Jill's Reviews > Mothering Sunday

“There never was a day like this, nor even would or could be again.” The day in question is Mothering Day, the day that servants were allowed off to visit their families. It is also the last time that Jane Fairchild, a servant girl, and Paul Sheringham, an upper-class neighbor, will meet for their tryst before he “marries up” and moves to London.

The day – a perfect sunny March day that feels more like June – will start off languishingly and sensually yet will take surprising turns. The initial pace is unhurried, as we play voyeur to Jane and Paul who enjoy their lusty coital time together; after his departure, Jane is left to wander around in an unhurried manner in his wake. Gradually, as the novella reveals its intentions, we discover nuggets about Jane’s past and her future as a well-respected novelist.

In certain ways, Mothering Sunday reminded me of another book I read recently – a book I also loved: My Name is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout. There, too, the theme is profound self-discovery, leading to a career as a writer. And there as well, the focus is on how we remember and convey truths and how fiction can be used to get to “the heart, the nub, the pith: the trade of truth-telling” and what it means to be true to the “very feel of being alive.”

This is an exquisite little book, a paen to the art of fiction and story-telling, a lovingly crafted character tale, and a compelling read. I could have dwelt in this world longer than the 177 pages allotted to me.