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    The Enchanted April
    The Enchanted April
    The Enchanted April
    Ebook285 pages5 hours

    The Enchanted April

    By Elizabeth Von Arnim

    4/5

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    Elizabeth von Arnim's novel tells the story of four dissimilar women in 1920s England who leave their damp and rainy environs to go on a holiday to a secluded coastal castle in Italy. Mrs. Arbuthnot and Mrs. Wilkins, who belong to the same ladies' club but have never spoken, become acquainted after reading an advertisement for villas for rent in a newspaper. They find some common ground in that both are struggling to make the best of unhappy marriages. Having decided to seek other ladies to help share expenses, they reluctantly take on the waspish, elderly Mrs. Fisher and the stunning, but aloof, Lady Caroline Dester. The four women come together at the castle and find rejuvenation in the tranquil beauty of their surroundings, rediscovering hope and love.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStart Publishing LLC
    Release dateJan 3, 2013
    ISBN9781625582676
    Author

    Elizabeth Von Arnim

    Elizabeth von Arnim was born in Australia in 1866 and her family moved to England when she was young. Katherine Mansfield was her cousin and they exchanged letters and reviewed each other’s work. Von Arnim married twice and lived in Berlin, Poland, America, France and Switzerland, where she built a chalet to entertain her circle of literary friends, which included her lover, H. G. Wells. Von Arnim’s first novel, Elizabeth in Her German Garden, was semiautobiographical and a huge success on publication in 1898. The Enchanted April, published in 1922, is her most widely read novel and has been adapted numerous times for stage and screen. She died of influenza in 1941.

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    Reviews for The Enchanted April

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    • 4/5
      The story of four women who answer an advertisement to spend a month at a castle in Italy. The atmosphere and the influence of one of the women (Mrs Wilkins) on the others bring about changes in each of them.While this was a little slow in places, overall I found it amusing and enjoyable. The four women are well characterized and the initial suspicion felt by Caroline and Mrs Fisher was very well done. The scene where Rose's husband arrives and is introduced to Caroline was fabulous.
    • 4/5
      Charming with gentle humor.
    • 4/5
      The Enchanted April, first published in 1922, is the story of four women who rent a castle in Italy together one April. The women are strangers to each other at the beginning of the novel, but each of them has her own reasons for wanting a holiday. Spending a month at San Salvatore surrounded by sunshine and flowers gives each woman a chance to resolve her problems and try to find happiness.I'm so glad my first experience with Elizabeth von Arnim was a good one. I hadn't expected something so readable and full of gentle humour and wit and yet with so much depth and such a lot of character development. I also loved the setting and the atmosphere. The images of Italy in the spring were beautifully described, with the sun shining and the flowers bursting into bloom. I defy anybody to read this story and not want to immediately book a trip to Italy this April!As the title suggests, The Enchanted April is a lovely, enchanting story! After enjoying this one so much, I'll definitely be reading more of von Arnim's work.
    • 3/5
      I so wanted this short novel to have the charm of the movie! I know. Silly of me, but this 1920's story of four women from London who rent a beautiful Italian villa based on an advertisement in the newspaper hoping to escape their various lives, left me wanting. The women are not particularly likable and the lengthy internal monologues just wore me down. And then the men arrive! Why? Oh well. Guess I'll just have to watch the movie again.
    • 4/5
      This is delightful. Mrs Wilkins, or a dreary February day in London, sees an advert for a castle in Italy for the month of April. And so she strikes up conversation with Mrs Arbuthnot and the two of them plan to escape their humdrum lives for a month. They decide to invite 2 additional ladies, in order to keep the costs down, so place an advert of their own for some ladies to share. Hence the unlikely assortment of women who find themselves arriving at San Salvatore for the month. Each has her reasons for wanting to escape, each of them has some space and quiet in order to re-assess their lives. It's quite brave to just run away. It can be very difficult to change your way of thinking, especially when it is o deeply ingrained. For the selfless do-gooder, it can be hard to be selfish at times. Each of them undergoes an emotional journey while barely moving from a comfortable chair. It remains surprisingly undated, while society has changed, the feelings and relationships between people have changed little. Hence it is still possible to feel for all of them, in their different ways, their hopes, fears, worries and aspirations. Lovely - and I'm looking at Italian holidays...
    • 4/5
      Someone keep me off the internet or I'll be booking tickets to Italy to find San Salvatore before the evening's out... What a funny, clever observation of life this little classic is. Published in 1922, this novel could as easily have been written yesterday. Social graces may change over the years, but the intricacies of human interaction stay the same.Lotty Wilkins finds herself reading an ad for a castle to rent in Italy one day at her London lunch club, and not having done anything spur of the moment or exciting for years decides on a whim to invite a relative stranger sitting nearby - who she's only seen before at church - to join her in renting the castle for the month of April. Somehow she manages to persuade the quiet, good living Rose Arbuthnot to join her on her mad adventure, and to lessen the damage to her rainy day nest egg they place an ad for two other women to join them to share the rent.Thus begins the madcap tale of their month in an Italian castle with a wealthy, churlish widow and a beautiful young socialite who is tired of the world falling at her feet. Funny yet tender, von Arnim so accurately depicts how differently people can feel on the inside to how they appear on the outside, how we can fear those who threaten our own perceptions of ourselves, and how different people can bring out totally polar sides of our characters, making us bloom or cutting the wind out of our sails.The depictions of the two marriages in the story were particularly cleverly observed - for different reasons, both parties in the two marriages were feeling cut off and unloved, yet it only took for one person in the marriage to reach their hand across the chasm and the other happily reached out to grab hold. I thought that was so smartly executed - actions that come so naturally in the good times can seem such big steps to take when the going gets tough, and yet sometimes it only takes a little change to make everything fall into place again.4 stars - a smart and humorous classic that's still very relevant today.
    • 3/5
      This hundred year old classic novel tells the tale of four English women who are looking for an escape from their lives and decide to take a month-long vacation in an Italian castle...with each other. The women are strangers to one another and come from different walks of life. Two are married and part of the escape is to get away from their husbands and clear their heads. Apart from the initial vacation preparations and character introductions, the entire book takes place in the castle that the four women rent out. They don't go on lavish adventures around the countryside. They don't find mysterious romance with locals. They just enjoy their surroundings and learn about themselves. In our fast-paced adrenaline driven 21st century, the concept may sound terribly boring...and if you go in with that expectation, you'll surely be let down. It is slow paced and lacking in adventure, but from an aesthetic and thoughtful point of view this is an elegant and beautiful piece of work well worth reading. (I understand that there is a movie version as well, but I haven't seen it so I don't know how well it compares)The initial chapters of the book introduce us to Lotty Wilkins, the woman who has become dissatisfied with her life in London and the humdrum relationship with her husband. She reads and advertisement for an idyllic month among the wisteria at an Italian castle and she's decided that she absolutely must go. Unfortunately, she can't afford the entire rent on her own and she doesn't want to ask her husband for the money. She approaches an acquaintance (Mrs. Arbuthnot) who Lotty feels may be similarly dissatisfied and convinces her that they should rent the place together. They then decide to advertise for an interview two other women to join them and before long the entire plan is set. As an interesting twist by the author, as Lotty prepares to tell her husband about her vacation plans, he announces that he would like to take her on a trip...to Italy. This sudden invitation catches her off guard and she nearly changes her mind but then remembers all of the reasons she wants this "girl's month out" and announces that she's committed to this trip and she must go.We get to know the other two women very briefly through the interview process and then meet them more vividly upon arrival in Italy. Mrs. Fisher is an elderly aristocrat and Lady Caroline is a young socialite and each initially seems somewhat stereotypical. As the four women interact, Lotty Wilkins strives to turn them all into close friends and to help each of them experience all of the wonderful possibilities she believes this trip will offer them. To Lotty's dismay, both Lady Caroline and Mrs. Fisher seem only to want to be left alone. Lady Caroline (who in her self-reflection is known as "Scrap") is trying to get away from the noise and chaos of life and constant suitors in an effort to be fully introspective and figure out what she wants. Mrs. Fisher wants a certain amount of decorum and respect and really just kind of wants to be alone to indulge in the location. This leaves Lotty to befriend Mrs. Arbuthnot. Within a short time they are on first name basis (Lotty is comfortable much quicker but soon Rose Arbuthnot acquiesces). Lotty takes on a sense of romanticism and love of life that she tries to share with everyone. Little by little she works to wear down the resolve of the other ladies and turn them all into friends.There are a few revelations and plot surprises that come up so I won't go into detail of everything that happens in Italy. In reality, the main plot elements are less important than the character development and the realizations that each woman comes to about her own character and her views on life and those around her. The novel is filled with thoughtful and insightful introspection as well as great interaction between the characters that transitions them from stereotypical archetypes into more fully fleshed out women. The language and structure of the book is poetic and romantic which serves as a nice framework for the kind of character growth we experience. This is a nice classic that's worth reading.***3 out of 5 stars
    • 5/5
      An enchanting story with enchanting characters who are transformed by their holiday in an enchanting locale. Simply loved this book with its well-drawn female characters, magical setting and happy ending for all.
    • 4/5
      If you follow my reviews, you'll know I almost never read fiction, but an article in the November 7, 2016 issue of TIME magazine entitled "Read a novel: it's just what the doctor ordered" caught my eye and this was the only title my local library had from the recommended list--in a new Vintage edition with an excellent introduction by Brenda Bowen.

