I'm currently re-reading I Capture the Castle...
...and while I'd remembered loving it—how could I not, as it's so very, very loveable?—I'd forgotten just how funny it is:
"Anyway, how is it he can discuss literature with her and not with me? I'm always trying to talk to him about books, but he never lets me."
I blame father for lots of things but not for that — because it really is agony to talk to her about books. When I was longing for a calm discussion of Tolstoy's War and Peace, she said "Ah, it's the overlapping dimensions that are so wonderful. I tried to paint it once, on a circular canvas" — and then she couldn't remember who Natasha was.
I adore Topaz.
And I love how much genuine warmth and affection is in the descriptions in the family, even through all of the squabbling.
Previously: I Capture the Castle.
Previously: I Capture the Castle (cont'd).