Review by New York Times Review
THE DOWAGER COUNTESS of Grantham was not being waspish (necessarily) when, over a typical white-tie dinner en famille at Downton Abbey, she asked her distant relation Matthew Crawley, "What is a weekend?" Young Matthew, whom the sinking of the Titanic had abruptly transformed into the Abbey's heir, had just amazed those present by announcing that he intended to keep to his law job during the week, despite his sudden elevation in status. Now he baffled the countess with this workaday neologism. As the British historian Adrian Tinniswood explains in "The Long Weekend: Life in the English Country House, 1918-1939," back in the years that followed the Great War, "it still wasn't actually called a weekend" among the "polite circles" that "Downton Abbey" pulled from the silver chest of history. The "accepted phrase" was "Saturday to Monday." For six years, the loyal, not to say feudal, followers of "Downton Abbey" have lapped up Julian Fellowes's lavish period drama not only for its verbal jousting and sumptuous settings but for its resurrection of the social rituals, class distinctions and political watersheds of another era. To some viewers, the end of the series felt like a mournful recessional. Having barely emerged with the Crawleys from the ordeals of the Great War, they were now entering what Tinniswood, in his nostalgic overview, describes as that "period of gentle decline in which the sun set slowly on the British Empire." Never mind. An array of new books provides consoling reassurance that Britannia still rules the page. As any fan of Wharton, Waugh, Wodehouse or James knows well, we Yanks have a special relationship with Britain's illustrious piles. "Between 1870 and 1914," Tinniswood writes, "128 American women and three men married into the British nobility," shoring up the walls they overleapt with Gilded Age wealth. Others acquired these grand residences (or their fire-places, staircases and opulently paneled rooms) without benefit of marriage, either buying them outright or having them dismantled and shipped to our shores. In the mid-1920s, The Manchester Guardian bewailed American Anglophiles' appetite for Britain's patrimony, asserting that "no building of decent age and character is safe from the danger of kidnapping." Happily, its report exaggerated the crisis. And the arrival of the Great Depression helped ensure that most of the United Kingdom's architectural heritage remained safely ensconced in its ancestral terroir. Natalie Livingstone's lively chronology of one storied manse and its canny chatelaines, "The Mistresses of Cliveden: Three Centuries of Scandal, Power, and Intrigue in an English Stately Home," shows that even when they stayed put, majestic properties like Cliveden continually shapeshifted as leading figures of successive ages took them over while jockeying for position on England's chessboard. Americans of the last generation may associate Cliveden with the Profumo affair of the 1960s, which began when Britain's secretary of state for war spotted a London party girl emerging nude from its swimming pool and began a liaison that would later bring down the government. Americans a generation older may associate the house with the notorious "Cliveden Set," presided over by the strong-willed Virginian Nancy Astor, who held gatherings in the lead-up to World War II that were attended by prominent, appeasement-minded Britons and the Germans who sought their support. She had gained the keys to Cliveden upon marrying the American-born Briton Waldorf Astor. With his wife's encouragement, he embarked on a career in politics as a Conservative M.P. When he was named Viscount Astor, following the death of his father, he forfeited his seat in the House of Commons. Lady Astor promptly won his spot, becoming England's first female M.P. Cliveden and female power have always gone hand in glove, as Livingstone exuberantly demonstrates. It was the desire to cuddle in private with his mistress, Anna Maria, Countess of Shrewsbury (possessed of an enticingly plump underchin, known to Restoration rakes as a soggiogaia), that prompted the Duke of Buckingham to draw up plans for the palatial snuggery soon after the death of Anna Maria's husband, whom he had gravely injured in a duel in 1668. Although the duke's wife tolerated the ménage à trois, public outrage made court life awkward, and the king himself intervened. As Buckingham scrambled to salvage his political fortunes, Anna Maria slipped off to a convent and later remarried. Since Cliveden was built in her absence, she will, Livingstone writes, always be its "lost mistress." Elizabeth Villiers, the paramour of William of Orange, was a more successful chatelaine of the estate. After the king helped her find a suitable husband, the couple