Parents and Children

by Ivy Compton-Burnett

Alternate cover edition for ISBN 140030905.

Genres: Fiction, Classics, Humor, Literary Fiction

Hardcover

First published January 1, 1941

About the author

Dame Ivy Compton-Burnett, DBE was an English novelist, published (in the original hardback editions) as I. Compton-Burnett. Her works consist mainly of dialogue and focus on family life among the late Victorian or Edwardian upper middle class. She was awarded the 1955 James Tait Black Memorial Prize for her novel Mother and Son.

Reviews

[Buck · Rating 3 out of 5]

If you were a girl raised in a ramshackle Victorian family, growing up in a manor with servants’ quarters and a nursery and unreliable plumbing, and if you had a dozen siblings and half-siblings, two of whom killed themselves in a suicide pact on Christmas day, another of whom was killed in the Battle of the Somme, and a fourth, your favourite brother, who died of pneumonia; and if you never had sex in your life, at least not with a man, and quite possibly not with a woman, either; and if you were clever and cynical and thoroughly disabused about people and God and things in general; if all that was the case, then this is the sort of novel you’d write, over and over again, compulsively reconstructing that same Victorian household and filling it with weird, precocious children and awful grownups, and afflicting them all with a form of civilized insanity, and making them talk, talk, talk, endlessly and wittily, because there was nothing else to do in that big, sprawling house, and nothing would ever change, except for the worse, and even then, there would always be more talk, a running commentary on the scandal called life and one’s place in it.

Yes, yes, Buck. But is it any good?

Well, it’s good in the same way and to the same extent that Wes Anderson movies are “good,” if you happen to like Wes Anderson movies (and I did, last time I checked). But if you happen not to like Wes Anderson movies, and would prefer to see him and his whole menagerie of maundering eccentrics drowned in burlap sacks like so many superfluous kittens, then, no, not so much.

[Cecily · Rating 3 out of 5]

Lots of very mannered, self-consciously clever dialogue - almost like reading a Wildean play script. Superb descriptions of people's tone of voice, mannerisms, emotions, motivation, inner fears, hidden agendas etc. Not something one can skim. Although lots of dialogue, it is not always immediately obvious who is saying what. Most characters are cold and detached, with not much plot happening and nothing resolved at the end.

Large, three-generation (Edwardian?) family, with children from 3 to 24. Father apparently dies in S America, though no one seems particularly upset. No hero or central character, not even many very sympathetic ones. Bleak in a nice way?!

[Corey · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is my first Ivy Compton-Burnett but I sense the start of a love affair. This is the best novel I've read in a while, eccentric, moving, surprising, singular. And that she makes the story work almost exclusively through dialog, well, it hits me where I live.

[Peter · Rating 3 out of 5]

Imagine a novel about a family of androids. They live in a mansion with little if anything outside it. The androids try to act like human beings, but don’t quite get it right. Their conservations are odd. Their children are odder. The novel’s plot spins increasingly out of control, but the androids fail to notice.

Pretty typical for Ivy Compton-Burnett, I’m told…but this is the first novel of hers that I’ve read, so the inhuman characters were unsettling, as was their strangely mannered dialogue that comprises most of the text, as was the melodramatic but curiously distant plot.

The author generously gives the central figure, Eleanor Sullivan, no less than nine children whom she unsurprisingly regards with vague bewilderment and a complete lack of empathy. The children make acerbic remarks and are unconvincingly childlike.

“’Have you little ones finished your dessert?’ said Eleanor. ‘We don’t want much of you today.’”

Quite right. Several nurses and governesses are installed to keep them out of Eleanor’s way.

In case nine children, parents, grandparents, and servants are insufficent, the Sullivan mansion also plays host to an ever-visiting neighbour Hope, a martyr to her pious stepdaughter Faith. Hope is the winner of the caustic tongue competition.

