in Cornwall for 25 years - and the place that the writer identified as one of the primary loves of her life.
Reading in her letters about this passion she had for Menabilly it seemed so exaggerated to identify, to the extent she did, with a house. I'd studied drawings of it, and seen lots of photographs, but nevertheless nothing made sense until I saw it and wandered about inside, the bats swooping about in the kitchen. Then, the fascination the house had for her didn't seem so hard to understand.
Forster's life and homes are not nearly so dramatic as du Maurier's; indeed, one reason that I enjoyed this book is that it had an identifiable, let's say 'homely', quality about it. She is pragmatic, too, whilst still being very attuned to the way that an attachment to houses structures many a life.
And I've come full circle: as a child, I always wanted to be in other people's houses. Now, though still fascinated by those other houses, I am only really comfortable and relaxed in my own. My house is like a garment, made to my own measurements, draped around me in the way I like. I never want to change it.
January 26, 2015
Like stepping into a sepia photograph. Discovering grans tin of buttons. A stroll down memory lane. Forster writing nostalgia at its warmest. I am a big lover of all writings HOME themed (The Shell House, Blackbird House, Housekeeping, I Capture the Castle) and I immediately felt at home with MLIH. I wanted to walk into the kitchen at Orton Road, sit down with a cup of tea and tell the family about my day. A late comer to Forsters works. My mother being an avid reader of her works I come a little late in the journey but fervently looking forward to reading Forsters fiction. All things considered, she is writing from a place of affluence with her many houses, & holidays abroad. All the many extensive refurbishments made to sound like such a dilemma. Oh poor little rich girl. And her casual mention of the fab four coming around for dinner as if it was just a casual meal with an ordinary group of friends. A charming history of houses it is, however biased and privileged they may be. Not a realistic or fair portrayal of how most people will live out their homelife. Nevertheless, I was certainly warmed by Forsters fireside tales of home. Immensely cozy!
November 27, 2014
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
September 27, 2016
My Brother sent me a parcel of books for my birthday, what nicer present is there? MY LIFE IN HOUSES was in the parcel. Margaret Forster has written a memoir based not on the big outward facing events of her life but her homes. Starting with a neat house on a large new council estate built to replace the overcrowded slums of Carlisle, we follow her as she grows up and moves away from the North.
She was a clever girl and got a scholarship to Oxford where she moved out of her rooms in College as soon as possible and into digs, complete with a resident landlady. Time and technology move on, out goes the grate that needs black leading and in come painted red wooden rocking chairs. The Beatles come to visit. A sitting tenant is persuaded to vacate the top floor by having a new flat purchased for her to rent. The house that she and her husband buy on the wrong side of Hampstead Heath is refurbished and slowly the area becomes desirable.
Looking back at your life through the houses that you have lived in is such clever idea for a memoir. Where you live says everything about what you can afford, what you like and what you want. A house is so much more than just bricks. Margaret Forster lived her life through a period of huge social and technological change, she herself moved far away from her working class, Carlisle roots whilst never denying or betraying them.
All in all, a beautiful, thought provoking book. Each house is so precisely described that you feel you are walking around the rooms with her. The process of choosing a new home, moving in and making it your own is captured perfectly. An excellent birthday present, thank you very much.
She was a clever girl and got a scholarship to Oxford where she moved out of her rooms in College as soon as possible and into digs, complete with a resident landlady. Time and technology move on, out goes the grate that needs black leading and in come painted red wooden rocking chairs. The Beatles come to visit. A sitting tenant is persuaded to vacate the top floor by having a new flat purchased for her to rent. The house that she and her husband buy on the wrong side of Hampstead Heath is refurbished and slowly the area becomes desirable.
Looking back at your life through the houses that you have lived in is such clever idea for a memoir. Where you live says everything about what you can afford, what you like and what you want. A house is so much more than just bricks. Margaret Forster lived her life through a period of huge social and technological change, she herself moved far away from her working class, Carlisle roots whilst never denying or betraying them.