acquired the deed to Cliveden and set about improving the buildings and gardens - and Elizabeth's reputation. She became an admired society hostess, her conversation dazzling even the likes of Jonathan Swift, who considered her the "wisest woman I ever saw." NEXT UP WAS Augusta, Princess of Wales, wife of the estranged eldest son of George II, who sought to win over the British public and press by turning Cliveden into the sort of showcase of domestic felicity and cultural festivity that would smooth his path to the crown. Thus at an outdoor theatrical event, amid gardens fragrant with honeysuckle, roses and jasmine, "Rule, Britannia" received its first performance, part of a patriotic masque the prince had commissioned in honor of the Anglo-Saxon King Alfred, with whom he identified. But it may have been Harriet, Duchess of Sutherland, Queen Victoria's close friend, who left the most lasting stamp on Cliveden - given that it burned down while she was in charge. The exceedingly clever and efficient Harriet enlisted the architects Charles Barry, George Devey and Henry Clutton to draw on archival blueprints and wholly rebuild the place, adding cottages and granting Cliveden the outline it has retained (for the most part) to the present day. That said, the current chatelaine - the author herself - deserves no small credit for keeping the house's legend alive. She and her husband bought the estate, which is now a hotel and spa, in 2012; then she set about writing this engaging book. Any of her action-filled chapters would merit a miniseries, and Cliveden's website opens up yet another possibility for creative elaboration, inviting armchair travelers to the Edwardian (or other) eras to "Create Your Moment in History." The creation of such moments is, of course, one of the primary purposes of fiction, and "Fall of Poppies," a collection of short stories inspired by the plangent, romantic landscape of imperiled mansions, trench warfare and Anglo-American overlap, contains nine loamy tributes to the genre. These miniatures center on Nov. 11, 1918, the day the Great War ended and its memory began. Two of the stories stand out from the rest. Lauren Willig's "The Record Set Right" is the late-life memoir of a woman who had been taken in by wealthy relatives in 1905, when she was 9. Millie had loved both of the family's sons, and on the morning after Armistice Day, "the day the world healed and we fell to pieces," she had become engaged to one of them. Now 84 and a grandmother, living in Kenya, she receives a letter from England: "Seeing Edward's writing brings it all back: the ragged cutouts on the fire screen; the tattered mane of Whisper, the rocking horse; the smell of barley water and milk pudding; the fall of light across the floorboards on a summer afternoon." Kate Kerrigan's "The Photograph," which opens in Dublin in 2016, concerns the tensions that the prospect of romance between a British soldier and a patriotic Irishwoman unleash at the time of the Armistice, tensions that remain today. Pondering the persistence of this rancor, one of the characters concludes that a concern for heritage is no match for ardor. "Love is love," she reflects. "It didn't matter then, and it doesn't matter now." LIESL SCHILLINGER is a regular contributor to the Book Review.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [June 5, 2016]
Review by Booklist Review
They bore names such as Cliveden and Blenheim, Sissinghurst and Stourhead, and hosted guests from Cole Porter to Wallis Simpson, not to mention countless dukes, earls, kings, and queens. Stately homes and manor houses flourished throughout Britain during the early twentieth century, that unworldly time between world wars when the country's aristocracy retreated to the county to celebrate the survival of one tragedy and steel themselves for what was to come. They spent their seemingly endless leisure time partying as only royals can: fox hunts, costume balls, secret assignations, and public displays of wealth and sophistication. Yet as time and taxes took their inevitable toll, these once-grand homes frequently fell into disrepair or, almost as tragically, foreign hands. With scholarly aplomb and gossipy relish, historian Tinniswood (The Rainborowes, 2013) pulls open the grand front doors of these captivating castles to reveal their innermost workings and outward allure. Now that Downton Abbey is no more, fans of this halcyon, refined world can once again immerse themselves in Britain's quintessential golden era.--Haggas, Carol Copyright 2016 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