“’It upsets me to visit the Sullivans. It is because their house is so much better than mine.’
‘The Sullivans have a place, Mother. [Ours] is just a comfortable home.’
‘I know you do not mean to be unkind, dear.’
‘I do not indeed; I was only speaking the truth.’
‘There isn’t much difference. Brutal frankness is an accepted term.’”

I have to say I was quite taken by the acidity and precision of the language. Assuming it is typical for Ivy Compton-Burnett, I am not, however, all that eager to read more of the same – at least not for some while. I suspect it’s best in moderation. Like vinegar.

[Kilian Metcalf · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ivy Compton-Burnett has one of the most intriguing and baffling styles of writing that I have ever encountered. Written almost entirely in dialogue minus tags or attributions, the book challenges the reader to follow along.

Trying to sort out the dialogue of nine (!) children, their parents, grandparents, family friends (I think) and assorted nannies, nurses, and staff, including one child who refers to himself by name in the third person, dares the reader to follow the thread. If you didn't like Wolf Hall, you will hate Parents and Children. If you had no trouble realizing that every time Mantel wrote 'he,' she meant Cromwell, you might be able to wend your way through the thickets of dialogue and find the treasure at the center of this labyrinth.

The effort is worth it, though, and the payoff is huge. I was amused that Compton-Burnett is one of the writers offered to Queen Elizabeth in Alan Bennett's novella The Uncommon Reader. I hope Her Majesty enjoyed Compton-Burnett as much as I do.

[Rosemary · Rating 4 out of 5]

Not quite as caustic as some of Ivy Compton-Burnett's books - the most malicious characters are secondary (the Cranmers) and there are actually some nice characters - the Marlowes and Nevill, though Nevill is only 3 so he has plenty of time to hone his malicious wit.

The plot, as usual with Ivy C-B, involves a large family, a death (or is it...?) and a remarriage. Unusually, a lot of the characters seem to be happy - though again, many of them have time to grow out of it.

If you read about the author's own family history on Wikipedia or elsewhere you'll see where she gets her ideas. She came from one of the most dysfunctional families imaginable and her characters reflect this in all their awfulness.

I was very disappointed at the end, not to discover who Mr. Pilbeam was going to marry. Various candidates were going over in my mind - Faith? One of the Marlowe sisters? Miss Mitford? or even Mullet? - but my curiosity went unsatisfied. Did I miss it, or are we to assume that as a mere veterinary surgeon, he is not of a class to merit our interest?

[Lobstergirl · Rating 2 out of 5]

Pages and pages of the most stilted dialogue imaginable, just barely rescued from utter unreadableness by a bizarre plot twist. I sped-read through the first 175 pages, it was so unpleasant.

[Bill FromPA · Rating 4 out of 5]

Previous: A Family and a Fortune
Next: Elders and Betters

A very slow start, with more than half the book devoted to introducing the characters and showing their characteristic interactions. The plot proper only unfolds in the final third or so of the novel. The final revelations are brought about through some rather improbable coincidences. Nevertheless, fairly characteristic situations and dialogue from Lady Ivy, entertaining for those with a taste for her sharp observations and style. The mellower trend (as far as the nature of the family secrets) started with Daughters And Sons continues.


1. Fulbert (50) and Eleanor Sullivan (48) live in the home of his parents, Sir Jesse (79) and Lady Regan (76), with their 9 children; Eleanor would prefer a cottage of their own. Fulbert is largely idle after failing to establish a law career, but is to travel to South America on family business. Their oldest child is Lucia (28) followed by sons Daniel (22) and Graham (21) both in their last year at Cambridge. Sir Jesse resents the cost of their educations.

2. In the nursery with the youngest Sullivans: Honor(10), Gavin (9), and Nevill (3), and the nursemaids Emma Hatten (~55) and Bertha Mullet (22), all returned the previous evening from 3 weeks at the seaside.
In the schoolroom with the middle children: Isabel (15), Venitia (13), and James (12) with their governess Miss Mitford (50). James goes to school but is often home ill and attends lessons with his sisters.

3. We learn that Mullet was once of a higher class but her father's financial setbacks and death have forced her into service. James is reading a book about which he is secretive.