All in all, a beautiful, thought provoking book. Each house is so precisely described that you feel you are walking around the rooms with her. The process of choosing a new home, moving in and making it your own is captured perfectly. An excellent birthday present, thank you very much.
December 26, 2014
A very light book, Forster's review of her life through the houses she has lived in - starting with being born in a council house in Cumbria - is evocative but short on substance, although this may, in part, be to do with the abridgment for the radio. It felt more like a a lengthened piece from a Sunday supplement than a book in its own right, with details of where the author has lived and how it affected her life, with personal details (the relative poverty of her childhood, scholarship to Oxford, marriage, success and cancer), although Forster is a far better writer than the hacks who would write it as a lifestyle piece. Strangely - and, again, perhaps this is an effect of abridgment - after her childhood, other people seem barely there in her life; her husband Hunter Davies is there, and her children get passing mention, but they are shadows on the walls of the properties, flitting by in the odd phrase.
February 13, 2018
In hindsight so many of Margaret Forster’s books contain autobiographical detail but it was Hidden Lives which first really opened my eyes to the link between this talented story teller and her own background, although cleverly only ever apparent by reading between the lines. In My Life in Houses we learn more details about Margaret’s first house, the one on the Raffles estate which she was so ashamed of, preferring those on the better side of town. And though the book’s pages, we learn that from the tender age of seven this author began her own game of choosing another house to live in.
Of course, as an adult with a number of ‘important’ houses in her life, she realises that what she started with could have been so much worse, and so she explains how it defined her. How a house with only room for Margaret and her younger sister to sleep together in an alcove in their parent’s bedroom left her yearning for her own space. Even when the girls got older they had to share a bed even if they did have their own room because their older brother was off doing his national service at the time.
Having read Hidden Lives I was already aware that Margaret’s mother had aspirations and so eventually, through her hard work, although the money to fund the move and the increased rent was down to her husband working overtime, the family moved to the better side of town.
From here we follow Margaret to her student digs, her first house as a young married woman on the edge of Hampstead Heath, and beyond, including holiday homes both abroad and nearer her native Carlisle.
This is a fairly slim novel and the houses described are littered with personal details about the way she felt about neighbours, builders, her writing and sadly her illness. Sadly the cancer had already spread by the time she wrote this, her last piece of non-fiction, and more than likely is the explanation for the brevity and the matter of fact way she touches on her options is probably even harder to read in retrospect. Margaret Forster died on 8 February 2016 aged 77 having left a wealth of books behind to entertain and enlighten new generations of readers.
The most fascinating part of this book of however has nothing to do with the author and everything to do with how life changed so considerably between 1938 when she was born and 2014 when the book was published. Her early memories include the black-leading of the fireplace and not without a certain amount of wryness does she delight in this once hated job being integral in her second home in Carlisle. Of course Margaret Forster was more affluent than most but as she references sitting-tenants and shared bathrooms in the past she is describing the lives that certainly were the options open for my ancestors if they wanted to leave home. Life is very different with so many household gadgets nowadays but here is a woman describing the novelty of a home telephone.
For a different type of memoir this method is incredibly effective although I’m not sure I would have loved it quite so much had I not already had an insight not only into the author’s life but those important beliefs around feminism and socialism which seem to have featured long before they might have been expected to surface.
Of course, as an adult with a number of ‘important’ houses in her life, she realises that what she started with could have been so much worse, and so she explains how it defined her. How a house with only room for Margaret and her younger sister to sleep together in an alcove in their parent’s bedroom left her yearning for her own space. Even when the girls got older they had to share a bed even if they did have their own room because their older brother was off doing his national service at the time.
Having read Hidden Lives I was already aware that Margaret’s mother had aspirations and so eventually, through her hard work, although the money to fund the move and the increased rent was down to her husband working overtime, the family moved to the better side of town.
From here we follow Margaret to her student digs, her first house as a young married woman on the edge of Hampstead Heath, and beyond, including holiday homes both abroad and nearer her native Carlisle.