      The Enchanted April was written in 1922 by an author who was very popular at the time...and as such it would have been easy to assume that Enchanted April would be a novel that could be picked up, read, and discarded as 'light reading'. The TIME listing of a 100-year old work that appeared to fall into the 'light romance' category called, however, for a more generous approach. This proved absolutely correct because what I discovered was the sort of story P. G. Wodehouse would have written had he been female--funny, full of amusing concocted situations and misunderstandings set in those delightful 1920s years of propriety and 'place', that when considered is as relevant today as it was then. Human nature hasn't changed much in 100 years, and the four main female protagonists who decide to rent an Italian villa on the sea for the month of April--each to escape their own individual unhappy states--is the perfect platform for that discovery. I won't divulge the story but three men also enter into the story as well as Jeeves-like staff (had he been Italian) and enchanting descriptions of springtime flowers. Von Arnim certainly knew her gardens (and Italy in the spring).

      I also loved the language--its wit and sophistication, its perfect choice of words that all seem quite normal until at sentence-end you find yourself smiling or even laughing out loud. The Enchanted April was later staged, and I'm sure if it were staged again today, would have a second run on life as did Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap. As for TIME's proposal that select novels can "improve one's mental health" or "your ability to empathise with your fellow man," you must judge for yourself.
    • 3/5
      I love the idea of this book, but the execution is sadly lacking. I was hoping for a novel combining the beauty of the Italian coastline with some sparkling female wit and a compelling plot, but The Enchanted April is basically about a group of women attempting to philosophise about their lives - treating the reader to some random and dull internal monologues in the process - who then forget about it all when some men turn up and make everything happy and smiley again. There are a few good bits in the book, mainly at the beginning, and at least the arrival of the men drives the plot forward a bit (although why *should* it be the men who propel the story along, feminists cry), but the rest of it does unfortunately show its age.
    • 5/5
      This is a perfectly enchanting book about a month spent in an enchanting place. Lottie Wilkins and Rose Arbuthnot are two rather depressed suburban housewives living in Hampstead. outside of London. Lottie is oppressed by her penny pinching husband, and Rose is totally ignored by her bon vivant writer spouse. One day, while in London doing their shopping, they meet at their women's club and happen to see an ad in The Times for a villa in Tuscany for rent in the month of April. Suddenly, an image of something different appears in both their minds and they decide they must rent it it and get away. To ease the costs they recruit two other women: Mrs. Fisher, a Victorian widow who lives in the ghostly past with her photographs and Lady Caroline Dester, who is trying to get away from all the men pursuing her in London.How this odd assortment of characters lives together and become transformed by the magic of the villa and of April in Italy makes for the most delightful reading. If this book doesn't make you smile, you have no joy in your soul.
    • 4/5
      This novel tells the story of four women in the early 1920′s who share a small, remote Italian castle for a month, and in doing so their lives forever change.The women range in age from late 20′s to early 60′s. Each of them has a central problem that has caused them to become stultified. But the beauty of the Italian countryside, the contrast with dreary England, and the serendipity of the company of strangers whom they’d never spend time with at home because of class and personality differences, cause each of them to bloom and their authentic selves to emerge in all their vibrancy.Lottie Wilkins and Rose Arbuthnot are the best developed of the four characters. Mrs. Wilkins, an intelligent, imaginative, loving, accepting woman is stuck with a self-admiring, respectable, stingy–emotionally as well as materially–husband who cares only for what will enhance his image and thereby his career. As a result she has become bland, self-effacing, shabby in presence and in dress.Mrs. Arbuthnot holds a secret passion for her husband which she has suppressed for years. Ashamed of his occupation, she has sublimated her passion for him and her shame into good works. Her religiosity is of the stern and judgmental sort, and she has become someone who allows herself no pleasures even though her husband would delight in her having them.I especially enjoyed Arnim’s wit in describing Lottie’s and Rose’s marriages. She perfectly depicts them gradually coming out of their shells because of their growing friendship and the adventure they undertake together.The other two women in the castle foursome are Mrs. Fisher and Caroline Dester. Mrs. Fisher is dedicated to the past, obsessed by the glory of her youthful acquaintances, all of them giants compared to the paltry (to her mind) figures of the 1920′s literary and political scene. Caroline Dester is a cynical young woman who detests her own beauty because, along with her wealth, it causes her constant and unwanted attention from men. She craves solitude. These women, too, find themselves changed in the castle.Elizabeth Von Arnim, born in 1866, wrote The Enchanted April in the early 1920s. (As an aside, I was interested to discover that Katherine Mansfield was her cousin–quite the literary family, at least the women.) Her first husband was domineering, the “man of wrath,” she called him, and this intimate knowledge of a difficult and painful marriage enlivened The Enchanted April: "Mr. Wilkins, a solicitor, encouraged thrift except that branch of it which got into his food. He did not call that food, he called it bad housekeeping. But for the thrift which, like moth, penetrated into Mrs. Wilkins’ clothes and spoilt them, he had much praise. "The Enchanted April is brilliant in its first half, enjoyable in the second, which is padded with a bit too much description of weekly changes in the flora. Overall it’s a great read for summer, sickness or stress. Uplifting, pleasurable, and available for free on Gutenberg if you have an e-reader.
    • 4/5
      "The kindred points of heaven and home," continued Mrs. Arbuthnot, who was used to finishing her sentences. "Heaven is in our home." "It isn't," said Mrs. Wilkins, again surprisingly.Mrs. Arbuthnot was taken aback. Then she said gently, "Oh, but it is. It is there if we choose, if we make it.""I do choose, and I do make it, and it isn't," said Mrs. Wilkins.One day Mrs. Wilkins, due to the misery of her loveless marriage and the un-lovely weather in London, is drawn to an advertisement to let a castle in Italy that promises a lot of sunshine and wisteria. She accosts the equally miserable and pious Mrs. Arbuthnot and convinces her to share the expenses and escape from their lives for one glorious month. They decide to advertise for two other women to come along and share expenses and meet the curmudgeonly and oh-so-proper Mrs. Fisher and the very beautiful Lady Caroline. The month in Italy proves very healing and surprisingly, romantic. Last year I read von Arnim's [In The Mountains] and loved it. Books written like this usually bore me to pieces, but for some reason, Elizabeth von Arnim manages to pull it off, and very, very well. She writes mostly about the inner thoughts of her characters and while not much is going on externally there is very much happening in the inner lives of all of her characters. There is an undercurrent in her writing, judging by the two books I have read by her so far, of the Divine healing power of nature, "In the warmth and light of what she was looking at, of what to her was a manifestation, and entirely new side of God, how could one be discomposed?" and a very dry sense of humour. "Ought they to pay him? Not, they thought, if they were going to be robbed and perhaps murdered. Surely on such an occasion one did not pay."My only complaint of the book is that it does seem to end rather abruptly. Also, I think it should come with a warning. I have a terrible urge to pack up everything and go on vacation, preferably Italy. Short of that I'm finding it very hard to not go and spend every last penny I have on flowers.A slow moving book like this is probably not everyone's cup of tea, but for those who can handle the slow-to-a-crawl pace, it is a lovely vicarious vacation and a great lighter read when your soul longs for a "gentle read."I would give it a solid four stars.
    • 4/5
      This was a cute romance written in 1922. It wasn't romance as most of us would know it; but it was more of a comedic romance; just a very sweet story. Three very disenchanted, bored, middle-aged housewives who could not be more unalike decide to rent an Italian villa for the summer and split the costs. They found a 4th roommate, a member of the aristocracy who just wants to be left alone, or does she? When the women arrive abroad, they find that the beauty of the Italian April truly enchants them—and that it begins to make them feel not only more connected with their inner self, but also more generous and loving to the world around them. A delightful read, if not slow in a few places.
    • 5/5
      I found this paperback at the library. Partway through, the flow of words was so strikingly old-fashioned and pleasant that I was not surprised to learn the copyright date was 1922. No wonder I was enjoying it so much!Listen: a sour old woman – “Dignity demanded that she should have nothing to do with fresh leaves at her age; and yet there it was – the feeling that presently, that at any moment now, she might crop out all green.”Four London women, of varying unsatisfying circumstances, combine resources to rent a castle in Italy for a month. The sun and beauty surrounding them begin to work a subtle magic on their souls.The author knows a few neat secrets of human nature.Elizabeth von Arnim originally published by her first name only, and I found a used copy at my local bookstore in the E’s.I’ve read one other book by this author – Introduction to Sally, which begins hilariously, but the tongue is set so deeply in the cheek that muscle cramp sets in.Enchanted April was filmed in 1994 (hence the paperback re-issue.) The movie is a faithful rendering, but some of the action would be obscure without having read the novel first.