4. The youngest children get a new governess, Miss Pilbeam, whose father is a recently widowed veterinarian. The Sullivans are visited by the Cramners: Hope (60), her husband Paul (68), a recently retired lawyer, and his children, Ridley (43), a London lawyer, and Faith (36). Ridley agrees to manage Fulbert's estate in the event of his death during his trip to South America.

5. The Marlowe siblings - Priscilla (35), Lester (34), and Susan (32) live in a cottage on the Sullivan grounds. Susan, a schoolteacher, has just arrived for a holiday period; it is stated that she earns more than Lester, an author, but both incomes are inadequate and they depend on an ungenerous allowance from Sir Jesse. They are supposedly the orphan children of a South American friend of Sir Jesse, but probably his illegitimate offspring - he has just given them a photograph of their mother which was in his possession. They are visited first by the Cramners and then Daniel and Graham, the only other members of the Sullivan family with whom they socialize.

6. Fulbert leaves for South america, with tears from Isabel and Honor and, afterward, his mother Regan. The Sullivans are distracted from their sadness by a visit from Hope, who is later joined by Faith.

7. The Sullivans receive a letter from Fulbert with separate sealed letters for Eleanor, Isabel, and Regan. Against the family's protests, Eleanor opens and reads Isabel's letter before notifying her. In retaliation Isabel opens Elanor's letter and it is discovered that the two letters are identical.

8. Ridley receives a letter from Fulbert that states he is dying and that Ridley must tell the news to Eleanor. Ridley informs the family and spends most of the day at the Sullivan house. The other Cramners arrive later. Faith insists on seeing the younger children against Lucia's express wish. Shortly after his leaving, Ridley sends a private letter to Eleanor expressing his admiration for her handling of the circumstances.

9. Sir Jesse pays an unexpected visit to the Marlowes. His tone is evidently warmer than usual and he expresses the surprising wish that they could have been better acquainted with his son. After Sir Jesse's departure, Ridley appears and makes a few indirect inquiries about Sir Jesse's visit.

10. Ridley Cramner asks for Sir Jesse and Lady Regan's approval of his desire to marry Eleanor, which is given, though somewhat reluctantly on the part of Lady Sullivan. Mullet tells the younger children a story of her aunt's marriage to a sinister man with a scar: its melodramatic tone creates an impression in the reader's mind that she might in fact be fabulating the story of her past. Ridley comes again to the Sullivans (the time lapse is uncertain, but is at most a few days) to request urgently that his wedding to Eleanor take place in a matter of a few days, citing rather vague business reasons for his haste.

11. On a trip into town with Eleanor and the younger children on the day before Eleanor's wedding, Gavin claims to have seen his father. His circumstantial account convinces Regan who takes the family carriage into town and returns with a somewhat disoriented Fulbert. He sent a letter to Ridley telling of his survival and intent to return home, but assumes it must have miscarried.

The family are reunited with their father and son and finally, Ridley and Eleanor arrive and are told about Fulbert. Gavin takes a page from Ridley's pocket memorandum book on which it is revealed that Ridley did receive Fulbert's letter, but burned it and intended to go through with the wedding and honeymoon before Fulbert's survival became generally known. He attempts to justify himself by reference to Eleanor's well-being, and before leaving displays a photograph he discovered in dealing with the estate which shows Sir Jesse embracing the mother of the Marlowes. In conversations afterward, it is revealed to the Cramners and the older Sullivan children that Paul was told of the relationship by Sir Jesse and that Regan had deduced it from his interest in and resemblance to the Marlowes.

12. The next day, things begin to normalize with the Sullivans, with Sir Jesse caustically attacking Graham for his third at Cambridge. Miss Pringle tells her charges that her widowed father has decided to re-marry an old family friend; Honor and Gavin make rather mature observations about the matter. The Marlowes were not to be told that Sir Jesse is their father but, on a visit Daniel and Graham discover that the news has reached them after being made public by Ridley.

