Barbecue-Smith, who writes 1,500 publishable words an hour by "getting in touch" with his "subconscious," to Henry Wimbush, who is obsessed with writing the definitive "History of Crome." Denis's stay proves to be a disaster amid his weak attempts to attract the girl of his dreams and the ridicule he endures regarding his plan to write a novel about love and art. Lambasting the post-Victorian standards of morality, Crome Yellow is a witty masterpiece that, in F. Scott Fitzgerald's words, "is too ironic to be called satire and too scornful to be called irony."

    

    A day later the object is gone and everyone awakens unharmed—except that all the women in the village are discovered to be pregnant.

    But Briony’s incomplete grasp of adult motives and her precocious imagination bring about a crime that will change all their lives, a crime whose repercussions Atonement follows through the chaos and carnage of World War II and into the close of the twentieth century.

    But they are young. All life still lies ahead. Vesey heads off hopefully to pursue a career as an actor. Harriet marries and has a child, becoming a settled member of suburban society. And then Vesey returns, the worse for wear, and with him the love whose memory they have both sentimentally cherished, and even after so much has happened it cannot be denied. But things are not at all as they used to be. Love, it seems, is hardly designed to survive life.      One of the finest twentieth-century English novelists, Elizabeth Taylor, like her contemporaries Graham Greene, Richard Yates, and Michelangelo Antonioni, was a connoisseur of the modern world’s forsaken zones. Her characters are real, people caught out by their own desires and decisions, and they demand our attention. The be-stilled suburban backwaters she sets out to explore shimmer in her books with the punishing clarity of a desert mirage.

    Packed full of zingers and hilarious illustrations, if this doesn't put a smile on your face, nothing will. What's not to like:The other day someone left a piece of plasticine in my dressing room. I didn't know what to make of it. I'm against hunting. I'm actually a hunt saboteur. I go out the night before and shoot the fox. I saw this bloke chatting up a cheetah. He was trying to pull a fast one. Black holes. I don't know what people see in them. So I fancied a game of darts with my mate. He said, 'Nearest the bull goes first.' He went 'Baah' and I went 'Moo'. He said 'You're closest.' Velcro. What a rip-off. Black Beauty. He's a dark horse. I've got a sponge front door. Hey, don't knock it.

    John Emmerson was a lonely man.  He had a wife, a son, friends, but he was isolated from all the people and events about him by the tragedy of his past.  Then he met Cissie, and for the first time his loneliness eased a little.Cissie was everything his wife Ann was not.  She was warm, and compassionate, and generous.  And she was quick to sense the needs of a desolate, unhappy man.But Cissie was also a young widow:  poor, and with a young son to support.  And John Emmerson was one of the town's leading solicitors--a man of importance whose every move was watched by the local dignitaries...

    She was Rose Buckland, Lee's cousin by marriage.From the Paperback edition.