City Leagues Books

This early, brief Pilcher story is more interesting than the others for a couple of reasons. The setting in Cornwall has become my dream Cornwall location. The manor house in Coming Home is too grand, the houses in The Empty House not quite me either. Phoebe's house Holly Cottage is just right - welcoming, casual, delightfully sited. Yes the heroine is nineteen and falls for an older man, but the story is told in the first person, which gives it a freshness that The End Of Summer doesn't have.

There's a little social intrigue, some advance and retreat between the narrator and her love object, but a happy ending for all.

As long as you don't have an issue with the age gap between the couple, this is an enjoyable quick read for Pilcher fans, Anglophiles, and romance readers in general.

A journey back to Cornwall with its train rides, sandy beaches and coves.
A good quick read.

I love Pilcher's books but this one is not as good as SEPTEMBER, UNDER GENINI, THE SHELL SEAKERS or COMING HOME. Yes, the vividness is there, the story is well written and the characters difficult to forget, but she can do a lot better, she has proven it to us, her fans!!!

I just finished this book, and when I had read the last line, I wondered what had happened to Rosamunde Pilcher. Further--where is the meat? I checked the copyright date--1982. Her stride with the Shell Seekers hit in 1987, followed by September in 1990, Coming Home in 1995, and Winter Solstice in 2000. Sadly, I think I was reading before she became that marvelous storyteller. Everyone has to start, and this book foreshadows the descriptions and storylines she grows to entertwine so wonderfully. But not in this book. The characters are but briefly drawn, but never drew me in like the others above. I never got a picture of Cornwall or Penmarron as the other books had. I finished it as a task that needed finishing, not with the "I have to see what happens" and then, "oh, no, it's over" that her masterpieces gave me.

As a lover of Ms. Pilcher's work, I cannot recommend this one. If I had read this one first, I would never have picked up those other wonderful stories of hers. The reviews written are dismal as well...it is not "satisfying," "captivating," nor "an unforgettable journey." I actually want to forget this one. Sorry, Rosamunde. I do love your other work. I think this is a story that happened on the way to becoming a wonderful writer. Note the copyright dates is my word of advice to Pilcher readers. And if this was your first with her--go to one of the above mentioned!

I don~t know if this is Rosamund Pilcher~s first book or what, but I have to say that I was disappointed by it.

I picked it up at the library and when I opened the first page sitting in my favorite chair in my living room I was filled with anticipation...thinking I would have the same experience with this particular Pilcher book that I have had with all the others that I~ve read. Ahh, not to be. I found all of the characters lacking in development, whiny, and just not likable at all, with the exception of Charlotte. The description of the Cornish countryside wasn~t up to par with The Empty House and Coming Home, though nothing can ever compare to Coming Home. I had a hard time visualizing Phoebes house and her garden. I didn~t even get a full picture of Lily Tonkins. To be honest, I didn~t even like the characters names.

If you have never read a Pilcher book before, do not start with this one. If you do, I think you may never want to read another.

If it was possible to give this book zero stars, I would. What Caillault did is cobble together a bunch of 1889 newspaper articles about baseball from four different cities: New York, Boston, Brooklyn, and St. Louis. Other than the two page preface and the one page postscript, there is nothing that Caillault wrote himself in this book. Caillault, a professor at the University of Georgia, should know better. Also, this book, like most McFarland books, is extraordinarily overpriced ($30 list price for a 330 page paperback). With a list price like that for a book of so little substance, it is little wonder why Caillault felt the need to throw together a bunch of newspaper articles and call it a book.