[David]

Perhaps a little less focused than many of the other novels. Two lines to establish tone:

"It seemed odd that he should have ordinary human feelings."

"I hope no one is looking at me. I am so ashamed of not being dead. . . . I am almost as much ashamed of being middle-aged as of being alive."

There are several generations involved, so some characters are both parents and children in relation to some of the others. There is, of course, also a long-concealed family secret and a planned marriage that does not quite go as planned.

[Terence · Rating 4 out of 5]

Once again Ivy Compton-Burnett (ICB) takes a look at the late Victorian family and finds it lacking. Even though I’ve met her dysfunctional families several times now, ICB’s knack is making them unique. In Parents and Children, we are introduced to the Sullivan clan – Fulbert and Eleanor, parents, and their nine children (Daniel, Graham, Lucia – the three oldest, adults; James, Isabel, Venetia – the middle children; and Honor, Gavin, Nevill – the youngest, Nevill being all of 3). They all live in Fulbert’s parents’ house.

Fulbert is an amiable man who loves his children and has a pretty good relationship with them but, as is typical of the ICB patriarch, he’s a distant presence in their lives. Eleanor is utterly out of her depth as a mother. She’s delegated the raising of her children to a coterie of nannies and tutors – Hatton, Mullet, Miss Mitford & Miss Pilbeam – but still operates under the delusion that she is well loved. Daniel & Graham are in their 20s, attending university, and chafing to escape. Among the other children, the most distinctive are James, Isabel and Nevill.

James is a bookish young man who wants nothing more than to be left alone, and often contrives to miss public school to be with his sisters, Isabel and Venetia (aka Venice).

Isabel is a bitter but perceptive girl whose relationship w/ Eleanor is the most poisonous as the following scene reveals. Isabel has been promised her own letters from her father who has been sent to South America on a 6-month business trip. When the first of those letters arrives, Eleanor opens it:

“`Isabel,’ said Eleanor, raising her voice, as footsteps sounded in the hall, `come in and say good morning to us. Are you all here?’
Isabel and Venice and Miss Mitford entered the room.
`Good morning,’ said Miss Mitford, looking at Eleanor and using a tone of compliance with an injunction.
`Good morning, Miss Mitford; good morning, my dears. I want to read you Father’s letter. Come and hear it.’
The two girls listened to the letter, put the normal questions and comments, and were about to go.
`Here is a note put in for you, Isabel,’ said Eleanor, handing it to her daughter.
`Thank you. Father said he would write to me,’ said Isabel, turning to show the letter to her sister.
`It came inside my letter,’ said her mother.
`Who opened it?’ said Isabel.
`Now, who had the right to do that?’ said Eleanor, stroking her hair. `No one touched it, who had no business with it. I should not have allowed that. I wanted to see if there was any message for me. There is one for all of you in my letter.’
Isabel looked at her mother’s note, as it lay on the table.
`You have not let anyone see that.’
`Well, naturally not, my dear. Father would not have liked it.’
`Would he have wished you to see mine?’
`Think for a moment and tell me.’
`It is a pity you do such second-rate things,’ said Isabel, in a slow voice. `It is a mean way of using power.’
`What other second-rate thing have you known me to do?’
`You do not deny the term. And these things are never isolated.’
`Come, come, my child. You would have shown me the letter, would you not?’
`I might have had no choice. But I should have read it myself first. There would have been a semblance of free will. Decency would not have been outraged.’ (p. 163)

Ironically, it turns out that Fulbert has written the same letter to both, changing only the opening and closing salutations. I have to admit to liking Isabel a lot – she gets in quite a number of pithy observations about her mother and her deficiencies.

Anticipating Bob Dole by several decades, Nevill likes to refer to himself in the third person:

“`What are you going to be when you grow up?’ said Fulbert, catching his son and lifting him to his knee.
`He will be a king,’ said Nevill, reconciling himself to his situation.
`Then you will be above your father.’
`He will take care of you. And he will take care of Hatton and Mullet too.’
`And what will Hatton be?’
`She will be a lady when he marries her.’” (p. 280)

At three, he’s yet to be “infected” by the cynicism that already affects his closest siblings, Honor and Gavin (Honor is a younger version of Isabel, Gavin is a sullen boy who hates being spoken down to).

