Letters like these are treasures of intimate understanding that transcend the paparrazzi snapshots and questionable commentary of the contemporary celebrity gossip industry. They are not 100% but certainly more accurate represntations of the information that is not a part of the public identity.
Indeed, Nancy Mitford, her family and her celebrated friend, Evelyn Waugh, were represented often in the gossip columns of their lifetimes. To the degree that Lady Redesdale, NM's mother, commented that as soon as she read a headline that said "Peer's daughter..." she knew it would be one of her own. The letters compiled here, relect the 'way' it was at the parties, what NM's often wicked but always colorful take was on the 'important' guests. Some of these were, Princess Margaret in a ghastly mini dress and bouffant hairdo, or Churchill's very less impressive, often drunk, son Randolph, and innumerable royals, politicians and artists, all discussed without awe, or particular excitement, just ordinary people, being foolish or, as she would have it, boors.
Nancy Mitford's life spanned a period in history that seems impossibly long, and long ago. People, I have learned, become implanted in a time, for better or worse, and for Nancy this was the age known largely by art as "between the wars." It is those times, in the decadence and continued supremacy of the class system in England, that Nancy could embody the comedy of aristocratic insularity being pummelled by the modern world. Nancy was far more a representative of the old, but capable of making ideological decisions that her sisters and parents despaired of. They, for anyone not already drowned in the subject, went largely pro-German, with one, Unity, an intimate with Hitler before England entered the war. Another, Jessica, was a communist, and transplant to America, for which she was more condemned.
The bulk of the correspondence is certainly lively, and in no way self-centered, or particularly dense. This holds true even when death or some other tragedy overtakes her. The oddest to me was her comment that Unity had been taken to a concentration camp and that they would leave her there for a while to learn a few things before getting her out. Either that is British aristocratic detachment that I fail to get, or else she did not know much about concentration camps.
The only obstacle to incredible fun reading is the footnote requirements. They certainly are necessary for comprehension of who people are and what they're referencing, but they do make it a bit choppy and annoying. Still, it was an extraordinary time, as Nancy would say, between the fascists and the Bolshies, as well as the hilarious anti-foreigner burlesque that her father's actions brought to life in her novels. They may have appeared extreme however, the letters suggest their accuracy as well as their shared viewpoint, if not enactments, throughout the upper classes of that period.
Nancy moved to France after the war and horrible blitz, never to return to England. In her charge to get away from the weight of her very visible life there, she made but minor progress. Almost each letter has at its essence, the perspective as well as many references to her eccentric family, and its myriad political and social highways that led seemingly everywhere. If we did not have this unique vantage point, these names would be connected only to history's image, or critical reviews. Nancy makes history, quite filled with very human players, from DeGaulle to Princess Elizabeth, to Anthony Eden, to rock and roll
She wore Dior, summered in Venice, and lived for 30 some years in Paris, but she remained eminently British aristocrat, as did those for whom she was enormously, and eternally loyal.

One summer I read all the Thomas Hardy books in my library. Another I spent reading all I could find on the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. This was my Mitford summer.

It began with Mary Lovell's, "The Sisters" and I've read most of the Mitford biographies and novels that I could find.

I am enjoying this book for the letters and pictures. The footnotes don't bother me because I know who most of the people are from my reading of English history. French phrases don't bother me because I know enough French to be able to understand them altho it is nice to have translations given.

I believe young readers may have a problem with this book because they do not understand how it once was. I was a small child during WWII and didn't suffer as much as people in England did. The Mitfords were a wonderfully strange family and readers probably should read Mary Lovell's book first as background.

I love Nancy's sharp observations and style. It saddens me that she didn't like Americans. I wonder why. I believe she was one of the most interesting of the Mitford sisters, but they were each special in their own way. I am just so sorry she had such a painful illness at the end. It was very sad to read of her last days.

Mitford wrote this book in the first few months of World War II. Its quite amusing in the Mitford-ish way. She has Lady Sophia who is happily married to Luke. Happily because they lead other lives with other people and never really have to see one another except as two people living in the same house. Sophia has Rudolph to keep her amused and Luke has Florence. Sophia is dreadfully good-natured but is not the brightest spark in the universe

Unfortunately war breaks out with Germany which rather throws everyone's lives into disarray - including Lady Sophia's as she starts to suspect that he house is actually housing a bustling nest of German Spies. Its a terrifically popular past-time amongst women of her class it seems, to be discovering nests of spies, or be engaged in mysterious espionage work, so she has great difficult being listened to.

I must say I liked this book, but I much preferred Mitford's other books Pursuit of Love, Love in a Cold Climate etc. This was fun and amusing, but it didn't, for me anyway, have the same wondrous characters of that series (Uncle Davie, Uncle Matthew - or even the entrenching tool). Still it had lovely touches to it. Its definitely one I'll reread - but not often.

I've read reviews comparing Mitford's work to that of Barbara Pym. It's an apt comparison, but where Pym's province is excellent women and their ilk, Mitford's characters live on the society stage. What Mitford shares with Pym is a sharp wit, a dry sense of humor, and an eye for social satire via the novel of manners.

Lady Sophia Garfield is cross because her arch-rival Baby Bagg has been posturing as a beautiful spy. Sophia is so busy being jealous of her enemy that she fails to notice the ring of spies operating out of her house. Refined British screwball ensues.

Read and enjoy.

A friend recommended Nancy Mitford to me and I bought "Christmas Pudding" and "The Blessing." Frankly, I don't get it with "Pudding." I thought it was as leaden as the article after which it was named (and yes, I do have a sense of humor). A week later I read "The Blessing" and loved it. If you, like me, don't care for this one, my advice is not to give up on Nancy Mitford.

