I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith

I had never heard of I Capture the Castle, but have heard it referenced and had it recommended to me several times in the last year, so I dutifully checked it out of the library.

My paperback copy features a quote from J.K. Rowling, which proclaims, "This book has one of the most charismatic narrators I've ever met." It's certainly a set-up custom-made for Ellen: The Mortmain family, including two teenage girls, lives in an old, run-down British country castle in the late 1930's. Their father is a struggling writer who was once successful, and his wife (their stepmother) is a flamboyant artist's model named Topaz. An American inherits the manor down the road, and the two Mortmain girls and the two Cotton boys sort out their feelings for one another.

The story is told in journal entries by 17-year-old Cassandra. She is an extremely charismatic narrator, as there's no one quite as dramatic, confused, and enthusiastic as a 17-year-old girl. She narrates the summer's happenings in rich detail, and I could really feel everything from her perspective. The downside to this is that her introspective nature can be a bit much at points. I suspect that I would have found this brilliant ten years ago, when I was 17 myself, but it wore a bit as the novel went on. I wanted to know how the story ended, and even found myself peeking ahead at times. (That's simultaneously a good thing and a bad thing - I'm invested enough in the story that I really want to know what happens, but the writing isn't enough to keep my mind from racing ahead.)

A lot of the charm of this book comes from Cassandra's tangents into religion, novels, differences between Britain and America, her father's relationship with Topaz, social class, money, and a plethora of other topics. I particularly liked the following foray into religion, as Cassandra speaks with the town vicar:

"How the intelligent young do fight shy of the mention of God! It makes them feel both bored and superior."

I tried to explain: "Well, once you stpo believing in an old gentleman with a beard...It's only the word God, you know - it makes such a conventional noise."

"It's merely shorthand for where we come from, where we're going, and what it's all about."

"And do religious people find out what it's all about? Do they really get the answer to the riddle?"

"They just get a whiff of an answer sometimes..."

And later...

I wondered if I was an atheist. I have never thought of myself as one, and sometimes on very lovely days I have felt almost sure there is something somewhere. And I pray every night, though I think my prayers are only like wishing on the new moon - not quite, though: I pray just in case there is a God. ... Certainly I never felt any sense of communion with God while praying - the only flicker of that I ever had was during those few minutes I wandered around King's Crypt cathedral at sunset, and it went off when I heard our head-mistress's voice droning on about the Saxon remains. Sitting there with the Vicar, I tried to recapture my feelings in the cathedral, but they merged into the memory of the cathedral-like avenue I saw when I was describing Midsummer Eve - and then the cathedral, the avenue, my love for Simon and myself writing about all these in the attic were in my mind together, each enclosed in its own light and yet each one part of the other.

In summary: The perfect book for a few lazy days, especially in spring or summer. Unlike many coming-of-age stories or most of chick lit, there's definite substance here.