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Cold Is Right -- And Creepy Too! Such a disappointment! I had been hearing about the glamorous, scandalous, sexy Mitford sisters for years -- Jessica the fiery and sexy Communist, Unity the glamorous and sexy she-Nazi, Diana the sleek and sexy fascist, Debo the demure and sexy duchess, and (last but not least) Nancy the sly and sexy writer of satirical novels. So when I got the chance at last to read LOVE IN A COLD CLIMATE I was expecting something like the sisters themselves were supposed to be -- sly and sexy, elegant and aristocratic. Wrong, wrong, wrong! Who'd a thunk it? The low down here is that Nancy Mitford hates sex -- terrified of it. Finds normal men frightening and repulsive, yet has quite a soft spot for elderly gay men who wear lipstick and makeup and lounge around in women's dressing gowns. Creepy, creepy, creepy. You can see now why no one in the family thought it odd when sister Unity fell in love with Adolph Hitler! Oh, and the satire -- where is it? Almost nothing in this book really addresses class issues in a meaningful way. There are no direct confrontations between the aristocrats and the wealthy industrial class -- much less the working poor. There's a bit of snide gossip, but again it's served cold. No sexy scandals, just bizarre and faintly repulsive stories about people who are far too creeped out by the human body to ever feel anything for anybody but themselves. Somewhere in Nancy Mitford's life, there must have been a lot of pain. Pain in big buckets, Eugene O'Neill style family in agony type pain. But sadly, she never turned her tortured family past into a deep feeling masterpiece like LONG DAYS JOURNEY INTO NIGHT. Instead she just played it safe, writing cold and shallow novels like this one. So sad! Fanny-tastic! I found this novel a teeny weeny bit disappointing after its superlative predecessor, 'the Pursuit of Love'. I think if I compare the two, I can see why - 'Pursuit' packs about ten novels worth of incident into its slim frame, as terse, fast, heartless and comic as 'Candide' (Mitford wrote a biography of Voltaire), full of gaps and tacit implications. 'Climate' goes back to those gaps and fills them in, following as it does relatively the same time span. This makes for a slower, more thoughtful book, which feels, on occasion, a little padded out. Similarly, both books take their cue from their heroine - 'Pursuit' is as lively, adventurous, funny and adorable as Linda; Polly in 'Climate', though beautiful, is as dull as people find her, and so, when she is in it, is her book. I say this relatively of course; on any other terms, 'Climate' is a comic joy, full of two sublime new characters, Lady Montdore, the imperious snob, and Cedric, the stereotypical queen from untypical Nova Scotia. Add to these old favourites like Boy, Davey, and, especially, the immortal, phlegmatic Uncle Matthew; some choice set-pieces and an odd flash of the old callousness, and you have a real pleasure, especially in the second half. 'Climate''s breezy surface belies a real anger at the limited roles offered women. Lady Montdore finally finds the daughter she never had. This is a fun, interesting novel that is not for anyone who does not love irony. It is perhaps best appreciated by people who may like Waugh (I think they were friends). Possibly if anyone likes Jan Austen, this novel will please you as well. The similarities to Austen are only in the stucture of certain scenes, and the happy, silliness of the plot wonderfully subverts Jane Austen. Its a really sad and comic look at love and women. It is perhaps mostly about the changing times for women of a particular class. The only reason I do not give it five stars is that I feel it ends too abruptly. But the last scene is magnificent. Look for the paralels between it and the last scenes of sense and sensibility. Its great! This book is not for the girly, sentimental novel reading sort unless you have a good sense of humor. See also:
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