This is a fairly slim novel and the houses described are littered with personal details about the way she felt about neighbours, builders, her writing and sadly her illness. Sadly the cancer had already spread by the time she wrote this, her last piece of non-fiction, and more than likely is the explanation for the brevity and the matter of fact way she touches on her options is probably even harder to read in retrospect. Margaret Forster died on 8 February 2016 aged 77 having left a wealth of books behind to entertain and enlighten new generations of readers.
The most fascinating part of this book of however has nothing to do with the author and everything to do with how life changed so considerably between 1938 when she was born and 2014 when the book was published. Her early memories include the black-leading of the fireplace and not without a certain amount of wryness does she delight in this once hated job being integral in her second home in Carlisle. Of course Margaret Forster was more affluent than most but as she references sitting-tenants and shared bathrooms in the past she is describing the lives that certainly were the options open for my ancestors if they wanted to leave home. Life is very different with so many household gadgets nowadays but here is a woman describing the novelty of a home telephone.
For a different type of memoir this method is incredibly effective although I’m not sure I would have loved it quite so much had I not already had an insight not only into the author’s life but those important beliefs around feminism and socialism which seem to have featured long before they might have been expected to surface.
February 7, 2017
A light and quick read, this is a memoir of Margaret Foster and all the houses she has lived in. I found this book on the secondhand part of my local bookstore, and it looked interesting with the cute cover and the premise. I also was thinking on reading more nonfiction, because I rarely read them last year. I thought this could be a great way to slowly get into the heavier and thicker nonfiction books out there, and it really is.
What I liked about this book is the storytelling. I like the descriptions Foster used on all her houses, not just the physical appearance and condition, but also how it makes her feel, and the experiences she had inside those rooms. I liked how she has so many opinions about her houses and her rooms, even ever since she was a child.
It is also really personal, since every house is of course different for every person. It really made me think of my own childhood house, my bedroom, my current house with all its imperfections and difficulties it brings, and the future house I want to have that I always dream of and envision in my mind. Reading Foster's houses from when she was young to her college years to finally the house she grew old in, also related to other milestones in her life like university life, marriage life, having children, her writing career, and her cancer, was really sweet and fun to read about.
Although it wasn't THE BEST book ever, and I wasn't really interested in Foster herself to want to know more about her life, it's still a really great read. It makes you really think about home and where it really is, and how sometimes a house is a home for some people.
What I liked about this book is the storytelling. I like the descriptions Foster used on all her houses, not just the physical appearance and condition, but also how it makes her feel, and the experiences she had inside those rooms. I liked how she has so many opinions about her houses and her rooms, even ever since she was a child.
It is also really personal, since every house is of course different for every person. It really made me think of my own childhood house, my bedroom, my current house with all its imperfections and difficulties it brings, and the future house I want to have that I always dream of and envision in my mind. Reading Foster's houses from when she was young to her college years to finally the house she grew old in, also related to other milestones in her life like university life, marriage life, having children, her writing career, and her cancer, was really sweet and fun to read about.
Although it wasn't THE BEST book ever, and I wasn't really interested in Foster herself to want to know more about her life, it's still a really great read. It makes you really think about home and where it really is, and how sometimes a house is a home for some people.
October 1, 2016
I thoroughly enjoyed this personal and moving account of Margaret Forster's life, as told through the various houses and flats she lived in. Although she holds much of her personal life back, to focus on the houses and their restoration and impact on her, subtle elements slip through. This makes it as much about her life, and death, as the houses she lived in. The idea of a home as a sanctuary really appealed to me and is something I can relate to. I just wish I had her money and could afford to buy a beautiful 'cottage' in the Lake District to live in for 6 months a year. Maybe one day...
March 21, 2017
I can't think of any reason not to give this book the full five stars. I loved it. Such (apparently) effortless, natural writing. Perfect flow, a deeply resonant subject - how profoundly simple and effective to recall the journey of one's life through the string of homes it takes place in. A domestic pleasure from start to end, except for the sad thread of course... First I've read by her, as it was recommended to me. Looking forward to exploring further works.
September 26, 2021
Borrowed from the library.