English writer and historian Tinniswood (The Rainborowes) elegantly explores the glamorous interwar age of English rural getaways, revealing the not-so-secret affairs of the inhabitants and the reinterpretation of architectural and interior design (particularly the "Wrenaissance" style of the Edwardian Baroque). In the years between the World Wars, sprawling country houses returned to fashion thanks to burgeoning railroad travel. The English nobility-and even royalty, such as the future Edward VIII-enjoyed their minipalace getaways, and soon the trend caught on with the nouveau riche-in particular Americans such as William Randolph Hearst, with his "English" castle in Wales. Plenty of famous and infamous people frequented these weekend homes, but Tinniswood provides little background to make non-British readers unaware of some of the ironies-such as the sight of the revolutionary Gore-Booth sisters in their own Anglo-Irish country house. Instead, Tinniswood's examination-complete with gorgeous images-centers on architecture and design; he admires quality no matter the style and notes where it's missing, especially where a new spouse muddled a project's coherence. Tinniswood's lovely chronological ode to a past lifestyle brims with tales of the elite's tumultuous weekends and shows how the country house's purpose changed with the times as the old social order came to a close. Photos. Agent: George Lucas, InkWell Management. (May) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review
English historian Tinniswood has written a fascinating history of life in the English country house between the world wars. A weekend retreat for the elite, the homes were used for social gatherings, hunting parties, and as symbols of social status. The years following World War I saw the steady decline of these estates, as high taxes and other factors put a strain on their owners. Tinniswood focuses in each chapter on an individual aspect, ranging from social manners and daily life to the design, interior decor, and renovations (electricity and swimming pools were must-haves). In addition to the tantalizing descriptions of the architecture and furnishings, the book is sprinkled with colorful personalities such as the fabulously wealthy politician Philip Sassoon, who entertained artists and celebrities at his sybaritic mansion, Port Lympne, and interior decorator Sybil Colefax, whose clients were sometimes baffled to find that their furniture did not match and their library curtains were hung inside-out. Steven Crossley's refined narration is perfect for the subject matter, sounding like he just stepped out of a scene from Downton Abbey. VERDICT This audiobook will be of interest to fans of architecture and history. ["Will appeal to those interested in 20th-century English social history": LJ 3/15/16 review of the Basic: Perseus hc.]-Phillip Oliver, formerly with Univ. of North Alabama, Florence © Copyright 2017. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
A nostalgic account of life at English country houses during the interbellum era. Tinniswood, who has written frequently about English cultural historyfrom pirates (Pirates of Barbary, 2010) to architecture (The Arts and Crafts House, 1999)returns with a richly researched story about the rise and fall and transformation of country-house living, the effects on same of World War I and the arrival of World War II, and numerous other aspects of the phenomenon. In each chapter the author focuses on a different perspective: the emergence of the country house, country-house living of the royals, various restorations of some places that date back to the Elizabethan era, the arrival of moneyed Americans, upstairs/downstairs stuff, and the changes wrought by more bohemian occupants. Tinniswood teaches us about shooting, hunting, tennis, and golf (some owners built links on their grounds). We learn a lot about the designers, remodelers, occupants, and sales and purchases as well as the endless array of names of these places: Castle Drogo, Gladstone Park, and the like. The author does not suggest that there is anything untoward about any of this vast wealth in the midst of vast poverty, probably calculating that this is the sort of text that will appeal to the myriad viewers of Downton Abbey. Tinniswood includes plenty of engaging details and amusing anecdotese.g., one owner's idea for stringing electrical wires: "they prized up a floorboard at one end and dropped a dead rabbit into the void; then they prized up a floorboard at the other end and unleashed a ferret, with a string tied to his collar. When the ferret had managed to negotiate the joists and reach the rabbit, the string was used to pull through a cable and, hey, presto! The problem was solved." Although there are many pictures and illustrations throughout, readers will surely wish for more images of these remarkable dwellings. An enjoyable tour with a genial, informed, devoted docent. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
