When Maggie's husband, smooth, silver-haired, patrician Jeremy, the British Ambassador to Vienna, drops dead unexpectedly of a heart attack, she is stunned. But her shock soon turns to fury when she discovers that he died in the arms of a beautiful blonde Viennese hostess -- and that moreover while she, Maggie, was expected to make all sorts of domestic economies on behalf of the British tax-payer, Jeremy and the athletic Mausie had been indulging in expensive sea-food dinners, skiing trips and all manner of luxuries.But Mausie turns out to be, as it were, only the tip of the iceberg. As Maggie uncovers a trail of infidelities conducted under her nose in every one of the European cities she had so dutifully made her home in Jeremy's majestic wake, she determines to exact her revenge. With Zoltan, Jeremy's mournful Hungarian driver, she embarks on a magnificent Grand Tour of their former postings, wreaking a pleasurable havoc wherever she goes. Along the way, Maggie undergoes her own transformation and learns to re-evaluate her marriage, her own abilities - and just who her friends really are!
Beautifully written and very closely researched. But that's also a sticking point, because Origo's narrative follows the relationship between Byron and Guccioli beat for every beat. For those who are ready to sink deep into the story of their relationship and catch every development and nuance, Origo's book will be a dream. But for readers less committed, the level of detail can become wearying, even despite the author's exceptional gifts as a writer.
An excellent book for readers who come to it in the right mood. I didn't, but the strength of the writing and the depth of Origo's careful research still merits four stars.
This was a hard book to review. It did not compare with Origo's book, War in Val d'Orcia: An Italian War Diary, 1943-1944, but that was probably due more to the subject matter than to the writing itself. In retrospect, I don't feel that the personalities of either Byron or Teresa Guccioli justified the time spent reading about them. I concluded that my time would have been better spent reading Lord Byron's poetry than reading about his final days. I think he knew what he was doing when he was writing but seemed to flail around aimlessly in living his life.