One must perforce confess that one’s interest in this particular literary effort was sparked by a bout of bronchitis. One was confined to beddybyes with poorly chest and Mumsie loaned one the box set of a television adaptation of this little book.
One was instantly enraptured. And one defies anyone to watch the dripping wet figure of Colin Firth emerging from that pond without a twinge of unfamiliar excitement.
Purely on the strength of such an enjoyable frisson, one embarked on a reading of the book upon which the series was based.
What disappointment awaited one.
Gentle reader it is dull, dull, dull.
The plot is thin at best.
The characters are woodenly cardboard.
And the language is old-fashioned and often abstruse.
To recapitulate. A young woman refuses a man. Then she sees his mansion in the country and changes her mind.
Star Rating: Two out of five. Plus one for Colin Firth’s sex appeal.
You can find more of IVy's profound thoughts in How To Start Writing A Book courtesy of E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.