![]() ![]() To me, it no longer mattered that he had died. After her first husband’s funeral, she muses about the gaudy wreath taped onto the coffin, and his parents’ decision to cremate him. ![]() Huth, whom I knew previously from her 1994 novel Land Girls, now fits into my pantheon of ’70s literature.Ĭlare’s reflections are original and amusing. Published in 1970, it is reminiscent of the early novels of Margaret Drabble, Penelope Mortimer, Paula Fox, and Nora Johnson. Now doesn’t that tell you Joshua is bad news?Ĭlare recounts her story in that humorous, slightly hopeless tone that only an unconventional heroine of novels of the ’60s and ’70s can convey. The narrator, Clare Lyall, is at loose ends in London: her first husband, Richard, has just died, and she is introduced at a party to Joshua, a man with a black eye who puts out cigarettes on his thumb. A few weeks ago I read Angela Huth’s Nowhere Girl, a beautifully-written novel about a young woman who has separated from her rather sappy second husband, Jonathan, a failed playwright. ![]()
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