A generous contribution from Slightly Foxed for the SF raffle prize at the Bordeaux Convention in April

This memoir took me very much by surprise: I had a few misconceptions about it. For a start, I imagined the blue remembered hills to be in Africa. Why, I have no idea. Then, I had not made the connection between Rosemary Sutcliff and the author of The Eagle of the Ninth. And even though I have read that book, and not too long ago, I did not realise that she was handicapped and spent most of her life in a wheelchair.

Rosemary did not have a joyful childhood surrounded by jolly friends and relatives like those described in the previous memoir I read, that of Dodie Smith. Unable to walk great distances, with long periods spent in hospital, rather isolated in the albeit delightful English countryside, she suffered horribly from loneliness, and her parents did not understand. Her father, a naval officer, comes across as affectionate but disapproving, while her mother seems selfish and overbearing (it is suggested that she was manic depressive). The book is well written, never complaining, very observant (I love her descriptions of the countryside, the birds and animals, the way she can pinpoint an atmosphere of significant incidents) but became more and more tragic towards the end, even though by this time Rosemary had found her vocation in life.
I would like to know more, whether she found someone to love (I feel extremely cross at Rupert and the way he took her for granted), whether she found the happiness she deserved.

Even though it has made me feel sad, I'm glad I read the book, full of emotion and sincerity.

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