I absolutely loved reading this. 5 stars - my second of the year - such a treat!! This book made me go to bed early so I would have more reading time. I couldn't wait for the next episode to hear more.
I work with buildings and have the same emotional response to them that Forster had so it was right up my street.
From childhood family homes, friends homes, student halls and digs, communal living in a shared house to a sitting tenant and freedom from a sitting tennant she looks a variety of situations and experiences. She does consider housing inequity in one of the earlier chapters, but doesn't consider the particular impact of second homes and holiday homes on this issue which seems like an omission.
I googled her during reading this and was sad to hear she died in 2016, two years after the publication of this book. After finishing the book this morning I read an obituary and learnt she died in a hospice, the pros and cons of which she discusses in the final chapter. RIP. As her daughter tweeted 'her books will live on'. I have a couple of her novels on my shelves so look forward to reading more of her work. I would also like to read the du Maurier biog.
Great quote from Leonard Woolf's Downhill All the Way to kick things off abouthouses shaping the lives of the inhabitants - not vv as may be expected.
Interesting observations on houses not being as solid and everlasting as you may presume - pg210- 211
'We were only just beginning to learn that maintenance work never stops....And it needs a certain attitude of mind to cope with the loads of things to do with looking after a house which needs attention......We didn't have the right attitude. We moaned and groaned every time their was a leaking pipe, or a faulty electrical connection or a tile came off the roof. A house, our beloved house, was then indanger of becoming a nuisance, something we were close to resenting because it took up too much time to look after. We had to remind ourselves that we were very, very grateful to have a house at all'. Amen to that.
I absolutely loved reading this. 5 stars - my second of the year - such a treat!! This book made me go to bed early so I would have more reading time. I couldn't wait for the next episode to hear more.
I work with buildings and have the same emotional response to them that Forster had so it was right up my street.
From childhood family homes, friends homes, student halls and digs, communal living in a shared house to a sitting tenant and freedom from a sitting tennant she looks a variety of situations and experiences. She does consider housing inequity in one of the earlier chapters, but doesn't consider the particular impact of second homes and holiday homes on this issue which seems like an omission.
I googled her during reading this and was sad to hear she died in 2016, two years after the publication of this book. After finishing the book this morning I read an obituary and learnt she died in a hospice, the pros and cons of which she discusses in the final chapter. RIP. As her daughter tweeted 'her books will live on'. I have a couple of her novels on my shelves so look forward to reading more of her work. I would also like to read the du Maurier biog.
Great quote from Leonard Woolf's Downhill All the Way to kick things off abouthouses shaping the lives of the inhabitants - not vv as may be expected.
Interesting observations on houses not being as solid and everlasting as you may presume - pg210- 211
'We were only just beginning to learn that maintenance work never stops....And it needs a certain attitude of mind to cope with the loads of things to do with looking after a house which needs attention......We didn't have the right attitude. We moaned and groaned every time their was a leaking pipe, or a faulty electrical connection or a tile came off the roof. A house, our beloved house, was then indanger of becoming a nuisance, something we were close to resenting because it took up too much time to look after. We had to remind ourselves that we were very, very grateful to have a house at all'. Amen to that.
November 28, 2014
From BBC Radio 4 - Book of the Week:
Margaret Forster's journey through the houses she has lived in and loved.
Margaret Forster's journey through the houses she has lived in and loved.
September 26, 2019
A lovely gentle read 😊
June 21, 2023
Interesting way of writing a kind of autobiography. Poignant at the end.
April 3, 2018
A quietly compelling and gentle read. Although feeling slightly envious of the author’s triple house ownership (!) I found this book an absorbing read. I found it hard to really get to know the character of Margaret throughout the book, until it got to the last chapter or two when the stark honesty of her writing left me feeling much more understanding of her character and vulnerability. A really interesting exploration in to the effect that a building can have on our state of mind and wellbeing. Thoughtfully written and enjoyable to read.
