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Summary
Summary
Gravely charming stand-alone from the chronicler of Mma Precious Ramotswe and Isabel Dalhousie (The Lost Art of Gratitude, 2009, etc.) sees an aggressively ordinary English widow through the dark days of World War II. Despite being warned by her tutor that too many women leave Cambridge with a husband instead of a career, that's exactly what Lavender Ferguson does. Even worse, the man who presses her to marry him, wine-merchant scion Richard Stone, soon presses on to greener pastures--i.e., France with another woman. Deeply sad but matter-of-fact about her failed marriage, La retreats to Sussex, where she is financially secure but very much at loose ends. After war is declared, she casts about for some way to help the war effort in this isolated rural area where she's never made the friends she rather naively expected. At length she volunteers to help arthritic chicken farmer Henry Madder feed the troops and the nation. While she's working as a freelance Land Girl, a conversation with Squadron-Leader and amateur trumpeter Tim Honey prompts La to take the lead in forming an amateur orchestra that can keep up the locals' spirits and perhaps even show Hitler a thing or two. Her plans put her into close contact with wounded Polish airman Feliks Dabrowski, a flutist who lacks both an eye and an instrument. La falls in love with Feliks. A thief relieves Henry of £800. Suspicion is confined to an uncomfortably small circle. As in Chekhov, such incidents constantly portend decisive developments that somehow never come to pass. Like Chekhov, Smith shows his heroine, who believes that "music could make a difference in the temper of the world," triumphing over the details of everyday life by immersing herself in them so completely that she achieves an apotheosis in the reflection, "I have been a handmaiden." Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Summary
From the best-selling author of The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency series comes a delightful and moving story that celebrates the healing powers of friendship and music.
It is 1939. Lavender--La to her friends--decides to flee London, not only to avoid German bombs but also to escape the memories of her shattered marriage. The peace and solitude of the small town she settles in are therapeutic . . . at least at first. As the war drags on, La is in need of some diversion and wants to boost the town's morale, so she organizes an amateur orchestra, drawing musicians from the village and the local RAF base. Among the strays she corrals is Feliks, a shy, proper Polish refugee who becomes her prized recruit--and the object of feelings she thought she'd put away forever.
Does La's orchestra save the world? The people who come to hear it think so. But what will become of it after the war is over? And what will become of La herself? And of La's heart?
With his all-embracing empathy and his gentle sense of humor, Alexander McCall Smith makes of La's life--and love--a tale to enjoy and cherish.
Author Notes
Alexander McCall Smith was born on August 24, 1948 in Zimbabwe. He was a professor of medical law at the University of Edinburgh, but he left in 2005 to focus on his writing. He has written over 60 books, including specialist academic titles including Forensic Aspects of Sleep and The Criminal Law of Botswana, short story collections including Portuguese Irregular Verbs, and children's books including The Perfect Hamburger. He is best known for the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series. He also writes the Corduroy Mansions, Isabel Dalhousie and 44 Scotland Street series.
He has received numerous awards, including The Crime Writers' Association Dagger in the Library Award and the 2004 United Kingdom's Author of the Year Award. His book, The Full Cupboard of Life, received the Saga Award for Wit in the United Kingdom. In 2007, he received a CBE for his services in literature.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (4)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Set mainly during WWII in England, this quiet story about a woman who makes a new life for herself falls short of bestseller Smith's best work. After La Stone's husband leaves her for another woman in France, La retreats to a small cottage in Suffolk given to her by her mortified in-laws. The isolation and peacefulness suit La, who joins the Women's Land Army soon after the outbreak of war. When Feliks Dabrowski, an attractive Polish ex-pat, is assigned to the same farm where La is assisting with chores, La is attracted to him, despite her suspicions that Feliks hasn't been fully truthful about his past. La's idea to launch an amateur local orchestra to boost morale proves an unexpected success and helps give her purpose during the war's darkest days. While the understated prose appeals, La just isn't as interesting a creation as the author's two female sleuths, Precious Ramotswe (The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency) and Isabel Dalhousie (The Sunday Philosophy Club). (Dec.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Booklist Review
*Starred Review* McCall Smith, author of the wildly popular No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series, makes his first foray into historical fiction in this delightful stand-alone novel. Lavender ( La ) is a divorcee in her thirties living alone in the English countryside at the outbreak of World War II. With little to occupy her time, La devotes herself to the war effort, first working as a land girl for a local egg farmer, until Felix, a Polish refugee airman, replaces her. Again at loose ends, she starts a morale-boosting effort that makes her famous an amateur orchestra. Originally intended to perform only until the Battle of Britain was over, La's orchestra sticks together until V-E day, becoming the highlight of off-duty hours for the local airmen as well as her fellow villagers. The story of La's orchestra is intertwined with La's growth as a woman and her realization that love may not be gone from her life forever. McCall Smith once again creates unforgettable characters and a story that will resonate with readers across generations. The WWII home front is hardly new territory for novelists, but McCall Smith manages to use the familiar backdrop to create a fresh and unforgettable story about the power of human kindness. Highly recommended for fans of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (2008), McCall Smith's numerous fans, and historical fiction readers of all kinds.--Moyer, Jessica Copyright 2009 Booklist
New York Review of Books Review
Admirable women are a staple of McCall Smith's novels, from Precious Ramotswe and her Botswanan detective agency to the Scottish philosopher Isabel Dalhousie. La, short for Lavender, differs from these series heroines in being (so far) a stand-alone character and one who shines with a lower wattage. Educated at Cambridge University in the early 1930s, when few women were, La is pressed into marriage by a determined suitor, despite her own doubts and the advice of her tutor. "It breaks my heart," she tells La, "to see all these intelligent girls come to us and then leave, more or less promised to some man. . . . What a criminal waste." Before long, La's husband has run off to France for another woman, and war with Germany is imminent. La decides to quit her city life and moves to the country, where she does her part by tending hens, growing vegetables and starting an orchestra in the village. A wounded Polish airman whom La befriends becomes a mildly unsettling influence, but not enough to shatter the book's easy calm. Surely only a writer like McCall Smith could make the war years feel like such a better, simpler time.
