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What remains of the springs, summers, autumns, and winters of a woman’s life? Isadora, now an old woman relegated to a hospice, looks back on her life and how intimately intertwined it was with that of the big, sprawling house where she spent almost her entire existence. Her memories of childhood and beyond come back to her, season by season: from the games and warmth of Summer and the back-to-school days of Autumn, to the crisp, cold days of Winter- days of loneliness and death- and to Spring’s promise of renewal, and of the return to the house that meant so much to her. Told in lyrical, beguiling language, Isadora guides the reader through the maze of her memory by classifying, like a watercolourist, her recollections by season.
What remains of the springs, summers, autumns, and winters of a woman’s life?
Isadora, now an old woman relegated to a hospice, looks back on her life and how intimately intertwined it was with that of the big, sprawling house where she spent almost her entire existence.
Her memories of childhood and beyond come back to her, season by season: from the games and warmth of Summer and the back-to-school days of Autumn, to the crisp, cold days of Winter- days of loneliness and death- and to Spring’s promise of renewal, and of the return to the house that meant so much to her.
Told in lyrical, beguiling language, Isadora guides the reader through the maze of her memory by classifying, like a watercolourist, her recollections by season.