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January 10, 2019I was walking with a friend above Loweswater when he pointed out a house he said belonged to Hunter Davies, asked why didn't I send my novel to him to get a reaction? I had then been having difficulties getting any kind of local response to my latest novel Marraton. ('Marra' in the Cumbrian dialect is used as 'mate' is elsewhere). When I got back home to Maryport I looked up Hunter's Loweswater address and sent him a copy, asked for his thoughts if he had time. A couple months later I got a handwritten letter from Margaret Forster in London saying that her husband Hunter had passed Marraton to her and she had, bar a few reservations, largely enjoyed the book, and congratulating me on having successfully captured male Cumbrian characteristics.
I hadn't realised they were a couple, and seeing how many novels she herself had published was more than gratified by her kind response. Which means that I would be kindly disposed to any of her books, let alone this autobiography disguised as a house survey.
Actually, as I very soon discovered, this is a very clever way of delivering an autobiography. Any biography can so easily sprawl. Wanting to accurately relate the past every explanation can lead to another explanation. Telling only of the houses lived in however creates its own discipline, and works – especially here – with Margaret's eye for detail and her lucid prose.
She starts with the Carlisle house she was born in, tells of fantasies on houses she passed as a schoolgirl, to the disappointments of her parents next Carlisle house. Also coming under consideration were her Oxford digs, weekends with Hunter in his shared London flat, all helping her to realise what it was she wanted from a house. Which she found first in Hampstead, while experimenting with others abroad. She even riffs here on the different houses of her own biographical subjects, how those houses must have affected her subjects' moods if not their thinking.
Although Margaret is a few years older than me, aside from Cumbria, our lives have touched at so many other points. While I was living in Chelsea, and didn't have the same publishing success as Margaret and Hunter, with my own every house move like them I also made sure that I always had a physical space to write in. Both their early publishing success, Hunter's association with the Beatles, Margaret's novel being filmed as Georgy Girl, meant that they had far more options than I, second homes in the UK and abroad. But their attitude to people and life has not been that different to mine. Both knew how lucky they had been.
I took so much from this book, shared life events too. Margaret had breast cancer at the same age as my daughter, reassuringly went on to live to a productive old age. And, I discovered here, took time out of her terminal illness to write to me about my novel. What I also discovered here was that the house that my friend pointed out to me was not Hunter and Margaret's Cumbrian house. Theirs was on the other side of the road and further down the hill.
I hadn't realised they were a couple, and seeing how many novels she herself had published was more than gratified by her kind response. Which means that I would be kindly disposed to any of her books, let alone this autobiography disguised as a house survey.
Actually, as I very soon discovered, this is a very clever way of delivering an autobiography. Any biography can so easily sprawl. Wanting to accurately relate the past every explanation can lead to another explanation. Telling only of the houses lived in however creates its own discipline, and works – especially here – with Margaret's eye for detail and her lucid prose.
She starts with the Carlisle house she was born in, tells of fantasies on houses she passed as a schoolgirl, to the disappointments of her parents next Carlisle house. Also coming under consideration were her Oxford digs, weekends with Hunter in his shared London flat, all helping her to realise what it was she wanted from a house. Which she found first in Hampstead, while experimenting with others abroad. She even riffs here on the different houses of her own biographical subjects, how those houses must have affected her subjects' moods if not their thinking.
Although Margaret is a few years older than me, aside from Cumbria, our lives have touched at so many other points. While I was living in Chelsea, and didn't have the same publishing success as Margaret and Hunter, with my own every house move like them I also made sure that I always had a physical space to write in. Both their early publishing success, Hunter's association with the Beatles, Margaret's novel being filmed as Georgy Girl, meant that they had far more options than I, second homes in the UK and abroad. But their attitude to people and life has not been that different to mine. Both knew how lucky they had been.
I took so much from this book, shared life events too. Margaret had breast cancer at the same age as my daughter, reassuringly went on to live to a productive old age. And, I discovered here, took time out of her terminal illness to write to me about my novel. What I also discovered here was that the house that my friend pointed out to me was not Hunter and Margaret's Cumbrian house. Theirs was on the other side of the road and further down the hill.