    • 4/5
      Four women respond to a newspaper advertisement and together rent a house in Italy for the month of April. This is delightfully funny and observant, with idyllic descriptions of spring in Italy. I liked the friendships which develop between four very different women, and the way they are challenged -- or perhaps it’s more accurate to say, inspired -- to reconsider their opinions about others.The ending is very tidy and conventional, but that is not so surprising. (I have the impression that there were not very many options for happy endings that a 1920s novelist could easily give to unhappily married women -- if those character made choices that were too unconventional they would likely face disapproval from their community and the author might face disapproval from hers, too.)Reading nothing but sunshine and fairytale endings would become unsatisfying, no matter how wonderful the prose, but, sometimes, sunshine and fairytale endings are just want one wants.Worse than jokes in the morning did she hate the idea of husbands. And everybody was always trying to press them on her -- all her relations, all her friends, all the evening papers. After all, she could only marry one, anyhow; but you would think from the way everybody talked, and especially those persons who wanted to be husbands, that she could marry at least a dozen.
    • 4/5
      This was a cute romance written in 1922. It wasn't romance as most of us would know it; but it was more of a comedic romance; just a very sweet story. Three very disenchanted, bored, middle-aged housewives who could not be more unalike decide to rent an Italian villa for the summer and split the costs. They found a 4th roommate, a member of the aristocracy who just wants to be left alone, or does she? When the women arrive abroad, they find that the beauty of the Italian April truly enchants them—and that it begins to make them feel not only more connected with their inner self, but also more generous and loving to the world around them. A delightful read, if not slow in a few places.
    • 5/5
      Loved this book! I love the author's style of writing,poetic and lilting.The characters made me giggle and laugh and at time scrunch up in frustration.Well written,wonderful story. The descriptions of scenery just abt transport you there!I will have to see if I can get the movie!
      Highly suggested.Loved it!
    • 4/5
      A short but sweet tale of four women, two middle-aged, one young and one older widow, who discover more about themselves when they are presented with a wonderful opportunity to rent a castle in Italy. The story is an inter-war one, a mild sadness of what had happened in the war lingers as an echo but isn't on the agenda. The four women find that they have a greater chance to be more themselves away from their ordinary lives, when they have a chance to look back and reflect rather than being caught up with it. Things change when two of them decide to invite their husbands.I enjoyed this gentle, engaging read and then went down a rabbit hole of researching women's clubs in Ireland and England. I would love to be able to afford a month away from my life.
    • 3/5
      This was a pleasant read, quite funny at times, a good 'tweener if you are doing some heavy books. The end wrapped up rather quickly after a slow and kind of draggy start in England. I think she could have drawn that out a bit more. The descriptions of the locale in Italy were lovely. Had a hard time at the end as the last three chapters wouldn't download on the app I was using, but thanks to another GR member, Leslie, I worked it out! Now if I could only get the .wma I borrowed from my library onto my ipod or discs. Not my week!
    • 4/5
      This addition to Penguin's Classics catalog is being released together with Brenda Bowen's tribute tale, "Enchanted August." Both stories concern four strangers who take a vacation rental for a month to escape their dreary or over-complicated lives. In this novel, four women run off to Italy and use the time to rediscover themselves. In "August" the three women and one gent use the weeks to reinvent themselves, their marriages, their careers. I enjoyed reading this volume as well as it's contemporary homage. The writing style from 1922 can seem a bit out dated, but it retains its elegance for me. My thanks to Penguin's First to Read program for a complimentary copy of both books.
    • 3/5
      fluffy and atmospheric, but at time the observations are just the wrong side of twee.
    • 4/5
      3.25-3.5 StarsFour women travel to exotic Italy to rediscover themselves in this historical novel. The Italian countryside is described and discussed so well it's like it's a character unto itself. I love the journey that the MCs take to attempt to find themselves. It feels just a little dated, but if you are into classics, then this book may be up your alley.Penguin First to Read Galley
    • 5/5
      “It was, that year, a particularly wonderful spring, and of all the months at San Salvatore April, if the weather was fine, was best. May scorched and withered; March was restless, and could be hard and cold in its brightness; but April came along softly like a blessing, and if it were a fine April it was so beautiful that it was impossible not to feel different, not to feel stirred and touched.”One of my aunts recently introduced me to fruit infused water. In the scorching Texas heat, which has already begun its brutal descent, cucumber lemon water has been extremely refreshing and invigorating–a definite heat repellant. That’s exactly how I would describe the taste and effect of this book on me after my previous reading choices.Four British women, all strangers and unique to each other, let a castle high up on the Italian Riviera in April to escape the dismal London weather. Although initially all seem to be evading the weather and personal living situations, the magical effects of their surroundings in Italy produce profound effects on each of them. At once introspective, each begins to realize what they yearn for most, and go about setting things to rights.While the theme reminded me of several of E.M. Forster’s novels, I loved the unique female perspective of each character. At turns hilarious and romantic, I enjoyed every aspect of it so much so that I color coded each character with sticky note flags so I could easily find passages when a good laugh is needed. I was smitten by all of the women, and found bits of myself in each of them. Von Armin’s poetic descriptions of gardens and the lush landscapes also enriched the novel; I felt like I was there. What an affordable and ideal way to travel!
    • 4/5
      Four dissimilar women in 1920s England rent a chateau in San Salvatore, Italy, for a month - they leave rainy and grey London for an adventure of their lives. They are all transformed by the change. I’ve watched the movie adaptation of this book several times - it’s one of my favorite movies - so it was nice to read the novel and get more into the head of these characters. Two single women, two married women - they all find friendship and love in different ways. Nothing dramatic happens at all - it’s all about the inner change they experience when the sun and flowers and quietness works its magic on them.The movie get the feel of the novel very good and precise. In my head I had the characters from the movie while listening. Nice narration from Nadia May.
    • 4/5
      Mrs Wilkins (Lotty) is spending a February afternoon at the Women’s Club when she happens to see an advertisement in the newspaper – a “castle” to let for the month of April in sunny Italy. This very proper British wife of an up-and-coming solicitor would never dream of doing anything so rash as going on holiday without her husband. And yet … who could blame her for desiring “wisteria and sunshine,” and she does have that little nest egg saved. Oh, but she couldn’t possibly … As she turns from her reverie she sees that Mrs Arbuthnot (Rose), a woman she knows only by sight and with whom she’s never spoken, is now looking at the same page of the paper. Could she possibly be looking at the same advertisement? Could they manage it if they did it together, perhaps with one or two other women as well?Thus begins a delightful adventure for four women who really do not know one another but agree to share the unique property. It is not quite what they were expecting, but somehow everything they dreamed of; friendship and love bloom along with wisteria in the Italian sunshine.This is a gentle read. The story moves with the languorous pace of a day spent relaxing in the sun, with nothing more to worry about than what time lunch will be served. Von Arnim really gives us just a snapshot of these four women during one month spent in Italy; the reader learns about them in dribs and drabs … much as you would discover a new acquaintance (and hoped-for friend).I found Lotty’s enthusiasm infectious; in fact, it is she who brings the others to a sense of peace and happiness. Rose and Lady Caroline Dester are perhaps the least happy with their lives in London, but each begins to flower as she relaxes and sheds her anxieties and worries. And Mrs Fisher has possibly found a true friend to comfort her in her old age. We get to know a little about their lives before they came to San Salvatore, but we are left to imagine what will happen once they leave.One thing that surprised me was Lotty’s seeming ability to “see” what will happen. In that respect there was a bit of “magic” to the tale, and the story reminded me of modern works by Sarah Addison Allen.
    • 3/5
      2.5 stars.

