As with the pretty basket of trims and ribbons used by Flora in her hat making phase, the indefatigable, magpie like brain of Susan Hill has gathered up all kinds of sparkly delights in this reflective, time mingling, saga. We have just a handful of folk here to get to know but, oh, in such a rich, deep way. My favourite kind of book; not too many people!
Making the intriguing and instantly truthful point that sometimes houses mean more than people, Susan Hill touches a nerve. "They shelter us" and we fall in love with them. All our lives we can roam old homes in our minds, revisiting long lost stairways, attic rooms, gardens and treasured spaces. Regrets for left behind places, and wistfulness for the old lives carried on therein, are the most poignant of emotional strings to tug at. Can they mean more to us than the cast of our lives? How much would we bargain away to stay in them? That for me was the delicious point of `The Service of Clouds'.
Serious, clever, lively Flora, we meet at all her ages; busy being moved forever on by art, stories and colour. Yearning for more than her prescribed little life; falling in love with a passion, beginning with a painting, then a house, then a man and finally her only child. Although at first it seems we are to get to know her son Hugh, the good doctor we meet in middle age with retirement pressing ever nearer, it is the remarkable figure of Flora who emerges into the spotlight.
Hugh has a desire to be with the soon to die. He indulges his personal need to the benefit of his patients and himself. Such good company in one's last hours is to be wished for. All this generosity of spirit of course has a reason and that is the building point of the story.
I absolutely loved this and will read it again, recommend it and lend it. A quite unusual work that once again demonstrates the tremendous versatility of Susan Hill, a writer I am so grateful to have got to know.