March 31, 2016
I discovered Fosterer as a writer when I read Lady’s Maid which is one of my favourite books and therefore from the outset I looked high had high hopes for this book. Whilst reading this book I found out that Margret Forster had died, which made it very bittersweet reading, partially towards the end when she is describing her cancer treatment. The concept of telling an autobiography from the point of view of the houses that the author lived in at the time was original and one I found enjoyed because I find property an interesting topic.
Foster is a beautiful writer le to instantly transport you to the places she describes. I think one of this books triumphs is how it shows how Forster’s feelings towards the houses she inhabits, her situation and herself all change over time. She also evokes emotion by using understatement, for example in the descriptions of Emilia and her poor family, particularly when they donate a thin, ragged turkey for the Forester’s Christmas dinner. Though Foster doesn’t spend a lot of time describing people that are important to her such as her child, her husband (the jump to finishing her finals to getting married was quite jarring because her future husband had barely been mentioned previously) you still feel that Forster gives a lot of herself and you learn a lot about her, making the book very personable. Overall a lovely read.
Foster is a beautiful writer le to instantly transport you to the places she describes. I think one of this books triumphs is how it shows how Forster’s feelings towards the houses she inhabits, her situation and herself all change over time. She also evokes emotion by using understatement, for example in the descriptions of Emilia and her poor family, particularly when they donate a thin, ragged turkey for the Forester’s Christmas dinner. Though Foster doesn’t spend a lot of time describing people that are important to her such as her child, her husband (the jump to finishing her finals to getting married was quite jarring because her future husband had barely been mentioned previously) you still feel that Forster gives a lot of herself and you learn a lot about her, making the book very personable. Overall a lovely read.
June 3, 2016
This is a lovely little book, 264 pages with wide margins and deep line spacing. I read it in two sittings of about 2 hours each. I had never read any Margaret Forster, although my wife loves her writing, but this book was chosen for our book group. She writes beautifully and evocatively of her homes. Perhaps it aided my enjoyment that her upbringing was not that dissimilar to my own and that the last house in the sequence is in the same postcode as ours and is similar in structure. The final sequence of the book is very moving. I am grateful to our friends for suggesting this for our book group.
February 3, 2019
What an ingenious idea to structure your autobiography around the houses you lived in.
We decorate and change houses, but very subtly, they shape us back. They can be an all-consuming source of worry but also of great happiness. Memories and significant moments happen here and our homes provide emotional shelter in bad times.
Margaret Forster’s account on her beloved houses is written in an unfussy, quiet and thoughtful way.
Being a home-body myself, I’ve always been fascinated by how people live their day-to-day lives and I enjoyed this book very much.
We decorate and change houses, but very subtly, they shape us back. They can be an all-consuming source of worry but also of great happiness. Memories and significant moments happen here and our homes provide emotional shelter in bad times.
Margaret Forster’s account on her beloved houses is written in an unfussy, quiet and thoughtful way.
Being a home-body myself, I’ve always been fascinated by how people live their day-to-day lives and I enjoyed this book very much.
November 30, 2019
This is a lovely book - the last one Margaret Forster wrote, her autobiography structured around all the houses she has lived in. Her powers of observation and her ability to bring places to life allow us to live alongside her on her journey (although I was disappointed to discover that she and H.D. had become tax exiles). The last chapter, where she writes about her impending death, is moving, and wise.
May 27, 2016
My only regret of this book is that is is not longer.
This book was a trial, the first book I found and downloaded onto my fire tablet. I relished it, growing up with parents who bought and nurtured homes through sympathetic renovation I too have spring feelings about how the fabric of a home wraps itself around you.
This book was a trial, the first book I found and downloaded onto my fire tablet. I relished it, growing up with parents who bought and nurtured homes through sympathetic renovation I too have spring feelings about how the fabric of a home wraps itself around you.
September 15, 2018
Lovely memoir about the houses Forster had lived in. Honest account of her family, home life and illnesses. So well written, I can still see 'scenes' from it in my head many months after first reading it. I will always recommend Margaret Forster especially her non-fiction work.