Library Journal Review
After her husband leaves her for another woman, Lavendar, or La, leaves London for the Suffolk home generously provided by her in-laws. Soon after, war with Hitler is declared, and La begins gathering eggs for a farmer, organizes an orchestra of servicemen and townspeople, and finds work for Feliks, a Polish airman who can no longer fly. After Feliks is wrongly accused of theft, La shares her concern that he is actually German, and he isn't seen in the village again until La's VE Day concert. As a dedicated fan of Mma Ramotswe, this reader was disappointed with the scattered nature and bland characters of Smith's latest. La never truly comes alive, and the details of her life don't add up to a cohesive picture explaining her choices. Elements of interest, such as wartime life in the English villages, how music can inspire, rebuilding life after the loss of a marriage, or options for a single woman with means and opportunity, are only skimmed. Verdict The author's name will make this a strong seller, but readers hoping for another Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society will be left wanting. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 8/09.]-Stacey Hayman, Rocky River P.L., IL (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
One Two men , who were brothers, went to Suffolk. One drove the car, an old Bristol drophead coupé in British racing green, while the other navigated, using an out-of-date linen-backed map. That the map was an old one did not matter too much: the roads they were following had been there for a long time and were clearly marked on their map--narrow lanes flanked by hedgerows following no logic other than ancient farm boundaries. The road signs--promising short distances of four miles, two miles, even half a mile--were made of heavy cast-iron, forged to last for generations of travellers. Some conscientious hand had kept them freshly painted, their black lettering sharp and clear against chalk-white backgrounds, pointing to villages with names that meant something a long time ago but which were now detached from the things to which they referred--the names of long-forgotten yeoman families, of mounds, of the crops they grew, of the wild flora of those parts. Garlic, cress, nettles, crosswort--all these featured in the place-names of the farms and villages that dotted the countryside--their comfortable names reminders of a gentle country that once existed in these parts, England. It still survived, of course, tenacious here and there, revealed in a glimpse of a languorous cricket match on a green, of a trout pool under willow branches, of a man in a flat cap digging up potatoes; a country that still existed but was being driven into redoubts such as this. The heart might ache for that England, thought one of the brothers; might ache for what we have lost. They almost missed the turning to the village, so quickly did it come upon them. There were oak trees at the edge of a field and immediately beyond these, meandering off to the left, was the road leading to the place they wanted. The man with the map shouted out, "Whoa! Slow down," and the driver reacted quickly, stamping on the brakes of the Bristol, bringing it to a halt with a faint smell of scorched rubber. They looked at the sign, which was a low one, almost obscured by the topmost leaves of nettles and clumps of cow parsley. It was the place. It was a narrow road, barely wide enough for two vehicles. Here and there informal passing places had been established by local use--places where wheels had flattened the grass and pushed the hedgerows back a few inches. But you only needed these if there were other road-users, and there were none that Saturday afternoon. People were sleeping, or tending their gardens in the drowsy heat of summer, or perhaps just thinking. "It's very quiet, isn't it?" remarked the driver when they stopped to check their bearings at the road end. "That's what I like about it," said the other man. "This quietness. Do you remember that?" "We would never have noticed it. We would have been too young." They drove on slowly to the edge of the village. The tower of a Norman church rose above a stand of alders. In some in?explicable mood of Victorian architectural enthusiasm, a small stone bobble, rather like a large cannonball, had been added at each corner of the tower. These additions were too small to ruin the original proportions, too large to be ignored; Suffolk churches were used to such spoliation, although in the past it had been carried out in a harsh mood of Puritan iconoclasm rather than prettification. There was to be no idolatry here: Marian and other suspect imagery had been rooted out, gouged from the wood of pew-ends and reredoses, chipped from stone baptismal fonts; stained glass survived, as it did here, only because it would be too costly to replace with the clear glass of Puritanism. Behind the church, the main street, a winding affair, was lined mostly by houses, joined to one another in the cheek-by-jowl democracy of a variegated terrace. Some of these were b Excerpted from La's Orchestra Saves the World by Alexander McCall Smith All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.