      This wasn't the most enjoyable read, and it seemed to come to a complete stop all at once, which didn't really work for me. I didn't mind the characters so much, but nothing ever really happened.
    • 5/5
      All the radiance of April in Italy lay gathered together at her feet. The sun poured in on her. the sea lay asleep in it, hardly stirring. Across the bay the lovely mountains, exquisitely different in colour, were asleep too in the light; and underneath her window, at the bottom of the flower-started grass slope from which the wall of the castle rose up, was a great cypress, cutting through the delicate blues and violets and rose-colours of the mountains and the sea like a great black sword.I've just spent a few days at the most glorious medieval Italian castle, well off the beaten path with plenty of lovely sitting areas, indoors and out, and flowers bursting into bloom at every turn. The setting alone proved a perfect escape at the end of a busy day, and it was made even better by a truly lovely story.Lottie and Rose make an impulsive decision to respond to an advertisement for the Italian castle, which is available for the month of April. Eager to escape their husbands and the wet English spring, they pool their savings to pay the rent, and then place an ad themselves for two women to share the accommodation and expenses. The result is an unlikely foursome, including the elderly Mrs Fisher, and the beautiful wealthy socialite Caroline Dester. The castle proves to be everything they dreamed of, and begins working its transformation almost immediately. The women, who really have nothing at all in common, function independently at first but gradually find connection and even friendship. And there are surprises in store, as their holiday works its magic in other parts of their lives.I enjoyed the 1991 film adaptation very much, and even though I remembered the basic outline of the story, I still found myself caught up in its magic. I could almost smell the flowers in the gardens, feel the sunshine warm on my shoulders, and taste the delicious meals prepared by the castle's cook. And I loved the relationships between the women, and the way each of them grew personally over the course of their holiday. This is a book worth saving for a rainy day re-read.
    • 4/5
      This book is as a good a read as the movie.

