Its been a few weeks since I finished reading this novel so my review will be short. This is written in the form of letters, diary entries etc and initially I found it hard going but then it all fell into place and worked.
There is virtually no mention of the wife (Priscilla), and the way Sydney kept buying birds and keeping them in cages was a sort of hint at his past -this is is set just after WWII and I really liked the little touches about food rationing, and the difficulties everyone had to endure.
Not an easy read, but each character had a distinct 'voice' and I found the somewhat 'slow' plot rather soothing in a way.
An aristocrat returning from the WWII inherits a title and the rambling family house, called Cranfield, upon his father's sudden death. He can't afford the upkeep, but is too easy on the staff and loathe to release them, even when they seem to be working against his best wishes, and despite the pressures placed on him by his Ladyship.
As the inhabitants of Cranfield, both aristocratic and domestic, get used to the privations of rationing and the difficulties of keeping the house and its grounds solvent, his Lordship's estranged mother, though deposed from the house, still exerts a malign, mysterious influence.
An epistolary novel told through a variety of characters and written forms, including entries from the diaries of his Lordship and a loyal maid, pages from the note book of an elderly writer perusing the family history, and excepts from the exercise book of one of the children, The House is one of the dullest, direst novels I have ever read.
His Lordship, Sydney Otterton, is thicker than a foundation stone, the writer Rakowski florid and long-winded to a ridiculous degree, and the least said about the daughter's excerpts - full of unconvincing, exceptionally irritating spelling mistakes - the better. (I actually cringed every time I saw another one on its way.)
Characters are forever stating how the house is exerting a "hold over" them, and it was clearly the writer's intention to imbue a sense of that, but the narrative is so lacklustre, so bereft of any insight or depth, that Cranfield might just as well have been a public lavatory.
Similarly, Lord Otterton is constantly referred to as "eccentric" by other characters, but apart from a penchant for buying exotic animals merely seems like a boorish, dull-witted toff; whereas Rakowski is constantly praised for his "amusing" qualities, yet comes across as nothing but tedious.
There are no ironies at work here, just poor writing.
Looking at all the 5* ratings, I'm beginning to wonder if we've all read the same book.
This novel recounts the post-war woes of an aristocratic family through various diaries and letters. The chief contributors are Sydney, Lord Otterton, the impoverished owner of a decrepit country mansion; Annie, Lord Otterton's housekeeper; Zbigniew Rakowski, a tediously verbose Polish historian and Georgina, Lord Otterton's young daughter.
Novels in this form can work as long as either each contributor takes up where the other left off or each writer provides a dramatically different slant on events. In this book, most of the writers just restate what a previous contributor has already written, so there are an awful lot of words to describe not very much at all. Reading once that Lord Otterton has had a disagreement with his mother, or that the new French governess wants the children to try eating snails is not that interesting. Reading it three or four times is incredibly boring.
If this book were just tedious, I would have rated it at 2 stars, but it only rates one star because of the casual acceptance/dismissal of child abuse. The Otterton children complain to their parents on numerous occasions that the new butler, Mason, is 'creepy' and they don't like the way he comes into their bedrooms in the middle of the night. The parents dismiss them as 'being silly', but when they later discover that Mason has 'repeatedly been in trouble for sexual attacks on young children', Lord Otterton comments 'I wonder if he tried something on one of them [the children]. It wouldn't surprise me.' And he then moves on to talking about the really important thing being his plans for opening Cranfield to paying visitors. I know attitudes toward child protection were a lot more casual in 1950, but not that casual - and this book was published in 2002, so there is absolutely no excuse for treating child sexual abuse as if it were no big deal. Totally appalling and I'm surprised that no one else seems to have picked up on this.
Teresa Waugh grew up in Clandon Park, Surrey, and that is the House in this book. I loved the background of the old house - but the story was a bit slow.
This is a delightful epistolary novel telling of the trials and travails of a minor member of the English aristocracy who inherits the family title and estate in 1945 and has to deal with death duties, mammoth repairs to the house, scheming neighbors and relatives, and a dwindling bank balance. Very English and a charming read.