They made the book stand apart for me as being quite special. There are a couple of incidents in this novel involving a cat that I truly delighted in. I think that is a pretty astute observation. People ought to avoid pain if they can, like disease.but if they have to stand it, its best use might be that it makes them kinder. She peppers her work with literary allusions, thoughtful humor, and tidbits of wisdom. Something screamed in the grass.Īnd, one might certainly think of Mary Stewart’s work as more fun than thought, but I find that is a deception. Down in the neglected garden-grass the black and white cat crouched, tail whipping, then sprang. A moth fluttered past my cheek, and a bat cut the clear sky like a knife. From the garden below came the smell of lilac. Close overhead I heard the scratch and rattle on the sloping roof tiles, then the throaty murmur as the pigeons settled back again to sleep. Few writers can engage all the senses in their writing, but for me Mary Stewart does this consistently.
What ensues is a thrilling, twisting ride in the style that only Mary Stewart can conjure. At loose ends and down on her luck, Mary is persuaded to impersonate the aforesaid Annabel and help Connor get the inheritance he is (in his eyes) entitled to. On a trip to Northumberland, Mary Grey of Canada is assailed by a handsome, but somewhat frightening, Connor Winslow, who mistakes her for his cousin, Annabel, who has been missing and believed dead for some eight years. It is based on a fairly common device, the virtual twin stranger who impersonates the real heiress, but while the device might be common the writing and the deft handling of the situation is not. It is complicated enough to keep you guessing and every time you think you have figured it out for sure, Mary Stewart makes you guess again. The Ivy Tree can easily be placed among my favorites of the mystery/romances. I am almost that enchanted with them this second time around, but it is now a husband who keeps trying to pry me away. I was so enamored of Mary Stewart’s writing when I was a teenager that I would hide when I read them so that I could pretend not to hear my older sister calling me to do chores.
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