      I listened to the reading of this book from Audible.com which was very well done.

      I recommend the movie as well as the book. The book is a fine example of humorous writing. I ordered the book to study how it was "translated" to a screenplay.
    • 3/5
      I was so excited to read this, hearing nothing but positive and glowing reviews. Perhaps my expectations were too high, but I found this so insipid and fluffy. Each and every character thoroughly annoyed me at some point (and several at most points). I kept reading because everyone seemed to find the ending particularly enjoyable, but by the time I reached it, I was just thankful it was over. It was a very sweet, very light, not particularly interesting book. The most compelling passages were describing the scenery, which I usually skim. I think this needed just a little more edge, which if you know me at all, is saying something.

    Book preview

    The Enchanted April - Elizabeth Von Arnim

    Chapter 1

    It began in a Woman’s Club in London on a February afternoon—an uncomfortable club, and a miserable afternoon—when Mrs. Wilkins, who had come down from Hampstead to shop and had lunched at her club, took up The Times from the table in the smoking-room, and running her listless eye down the Agony Column saw this:

    To Those Who Appreciate Wistaria and Sunshine. Small mediaeval Italian Castle on the shores of the Mediterranean to be Let furnished for the month of April. Necessary servants remain. Z, Box 1000, The Times.

    That was its conception; yet, as in the case of many another, the conceiver was unaware of it at the moment.

    So entirely unaware was Mrs. Wilkins that her April for that year had then and there been settled for her that she dropped the newspaper with a gesture that was both irritated and resigned, and went over to the window and stared drearily out at the dripping street.

    Not for her were mediaeval castles, even those that are specially described as small. Not for her the shores in April of the Mediterranean, and the wisteria and sunshine. Such delights were only for the rich. Yet the advertisement had been addressed to persons who appreciate these things, so that it had been, anyhow addressed too to her, for she certainly appreciated them; more than anybody knew; more than she had ever told. But she was poor. In the whole world she possessed of her very own only ninety pounds, saved from year to year, put by carefully pound by pound, out of her dress allowance. She had scraped this sum together at the suggestion of her husband as a shield and refuge against a rainy day. Her dress allowance, given her by her father, was £100 a year, so that Mrs. Wilkins’s clothes were what her husband, urging her to save, called modest and becoming, and her acquaintance to each other, when they spoke of her at all, which was seldom for she was very negligible, called a perfect sight.

