It's difficult for me to review this book... On one hand, Carr is a masterful stylist of the English language, who writes extremely poetically. Her book was a quick read and the anecdotes about "landladying" in the early 20th century were engaging, visceral and often quite poignant. On the other hand, I had a very difficult time relating to her, especially in the final third of the book, which is entirely consumed with describing her love of bobtail sheepdogs. I found it endlessly frustrating that she lavished so much attention on these animals, while simultaneously turning a sharply critical eye upon her human tenants and friends. Given that so much of the book is spent describing her misery in the (titular) House of All Sorts, I can't help but feel like her moroseness was at least partially self-inflicted... Since she appears to have a generous, humanistic spirit, I don't know why she so often failed to extend her empathy to human beings, rather than squandering it on dogs.

Then again, I'm really not a pet person.