Finished The Brontes Went to Woolworth's by Rachel Ferguson. A wacky, wonderful, speaking my language sort of a book. A family of mother and three daughters live an eccentric existence cultivating imagined relationships with people and things, yet not believing in the run of the mill, like Santa Claus.
"As a family we never liked dolls, never believed in fairies and all rather hated Peter Pan...... and the only doll we ever unitedly esteemed was the plainest of the collection. Ironface. She was given to me when I was seven. Her face and forearms were of painted tin and she had a well made kid body. Ironface, unfortunately, outgrew us. She developed an intolerably overbearing manner, married a French Count called Isadore (de la So-and-So, de la Something Else), and now lives in feudal state in France, whence, even to this day, she makes occasional descents upon us by private aeroplane-de-luxe, patronizing us in an accent enragingly perfect and bearing gifts which we have to accept."
Thank God for Virago Modern Classics!
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