    Mr. Wilkins, a solicitor, encouraged thrift, except that branch of it which got into his food. He did not call that thrift, he called it bad housekeeping. But for the thrift which, like moth, penetrated into Mrs. Wilkins’s clothes and spoilt them, he had much praise. You never know, he said, when there will be a rainy day, and you may be very glad to find you have a nest-egg. Indeed we both may.

    Looking out of the club window into Shaftesbury Avenue—hers was an economical club, but convenient for Hampstead, where she lived, and for Shoolbred’s, where she shopped—Mrs. Wilkins, having stood there some time very drearily, her mind’s eye on the Mediterranean in April, and the wisteria, and the enviable opportunities of the rich, while her bodily eye watched the really extremely horrible sooty rain falling steadily on the hurrying umbrellas and splashing omnibuses, suddenly wondered whether perhaps this was not the rainy day Mellersh—Mellersh was Mr. Wilkins—had so often encouraged her to prepare for, and whether to get out of such a climate and into the small mediaeval castle wasn’t perhaps what Providence had all along intended her to do with her savings. Part of her savings, of course; perhaps quite a small part. The castle, being mediaeval, might also be dilapidated, and dilapidations were surely cheap. She wouldn’t in the least mind a few of them, because you didn’t pay for dilapidations which were already there, on the contrary—by reducing the price you had to pay they really paid you. But what nonsense to think of it . . .

    She turned away from the window with the same gesture of mingled irritation and resignation with which she had laid down The Times, and crossed the room towards the door with the intention of getting her mackintosh and umbrella and fighting her way into one of the overcrowded omnibuses and going to Shoolbred’s on her way home and buying some soles for Mellersh’s dinner—Mellersh was difficult with fish and liked only soles, except salmon—when she beheld Mrs. Arbuthnot, a woman she knew by sight as also living in Hampstead and belonging to the club, sitting at the table in the middle of the room on which the newspapers and magazines were kept, absorbed, in her turn, in the first page of The Times.

    Mrs. Wilkins had never yet spoken to Mrs. Arbuthnot, who belonged to one of the various church sets, and who analysed, classified, divided and registered the poor; whereas she and Mellersh, when they did go out, went to the parties of impressionist painters, of whom in Hampstead there were many. Mellersh had a sister who had married one of them and lived up on the Heath, and because of this alliance Mrs. Wilkins was drawn into a circle which was highly unnatural to her, and she had learned to dread pictures. She had to say things about them, and she didn’t know what to say. She used to murmur, marvelous, and feel that it was not enough. But nobody minded. Nobody listened. Nobody took any notice of Mrs. Wilkins. She was the kind of person who is not noticed at parties. Her clothes, infested by thrift, made her practically invisible; her face was non-arresting; her conversation was reluctant; she was shy. And if one’s clothes and face and conversation are all negligible, thought Mrs. Wilkins, who recognized her disabilities, what, at parties, is there left of one?

    Also she was always with Wilkins, that clean-shaven, fine-looking man, who gave a party, merely by coming to it, a great air. Wilkins was very respectable. He was known to be highly thought of by his senior partners. His sister’s circle admired him. He pronounced adequately intelligent judgments on art and artists. He was pithy; he was prudent; he never said a word too much, nor, on the other had, did he ever say a word too little. He produced the impression of keeping copies of everything he said; and he was so obviously reliable that it often happened that people who met him at these parties became discontented with their own solicitors, and after a period of restlessness extricated themselves and went to Wilkins.

    Naturally Mrs. Wilkins was blotted out. She, said his sister, with something herself of the judicial, the digested, and the final in her manner, should stay at home. But Wilkins could not leave his wife at home. He was a family solicitor, and all such have wives and show them. With his in the week he went to parties, and with his on Sundays he went to church. Being still fairly young—he was thirty-nine—and ambitious of old ladies, of whom he had not yet acquired in his practice a sufficient number, he could not afford to miss church, and it was there that Mrs. Wilkins became familiar, though never through words, with Mrs. Arbuthnot.

    She saw her marshalling the children of the poor into pews. She would come in at the head of the procession from the Sunday School exactly five minutes before the choir, and get her boys and girls neatly fitted into their allotted seats, and down on their little knees in their preliminary prayer, and up again on their feet just as, to the swelling organ, the vestry door opened, and the choir and clergy, big with the litanies and commandments they were presently to roll out, emerged. She had a sad face, yet she was evidently efficient. The combination used to make Mrs. Wilkins wonder, for she had been told my Mellersh, on days when she had only been able to get plaice, that if one were efficient one wouldn’t be depressed, and that if one does one’s job well one becomes automatically bright and brisk.

    About Mrs. Arbuthnot there was nothing bright and brisk, though much in her way with the Sunday School children that was automatic; but when Mrs. Wilkins, turning from the window, caught sight of her in the club she was not being automatic at all, but was looking fixedly at one portion of the first page of The Times, holding the paper quite still, her eyes not moving. She was just staring; and her face, as usual, was the face of a patient and disappointed Madonna.

    Mrs. Wilkins watched her a minute, trying to screw up courage to speak to her. She wanted to ask her if she had seen the advertisement. She did not know why she wanted to ask her this, but she wanted to. How stupid not to be able to speak to her. She looked so kind. She looked so unhappy. Why couldn’t two unhappy people refresh each other on their way through this dusty business of life by a little talk—real, natural talk, about what they felt, what they would have liked, what they still tried to hope? And she could not help thinking that Mrs. Arbuthnot, too, was reading that very same advertisement. Her eyes were on the very part of the paper. Was she, too, picturing what it would be like—the colour, the fragrance, the light, the soft lapping of the sea among little hot rocks? Colour, fragrance, light, sea; instead of Shaftesbury Avenue, and the wet omnibuses, and the fish department at Shoolbred’s, and the Tube to Hampstead, and dinner, and to-morrow the same and the day after the same and always the same . . .