The great drama of the book is that Fulbert appears to have died in South America. Eleanor soon finds a way to escape her family by marrying Ridley Cranmer, the man Fulbert had entrusted with looking out for the family in his absence. Ridley is also on the prowl to find a suitable wife and escape his own family. Unfortunately for both, Fulbert recovers and returns a day before the nuptials and the family is restored, though (as usual) none of its faults have been healed.

It wouldn’t be an ICB review without mentioning her trademark use of dialog, which crackles with wit, often with animus, and just as often with sympathy. I’ll quote here just two of my favorite zingers:

“Well, the English have no family feelings. That is, none of the kind you mean. They have them, and one of them is that relations must cause no expense.” (p. 80)

“Ridley’s best is rather unfitted for daily life,” said Hope. “This is the first time I have seen it in thirty years. It might be better to have one that came in oftener. But I suppose it is meant for an emergency.” (p. 174)

Very highly recommended, as is everything I’ve read by this author so far.

[Dave Appleby · Rating 5 out of 5]

Money is running out for the Sullivan family. Fulbert and Eleanor may live an idle life surrounded by maids in the large house owned by their in-laws but their nine children must be (haphazardly) educated so they can enter gainful employment. And Fulbert needs to go to South America to sort out his dad's business interests.

The story is told almost entirely through dialogue, and the dialogue is very formal; this gives the prose an unnatural feeling. The characters seem to speak their thoughts rather more than most of us. Here's a typical example, from Luce who, to be fair, is an adult and tends to speak more formally than the rest of them: "Mother, I don't think Father much liked my saying that about your money. But it did seem a fair point to make. I should not have been at ease with myself, if I had not said it." (Ch 1) It gets faintly ludicrous when the sentence is tortured for the sake of formal but archaic grammar: "Father has not a wife who will make things harder for him." (Ch 1) It becomes even stranger when the younger children use 'whom' correctly and terms such as 'polyandry'.

Bertolt Brecht, the playwright of The Good Person of Szechuan, The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui, Mother Courage, and The Threepenny Opera amongst other dramas, asked his actors to narrate their characters rather than impersonate them; he wanted the audience to realise that the drama performed on stage was an artificial construct. This formality of dialogue, added to the almost complete lack of described setting, or characters, and the unlikelihood of the plot, seems Brechtian in its deliberate artificiality. Verisimilitude is repeatedly undermined. As well as creating a barrier between the writer and the reader, ICB's technique makes her prose hard to read, the reader needs to concentrate. Nevertheless, the attentive reader swiftly builds up the characters. For example, Daniel repeatedly puts his brother Graham down, often making belittling comments in which he refers to Graham in the third person which makes an interesting counterpoint to Neville, the three year old, who refers to himself in the third person. Graham makes comments which suggest that he is perceptive to the undercurrents of emotion running through the novel. The oldest sibling sister Luce is a family peacemaker although she criticises her mother when Eleanor wants to read Isabel's private letter. James is a school-shy rebel who wants to be left alone to read. Isabel is very clever and she knows it. Gavin and Honor are budding rebels. The father Fulbert is flippant and spoiled and very lazy; more than once he is complacent about being ignorant of something. Grandfather Sir Jesse is the patriarch of the family (in the Old Testament, Jesse is the father of David who becomes King of the Israelites after slaying Goliath) and makes his displeasure plain by walking out of family discussions; they all contort themselves to make sure that he is pleased because, ultimately, he holds the purse strings. But the dominant personality is the grandmother Regan. Eleanor the mother is a contradiction; she hates living as a dependent on her husband's family, though it is hinted that in the early days the family only survived because she had money. She has had nine children but has farmed out their care to maids and governesses; the boys go to school or university while the girls are educated, poorly and incompletely, at home. The whole family are indolent parasites. Furthermore, on the estate is a cottage containing a brother and two sisters who are allegedly orphans from South America and they too are supported - though meanly, in their opinion - by patriarch Jesse; one wonders whether they are his children. And there are a family of friends consisting of Paul and his children Ridley and Hope and their stepmother Faith: these four intrude upon the family at the worst of times and say outrageously frank things.

