A Jazz Age socialite impulsively adopts an orphaned boy in this humorous, heartwarming tale
In 1929 London, twenty-eight-year-old Lesley Frewen lives a privileged, cultured life. But one thing is missing: love. When her aunt’s female companion suddenly dies, leaving behind a young son, Lesley decides on a whim to adopt four-year-old Patrick—though she doesn’t have any particular affection for children.
As soon as Patrick moves in with her, Lesley gets to work using her connections to enroll him in the finest boys’ school. But she quickly discovers London is no place to raise a child, and they relocate to the tiny village of High Westover.
The hamlet boasts a post office, a church, and a vicarage. There’s an apple orchard and children for Patrick to play with. However, the country comes with its own set of daunting challenges: Lesley can’t imagine how she’ll entertain her friends there! But ultimately life with Patrick will change her, bringing out her capacity to love and showing her the difference between pleasure and happiness.
Originally published: Boston: Little, Brown, 1934.
“To those who ‘discovered’ Margery Sharp with The Nutmeg Tree, the reissue of this earlier novel . . . will be good news. The city-bred-country-won theme is handled with gay humor and enough of sentiment for general appeal.” —Kirkus Reviews
Praise for Margery Sharp
“Sharp has a touch all her own when it comes to taking on social class, sex and its consequences, and the changes that the 20th century brought to both those arenas, most especially for women. She remained, always, both polite and biting, looking at the intoxications and delusions of life and love with wit and clear-eyed sympathy.” —The New York Times
“One of the most gifted writers of comedy in the civilized world today.” —Chicago Daily News
“Highly gifted . . . a wonderful entertainer.” —The New Yorker
“[Sharp’s] dialogue is brilliant, uncannily true. . . . She is an excellent storyteller.” —Elizabeth Bowen
“It is as natural for Miss Sharp to be witty as for a brook trout to have spots.” —The Saturday Review of Literature