    Suddenly Mrs. Wilkins found herself leaning across the table. Are you reading about the mediaeval castle and the wisteria? she heard herself asking.

    Naturally Mrs. Arbuthnot was surprised; but she was not half so much surprised as Mrs. Wilkins was at herself for asking.

    Mrs. Arbuthnot had not yet to her knowledge set eyes on the shabby, lank, loosely-put-together figure sitting opposite her, with its small freckled face and big grey eyes almost disappearing under a smashed-down wet-weather hat, and she gazed at her a moment without answering. She was reading about the mediaeval castle and the wisteria, or rather had read about it ten minutes before, and since then had been lost in dreams—of light, of colour, of fragrance, of the soft lapping of the sea among little hot rocks . . .

    Why do you ask me that? she said in her grave voice, for her training of and by the poor had made her grave and patient.

    Mrs. Wilkins flushed and looked excessively shy and frightened. Oh, only because I saw it too, and I thought perhaps—I thought somehow— she stammered.

    Whereupon Mrs. Arbuthnot, her mind being used to getting people into lists and divisions, from habit considered, as she gazed thoughtfully at Mrs. Wilkins, under what heading, supposing she had to classify her, she could most properly be put.

    And I know you by sight, went on Mrs. Wilkins, who, like all the shy, once she was started; lunged on, frightening herself to more and more speech by the sheer sound of what she had said last in her ears. Every Sunday—I see you every Sunday in church—

    In church? echoed Mrs. Arbuthnot.

    And this seems such a wonderful thing—this advertisement about the wisteria—and—

    Mrs. Wilkins, who must have been at least thirty, broke off and wriggled in her chair with the movement of an awkward and embarrassed schoolgirl.

    It seems so wonderful, she went on in a kind of burst, and—it is such a miserable day . . .

    And then she sat looking at Mrs. Arbuthnot with the eyes of an imprisoned dog.

    This poor thing, thought Mrs. Arbuthnot, whose life was spent in helping and alleviating, needs advice.

    She accordingly prepared herself patiently to give it.

    If you see me in church, she said, kindly and attentively, I suppose you live in Hampstead too?

    Oh yes, said Mrs. Wilkins. And she repeated, her head on its long thin neck drooping a little as if the recollection of Hampstead bowed her, Oh yes.

    Where? asked Mrs. Arbuthnot, who, when advice was needed, naturally first proceeded to collect the facts.

    But Mrs. Wilkins, laying her hand softly and caressingly on the part of The Times where the advertisement was, as though the mere printed words of it were precious, only said, Perhaps that is why this seems so wonderful.

    No—I think that’s wonderful anyhow, said Mrs. Arbuthnot, forgetting facts and faintly sighing.

    Then you were reading it?

    Yes, said Mrs. Arbuthnot, her eyes going dreamy again.

    Wouldn’t it be wonderful? murmured Mrs. Wilkins.

    Wonderful, said Mrs. Arbuthnot. Her face, which had lit up, faded into patience again. Very wonderful, she said. But it’s no use wasting one’s time thinking of such things.

    Oh, but it is, was Mrs. Wilkins’s quick, surprising reply; surprising because it was so much unlike the rest of her—the characterless coat and skirt, the crumpled hat, the undecided wisp of hair straggling out, And just the considering of them is worth while in itself—such a change from Hampstead—and sometimes I believe—I really do believe—if one considers hard enough one gets things.

    Mrs. Arbuthnot observed her patiently. In what category would she, supposing she had to, put her?

    Perhaps, she said, leaning forward a little, you will tell me your name. If we are to be friends—she smiled her grave smile—as I hope we are, we had better begin at the beginning.

    Oh yes—how kind of you. I’m Mrs. Wilkins, said Mrs. Wilkins. I don’t expect, she added, flushing, as Mrs. Arbuthnot said nothing, that it conveys anything to you. Sometimes it—it doesn’t seem to convey anything to me either. But—she looked round with a movement of seeking help—I am Mrs. Wilkins.

    She did not like her name. It was a mean, small name, with a kind of facetious twist, she thought, about its end like the upward curve of a pugdog’s tail. There it was, however. There was no doing anything with it. Wilkins she was and Wilkins she would remain; and though her husband encouraged her to give it on all occasions as Mrs. Mellersh-Wilkins she only did that when he was within earshot, for she thought Mellersh made Wilkins worse, emphasizing it in the way Chatsworth on the gate-posts of a villa emphasizes the villa.

    When first he suggested she should add Mellersh she had objected for the above reason, and after a pause—Mellersh was much too prudent to speak except after a pause, during which presumably he was taking a careful mental copy of his coming observation—he said, much displeased, But I am not a villa, and looked at her as he looks who hopes, for perhaps the hundredth time, that he may not have married a fool.

    Of course he was not a villa, Mrs. Wilkins assured him; she had never supposed he was; she had not dreamed of meaning . . . she was only just thinking . . .

    The more she explained the more earnest became Mellersh’s hope, familiar to him by this time, for he had then been a husband for two years, that he might not by any chance have married a fool; and they had a prolonged quarrel, if that can be called a quarrel which is conducted with dignified silence on one side and earnest apology on the other, as to whether or no Mrs. Wilkins had intended to suggest that Mr. Wilkins was a villa.

    I believe, she had thought when it was at last over—it took a long while—that anybody would quarrel about anything when they’ve not left off being together for a single day for two whole years. What we both need is a holiday.

    My husband, went on Mrs. Wilkins to Mrs. Arbuthnot, trying to throw some light on herself, is a solicitor. He— She cast about for something she could say elucidatory of Mellersh, and found: He’s very handsome.

    Well, said Mrs. Arbuthnot kindly, that must be a great pleasure to you.

    Why? asked Mrs. Wilkins.