In the first half of the book almost nothing happens. We are introduced to the family and their nine children who exist in three groups of three: the adults Luce, Daniel and Graham, the two boys both in their final year at Cambridge; the middle three James (normally at school which he hates and survives by repeatedly throwing sickies), Isabel and Venice; and the youngest in the nursery Gavin and Honor - who conspire to give their new governess a torrid time - and 3-year-old Neville. Already there are too many characters and some of them such as Venice never really become more than ciphers while others (Honor and Gavin, Luce and Daniel?) remain enigmas. Perhaps the mystery is deliberate; it is, at least, rather more genuine than the thought-revealing dialogue.

One of the major themes of this book is dependency. The nine children are dependent upon their parents and, as they grow older, they resent this dependency: the young ones such as Gavin and James and Isabella rebel in typically childish ways: they are truculent and disobedient in minor matters. The adult children rebel in their words. Miss Mitford the governess says things that challenge the expectations put upon her to the point of rudeness. But there is also a family of three dependants living in a cottage in the grounds and with them, and in the house, we see how the dependency relation damages the patron as well as the patronised: Jesse, like Eleanor and Regan, is stingy with what he gives and yet expects subservience and gratitude. Those who feel themselves to be superior in this highly stratified hierarchy are not about imposing their will by force, such as when Eleanor reads Isabel's letter or when Gavin is forced to hand over his drawing.

The book charts the ways in which the pecking order continually readjusts itself. It challenges the status quo. For example, Eleanor employs maids and governesses to care for her nine children and yet she feels she is owed respect for her maternal efforts: "It is more difficult to make other people do things then to do them yourself." But her adult children and others repeatedly challenge her assumptions and presumptions. Furthermore, she is both a bully and bullied. The book starts with her wanting to leave the stately home of her husband's parents and, when the chance comes, she proposes to move out even though this involves leaving her children. But when push comes to shove, she won't sacrifice her creature comforts to do this. Fundamentally all those characters in this novel who are dependent know on which side their bread is buttered and so their rebellions are muted and they toe the line, at whatever costs to their characters.

It's difficult to read. There is very little description. The dialogue is excruciatingly formal. There is little pretence at verisimilitude. And yet this is a work of literature that creates characters who challenge the reader to think. I have wanted to read a novel by Compton-Burnett since I read Alan Bennett's The Uncommon Reader in which Queen Elizabeth II is imagined encountering a mobile library in the grounds of Buckingham Palace and borrowing and reading an ICB book because she has met her. He describes ICB's writing as 'dry'. I'm not sure that ICB would turn anyone on to literature (and I'm not that impressed by Alan Bennet after reading and watching The Madness of King George). But he's right: ICB might be quaint and old-fahioned and mannered and strange but her writing is certainly thought-provoking and I fully intend to give her another go.

[Dan Honeywell · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is the first Ivy Compton-Burnett book I've read. I generally love a lot of dialogue but this was simply too much. And worst of all, I predicted both of the two major plot twists. There's something good about this book and I think I'll remember it, especially the youngest child (I've forgotten his name...), but this is not great writing.

[Laurel Hicks · Rating 4 out of 5]

Reading Ivy Compton-Burnett is like watching a play being produced in one's head. Amazing experience!

[Carolina · Rating 3 out of 5]

Esta es ya mi tercera lectura de Ivy Compton-Burnett y no deja de sorprenderme lo sagaz e irónica que es su pluma a través de sus diálogos que tanto caracterizan su estilo de escritura. Siendo Padres e Hijos la novela más larga que le he leído a la autora me parece que tiene un ritmo más lento que Criados y Doncellas y Una herencia y su historia; puesto que su clímax llega pasada la mitad del libro.