August 31, 2019
Such an entertaining read this little book - a quick read and rather endearing in its way. I have read quite a few Margaret Forster books and all of them have been enjoyable. This one gives a little taste of life in Britain after WWII and into the 21st Century.
January 7, 2015
What an amazing woman
September 12, 2019
An interesting view of the author’s life through the houses she has lived in.
July 13, 2017
I think some of the folk who left bad reviews have not really read this book. Author is living out her last days due to cancer and reviewing her life through her homes and houses she lived in. Looking back she realises how important each house was to her and what they represented. This is not a page turner book but real life. I think some people missed the whole point. The excitement is there especially round her husband's contacts with various famous stars of the 60s and 70s. It was very sad to realise that Ms Forster had no truck with the fame and glitz ... all she wanted was her family and the homes they had created with love. But cruelly was not to be. Very touching and profound.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
December 27, 2017
I love all of Margaret Forster's writing and this was no exception - a bitter sweet tale of her life through the houses she has lived in, including her experiences of cancer which had a profound effect on her feelings about her surroundings.
Four stars instead of five because the chapter 'Changing times' included so much about other people's houses who she had written about (Elizabeth Barrett Browning for one, a book I read and adored) and the depth of feeling, naturally, was not there and I personally felt did not belong in this book.
Amazed to read that The Unknown Bridesmaid was written while she was fighting the spread of her cancer - a wonderful book more amazing because of the period when it was written.
Four stars instead of five because the chapter 'Changing times' included so much about other people's houses who she had written about (Elizabeth Barrett Browning for one, a book I read and adored) and the depth of feeling, naturally, was not there and I personally felt did not belong in this book.
Amazed to read that The Unknown Bridesmaid was written while she was fighting the spread of her cancer - a wonderful book more amazing because of the period when it was written.
January 21, 2021
This was a choice from another member of my book group and I wasn’t sure it would be to my taste when I saw the title. However I have been pleasantly surprised.
It’s a somewhat moving book, reflecting back over the life of the author, with memories and reminiscences of all the houses she has lived in at different times throughout her life. It also reflects and observes changes in how the ‘British’ way of life has changed through the decades - the family values and socially accepted behaviours dictated by the social and economic constraints of each decade, from the 1930’s to 2013.
It is well structured, accurately picking up on what affects us, or not, from where we live. A lovely memoir to read.
It’s a somewhat moving book, reflecting back over the life of the author, with memories and reminiscences of all the houses she has lived in at different times throughout her life. It also reflects and observes changes in how the ‘British’ way of life has changed through the decades - the family values and socially accepted behaviours dictated by the social and economic constraints of each decade, from the 1930’s to 2013.
It is well structured, accurately picking up on what affects us, or not, from where we live. A lovely memoir to read.
July 1, 2023
A creative way to write a memoir, Forster's story centers around the concept of home. From childhood spaces to her first married home to the purchase of multiple houses with a successful career, this book takes the reader on a cozy tour of Forster's life. While parts of this may feel a bit forced in hindsight, they absolutely fit together, and the end brings everything into focus with a resigned/contented soliloquy of philosophy.
I had to look up Forster's story after finishing the book to see if her wishes were met in the end, and it felt like checking up on an old friend. I enjoyed how this book read, despite the occasional eye-roll at the life of wealthy people I will never be privileged enough to understand fully.
Overall, an interesting book with a clever structure.
I had to look up Forster's story after finishing the book to see if her wishes were met in the end, and it felt like checking up on an old friend. I enjoyed how this book read, despite the occasional eye-roll at the life of wealthy people I will never be privileged enough to understand fully.
Overall, an interesting book with a clever structure.
October 5, 2017
This was an enjoyable and sometimes poignant read but not one of Forster's best. Sadly she passed away with cancer last year, and admitted that she found it increasingly difficult to write during the progession of her illness. However, there are still glimmers of wisdom and the use of language is outstanding as ever, being very readable but evocative too as she depicts the various houses of her lifetime. If you like reading about relationships and domesticity, you will enjoy this auto-biographical book but for a better flavour of this outstanding writer, please try her earlier works - you will not be disappointed.
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