    Because, said Mrs. Arbuthnot, a little taken aback, for constant intercourse with the poor had accustomed her to have her pronouncements accepted without question, because beauty—handsomeness— is a gift like any other, and if it is properly used—

    She trailed off into silence. Mrs. Wilkins’s great grey eyes were fixed on her, and it seemed suddenly to Mrs. Arbuthnot that perhaps she was becoming crystallized into a habit of exposition, and of exposition after the manner of nursemaids, through having an audience that couldn’t but agree, that would be afraid, if it wished, to interrupt, that didn’t know, that was, in fact, at her mercy.

    But Mrs. Wilkins was not listening; for just then, absurd as it seemed, a picture had flashed across her brain, and there were two figures in it sitting together under a great trailing wisteria that stretched across the branches of a tree she didn’t know, and it was herself and Mrs. Arbuthnot—she saw them—she saw them. And behind them, bright in sunshine, were old grey walls—the mediaeval castle —she saw it—they were there . . .

    She therefore stared at Mrs. Arbuthnot and did not hear a word she said. And Mrs. Arbuthnot stared too at Mrs. Wilkins, arrested by the expression on her face, which was swept by the excitement of what she saw, and was as luminous and tremulous under it as water in sunlight when it is ruffled by a gust of wind. At this moment, if she had been at a party, Mrs. Wilkins would have been looked at with interest.

    They stared at each other; Mrs. Arbuthnot surprised, inquiringly, Mrs. Wilkins with the eyes of some one who has had a revelation. Of course. That was how it could be done. She herself, she by herself, couldn’t afford it, and wouldn’t be able, even if she could afford it, to go there all alone; but she and Mrs. Arbuthnot together . . .

    She leaned across the table, Why don’t we try and get it? she whispered.

    Mrs. Arbuthnot became even more wide-eyed. Get it? she repeated.

    Yes, said Mrs. Wilkins, still as though she were afraid of being overheard. Not just sit here and say How wonderful, and then go home to Hampstead without having put out a finger—go home just as usual and see about the dinner and the fish just as we’ve been doing for years and years and will go on doing for years and years. In fact, said Mrs. Wilkins, flushing to the roots of her hair, for the sound of what she was saying, of what was coming pouring out, frightened her, and yet she couldn’t stop, I see no end to it. There is no end to it. So that there ought to be a break, there ought to be intervals—in everybody’s interests. Why, it would really be being unselfish to go away and be happy for a little, because we would come back so much nicer. You see, after a bit everybody needs a holiday.

    But—how do you mean, get it? asked Mrs. Arbuthnot.

    Take it, said Mrs. Wilkins.

    Take it?

    Rent it. Hire it. Have it.

    But—do you mean you and I?

    Yes. Between us. Share. Then it would only cost half, and you look so—you look exactly as if you wanted it just as much as I do—as if you ought to have a rest—have something happy happen to you.

    Why, but we don’t know each other.

    But just think how well we would if we went away together for a month! And I’ve saved for a rainy day—look at it—

    She is unbalanced, thought Mrs. Arbuthnot; yet she felt strangely stirred.

    Think of getting away for a whole month—from everything—to heaven—

    She shouldn’t say things like that, thought Mrs. Arbuthnot. The vicar— Yet she felt strangely stirred. It would indeed be wonderful to have a rest, a cessation.

    Habit, however, steadied her again; and years of intercourse with the poor made her say, with the slight though sympathetic superiority of the explainer, But then, you see, heaven isn’t somewhere else. It is here and now. We are told so.

    She became very earnest, just as she did when trying patiently to help and enlighten the poor. Heaven is within us, she said in her gentle low voice. We are told that on the very highest authority. And you know the lines about the kindred points, don’t you—

    Oh yes, I know them, interrupted Mrs. Wilkins impatiently.

    The kindred points of heaven and home, continued Mrs. Arbuthnot, who was used to finishing her sentences. Heaven is in our home.

    It isn’t, said Mrs. Wilkins, again surprisingly.

    Mrs. Arbuthnot was taken aback. Then she said gently, Oh, but it is. It is there if we choose, if we make it.

    I do choose, and I do make it, and it isn’t, said Mrs. Wilkins.

    Then Mrs. Arbuthnot was silent, for she too sometimes had doubts about homes. She sat and looked uneasily at Mrs. Wilkins, feeling more and more the urgent need to getting her classified. If she could only classify Mrs. Wilkins, get her safely under her proper heading, she felt that she herself would regain her balance, which did seem very strangely to be slipping all to one side. For neither had she had a holiday for years, and the advertisement when she saw it had set her dreaming, and Mrs. Wilkins’s excitement about it was infectious, and she had the sensation, as she listened to her impetuous, odd talk and watched her lit-up face, that she was being stirred out of sleep.

    Clearly Mrs. Wilkins was unbalanced, but Mrs. Arbuthnot had met the unbalanced before—indeed she was always meeting them—and they had no effect on her own stability at all; whereas this one was making her feel quite wobbly, quite as though to be off and away, away from her compass points of God, Husband, Home and Duty—she didn’t feel as if Mrs. Wilkins intended Mr. Wilkins to come too—and just for once be happy, would be both good and desirable. Which of course it wasn’t; which certainly of course it wasn’t. She, also, had a nest-egg, invested gradually in the Post Office Savings Bank, but to suppose that she would ever forget her duty to the extent of drawing it out and spending it on herself was surely absurd. Surely she couldn’t, she wouldn’t ever do such a thing? Surely she wouldn’t, she couldn’t ever forget her poor, forget misery and sickness as completely as that? No doubt a trip to Italy would be extraordinarily delightful, but there were many delightful things one would like to do, and what was strength given to one for except to help one not to do them?

    Steadfast as the points of the compass to Mrs. Arbuthnot were the great four facts of life: God, Husband, Home, Duty. She had gone to sleep on these facts years ago, after a period of much misery, her head resting on them as on a pillow; and she had a great dread of being awakened out of so simple and untroublesome a condition. Therefore it was that she searched with earnestness for a heading under which to put Mrs. Wilkins, and in this way illumine and steady her own mind; and sitting there looking at her uneasily after her last remark, and feeling herself becoming more and more unbalanced and infected, she decided pro tem, as the vicar said at meetings, to put her under the heading

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