This is my third attempt at writing a review of Aprilly, by Jane Abbott. I’m not sure why writing about it is so daunting. It’s never going to be my favorite Jane Abbott book — there are structural issues, and a lot of what happens feels unearned. Also I found it hard to sympathize with the protagonist, and wished some of the other characters got more page time. But all of these things are things I’ve had time to think out. When I finished the book, I mostly just thought, “that was nice, but the romance was kind of creepy and unnecessary and Laughing Last was better.”
Anyway, I enjoyed it, but I doubt I’ll want to read it again. And if you want more information than that (you should) here’s a bit of a synopsis:
April Dangerfield is left penniless and homeless (I mean, approximately) after the death of her circus performer mother, and somehow ends up in a small town in Maine, where she finds a number of friends, including the usual crotchety spinster, and eventually acquires a family. And also a horse.
Jane Abbott falls flat for me sometimes, usually in the books everyone else seems to like best. I guess this is just one of those times.
Tagged:
1920s,
girls,
janeabbott,
maine 
I’ve been feeling lately like I’m having a hard time being enthusiastic about the books I’m reading. That happens every once in a while, and it’s always hard to tell whether it’s the books, or me suffering from a general deficiency of enthusiasm, or just my poor memory of how much I enjoyed things.
Looking back at recent posts, I don’t think it’s that third thing. I ended up mostly liking Dwell Deep, and Up the Hill and Over was fascinating, but neither of them comes anywhere near being my new favorite book. Although actually, The Turned-About Girls was great. And I guess Laughing Last, by Jane Abbott, isn’t my new favorite book either, but I love it enough to that I feel like I can safely blame any lack of enthusiasm on my recent reading material. I mean, I don’t feel like gushing about it or anything, but basically it was delightful and I have no complaints.
Jane Abbott is just so good, you know? Very few authors are as good at writing girls of a pre-romance age. And Laughing Last is very Jane Abbott-y, but it’s also got elements of L.T. Meade and Augusta Huiell Seaman and most of it is set in a kind of Joseph Crosby Lincoln milieu, and it’s just delightful in all sorts of ways. I might have to take back what I said about gushing.
The beginning of the book is perhaps the Meade-iest part. It introduces us to the four Romley girls, who range in age from 26 to 15. They’re the daughters of famous poet Joseph Romley, and while they do technically have a pair of guardians or trustees, in effect they’re under the thumb of the local chapter of the League of American Poets, which paid off the mortgage on their house, and consequently feels that it’s okay to bring tours through on Saturdays and keep the girls at their beck and call.
Isolde, the eldest, usually handles the tours, mostly because she’s the one who best fits everyone’s notions of how a poet’s daughter ought to look and act. Then there’s Trude, the practical, motherly one; Victoria, the prettiest and least responsible; and Sidney, the dreamy, stifled fifteen year old.
In search of adventure, Sidney invites herself to spend the summer with a totally unknown relative on Cape Cod. Elderly Achsa Green and her “different” nephew, Lavender, aren’t what Sidney expects, and nor is their home. Sidney’s kind of appalled at first, but with the help of the Green’s summer boarder, she learns to appreciate them. Then she meets Martie Calkins, a girl about her age, and learns a bunch of practical skills, like digging clams. And then, finally, she has a pretty exciting adventure. Jane Abbott’s good at adventures, too–this is, in a way, the most over the top adventure I’ve read in one of her books, but she keeps it grounded.
But mostly you just get to watch Sidney grow up a little, and see things turn out well for her, and it’s great. Sidney’s a little ridiculous sometimes, because she’s a fifteen year old girl with an imagination, but that’s actually an awesome thing to be, and Abbott doesn’t suggest otherwise or condescend.
Again: Jane Abbott is so good. I don’t know why I don’t read her more often.
Tagged:
1920s,
girls,
janeabbott 
I decided this morning that I wanted to make a list of ten books I’ve covered in this blog that I would wholeheartedly recommend. Not my favorites, because there are a lot of books — Tracy Park, for one — that I love too much to be able to think about them objectively. I’m not totally sure I’m looking at these objectively, but I do think they’re good, and I can’t see any reason why people shouldn’t still be reading them. I’m a little bit sad that I was only able to come up with six, though. Keep in mind that my standards, as usual, are incredibly inconsistent.
- A Woman Named Smith. Obviously. This is the book that made me start this blog. It’s just…fun, and occasionally touching, and full of reasons not to be forgotten. And my appreciation of Sophy Smith increases every time I reread it.
- The Indiscreet Letter. Go ahead and read it. It’s short. It won’t take long. It’s hard to say what makes this one such a favorite of mine, but I think it’s the idea of all these strangers on trains being incredibly honest with each other, and connecting across class boundaries and social convention.
- The Wide, Wide World. I honestly don’t understand why this book isn’t considered a classic. Okay, so there’s a lot of semi-distasteful religious stuff, but people should either deal with it or look past it, because this is such a foundational piece of American literature, and kind of a good read, too.
- Keineth. It wonderful to see a book for kids that’s neither condescending or too insistent on growing up. There’s nothing very unusual about this story, except its charm and its sense of freshness in the face of clichés.
- Somehow Good. It’s so deeply involved in it’s own historical moment that I sort of understand why no one reads William De Morgan anymore. But it’s also really good. And it’s so rare to find an author who can make a silly and melodramatic storyline so convincingly low-key.
- The Riddle of the Sands. I’m reluctant to put this here just because I read it so recently and haven’t really had time to let it sink in, and also because it’s a little less forgotten than the others, but I was so impressed by it. It’s apparently the first ever thriller, and — well, it’s kind of thrilling.
I read Jane Abbott’s Happy House for the first time in May. It’s different from the other Abbott books I’ve read in that it’s aimed at a slightly older audience, and also in that…well, it seems a bit more formulaic. But I like it a lot.
The main character is a girl who has just graduated [...]
I should be writing about Graustark, by George Barr McCutcheon, which is probably the book the phrase “Ruritanian romance” was invented for, but I just finished Jane Abbott’s Keineth this morning, so I’m not in the mood for talking about Grenfall Lorry’s supposed heroics.
Jane Abbott was recommended to me by frequent commenter Elizabeth, who has [...]
Yes, why don’t you read her more often?
Probably because Gutenberg doesn’t have many of her books, and other sites aren’t as convenient for me. But that’s a bad answer.
I get into those moods too. Usually it’s a sign I need to read to read something completely different.
That’s probably the smart thing to do, but I always end up wanting to read the same things over and over again instead.
I’ve started it and think I will like it quite well once Sidney gets to Cape Cod.