SPOILERS

Cuando se hacer de conocimiento la "muerte" de Fulbert a su familia nunca me lo termine de creer puesto que jamás se hablo de su cádaver y con estas autorazas hasta no ver no creer. Poco después al ver que Mr. Ridley quiere adelantar la boda con Eleonor ya estaba sospechando que algo no iba bien, y bum que resurge del mundo de los muertos nada más y nada menos que Fulbert. Resulta que cayo muy enfermo y sus trabajadores lo dieron por muerto y en este sentido mandaron una carta, cuando se recupero perdió la memoria y hasta que la recupero se dio cuenta del gran error que habían cometido sus trabajadores mediante correspondencia.

Debo confesar que esta parte de no estaba muerto sino que enfermo gravemente y perdió la memoria, como buena mexicana me recordó a las telenovelas de Televisa de horario estelar (9pm), en donde les sucedía lo mismo a los protagonistas enredándolos en un complicado triángulo amoroso. Particularmente recuerdo una donde salía Anahí y pasaba esto. Pero como lo primero es lo primero, quien quita que los guionistas mexicanos que empezaron este trope se hayan inspirado en Ivy.

Como si el drama no acabara ahí, uno de los niños al leer una "to do lis" de Mr. Ridley lo desenmascara y todos nos enteramos que en efecto si recibió la tercera carta de Fulbert donde anunciaba que seguía vivo y estaba de regreso a Inglaterra.

Un aspecto a destacar y que me gustó bastante de la novela es el poco amor que Eleanor le demuestra a sus 6 hijxs menores; y como esta tan deseosa de casarse con Mr. Ridley para ser dueña y señora de su propia casa, aunque sea una de "tan solo 6 habitaciones" y parezca muy poca cosa compara con la de los Sullivan. Como bien lo dice el pequeño Neville, mamá no va a venir todos los días y es que eso se notaba a leguas desde que anuncio su compromiso con Mr. Ridley.

En fin, aunque haya sido un libro de lenta cocción si me gustó. Y es que el estilazo que maneja Ivy con su prosa llena de diálogos no se lo he visto a nadie más, es un deleite leerla.

[María · Rating 3 out of 5]

En "padres e hijos" Ivy Compton-Burnett nos cuenta la historia de una familia acomodada y de poder, muestra su forma de vivir, costumbres y da a conocer el carácter peculiar de cada personaje. Entorno a esta familia gira un gran acontecimiento que será determinante y que hará que la vida de estos personajes de un giro inesperado.
Tenía muchas ganas de leer a esta autora desde hace tiempo, y una vez finalizado este libro, he de decir que tengo sentimientos encontrados. No me ha parecido una lectura sencilla como tal, la forma que tiene de escribir Ivy es muy pausada y lenta, y además emplea vocabularios y expresiones muy de la época en la que está ambientada la historia. Vamos, que puede ser un lenguaje un poco enreversado para nuestros tiempos. Por otro lado, el libro es casi 100% diálogo, y esto, junto con la lentitud con la que se desarrolla la historia, se hace algo pesado. A medida que iba leyendo, iba intuyendo que en el fondo la familia protagonista tenía secretos muy ocultos. Con los hijos pequeños hay escenas con mucho humor, sobre todo con el pequeño Nevill. Personalmente esto es lo que me ha enganchado y animado a seguir leyendo, creo que de otro modo hubiese abandonado la lectura. De hecho, ocurren giros inesperados que te mantienen aún más pendiente (aunque esto ocurre a más de la mitad del libro), quedando un final que me ha gustado mucho.

[Francis M. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Apparently Gordon of Khartoum professed an intense dislike for fashionable English society, but he was cut down in his prime, and as such didn't live to read Sontag's definition of the sensibility known as Camp, the love of the unnatural. Neither of these things are entirely relevant, but it's important to know that in no circumstance will you be told, directly, the entire truth.