There is one scene in this book that struck me as so violently funny that Christmas Pudding will retain a place in my lifetime's hall of humor. Re-reading and even remembering brings on laughter that exceeds 98% of competing satires. Yet, I say that with hesitation because I've learned often that its foolish to bet on humor. ... I am a sucker for those descriptions of the most stuffy and stupid British upperclass near phobic reactions to suspected foreign invasions and insidious socialists and Germans. This scene involves what is a suspected assasination by means of an "infernal machine." I'll say no more.
There's the book- if you value that kind of pleasure/pain breakup- I hope you get it. I sure did.

This is probably Nancy Mitford's funniest book. It's a light, witty romp with eccentric English upper-class characters doing silly things. And while it won't change your world in any way,reading it is a relaxing way to spend a cold, snowy afternoon. I also highly recommend Mitford's more serious novels, The Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate.

Fanny Wincham, the first-person narrator of the Radlett family saga is now 45-years-old. It's twenty-five years hence her marriage to Alfred Wincham, Oxford theologian, in "Love in a Cold Climate." She and Alfred have two twenty-something Oxford graduates and two mid-teen Eatonites. One of the teens is adopted and whose mother was Linda Radlett, Fanny's cousin from "The Pursuit of Love."

As the tale "Don't Tell Alfred" unfolds, the shyly inconspicuous Fanny Wincham is consciously aware the times are changing. The familiar culture, landmarks, and mores codified between the two world wars that which have encapsulated her from birth to marriage, are fast vanishing. Her aging Uncle Matthew's small living quarters in London is the only place where vestiges of the old Alconleigh remain. The middle-aged Fanny is resigned to the fate she would never rise above the bread-and butter-world of her acquaintances. So she thinks.

Out of the decaying and languorous orbit of the Oxford life, Fanny and husband Alfred Wincham are thrust into the ostentatious realm of the beau monde and political spotlight. This is due, unexpectedly, of having Alfred appointed as Britain's Ambassador to France. Nothing in her experience could have prepared Fanny to assume the unwonted role of Ambassadress in the City of Light.

No sooner after the Winchams have been installed, the dottiness of the ex-ambassadress and Fanny's children and niece have caused much consternation. These domestic disruptions include animal (lobster) rights to Zen Buddhists going about barefooted on embassy grounds, and all the while across the channel two particular Etonites are missing - last seen riding out of the school grounds in a Rolls Royce.

If these youthful indiscretions were not discretely managed, they could have a deleterious effect on the new Ambassador. The job of damage-control falls naturally on the new Ambassadress, whose modus operandi, to the extent practicable, is: "Don't Tell Alfred."

***

In "Don't Tell Alfred", Nancy Mitford, author of the two earlier Alconleigh saga, "The Pursuit of Love" and "Love in a Cold Climate" has, more or less, completed her biographical and family sketches in the person of Fanny Logan Wincham, et al. Although in real life Nancy Mitford was denied motherhood and later divorced, her hope for a happy marriage, parenthood, and domesticity are fulfilled in this book.

Here are two excerpts taken from "Don't Tell Alfred" which illustrate Mitford's tenderness and wit.

In the evocation of Fanny's childhood spent at Alconleigh:

"Uncle Matthew had a little fire in his [London] sitting-room...Alconleigh in miniature. It had the same smell of wood fire and Virginia cigarettes was filled... the Alconcleft Record Rack. They vividly evoke my childhood and the long evenings at Alconleigh with Uncle Matthew playing his favourite records. I thought with a sigh what an easy time parents and guardians had had in those days.... good little children we seem to have been, in retrospect."

Mitford's whimsical plaint also has its serious side. Here in this excerpt, Fanny's friend, Valhubert, laments the demise of the Seine-et-Marne countryside:

"I love this country so much, but now it makes me feel sad to come here. We must look at it with all our eyes because in ten years' time it will be utterly different...no more stooks of corn or heaps of manure... no more horses and cart... Last time I came along this road it was bordered by apple trees--look, you can see the stumps. Some admirer of Bernard Buffet has put up these telegraph poles instead."

***
Though innocuous, some of the author's license with historical events in "Don't Tell Alfred" should be noted.

The "Teddy Boys" and "The Minquiers Islands" are the social and political highlights of 1953, respectively. The former concerned more with the youths of England. The latter involved the sovereignty dispute between France and Britain - Ambassador Wincham - over The Minquiers islets situated between the British island of Jersey and the coast of France. Later that year, the World Court in Hague concluded the sovereignty of the islets belonged to the United Kingdom.

In addition, when Fanny's second son, Basil, talked about his working with his 26-year-old stepfather in the travel business, a reference was made about the happy British tourists whistling "Colonel Bogey March". This whistling tune, of course, was from the film "The Bridge On the River Kwai". The movie was not released until in 1957, however.

Don't Tell Alfred catches up with some of the characters from The Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate, Nancy Mitford's two masterpieces. Once again Fanny Logan is the narrator, but this time the action is set in Paris, where Fanny's husband has been appointed the British Ambassador. Fanny has to deal with the problem of the preceding Ambassadress still being in residence and refusing to leave, then with the multiple problems that come with being related to the Radletts, who are made out to be the battiest aristocrats in Britain.

Don't Tell Alfred was written in the late 1950s while Nancy Mitford was living in Paris. A lot of the political inside jokes will fly right over the heads of most readers today, and Mitford's attempts to depict Teddy Boys and rock and roll bands must have seemed unintentionally comic even then.

Even though this is not one of Mitford's best works, it does have her sharp wit and felicitous turns of phrase, and for those alone the book is well worth the reading.

Nancy Mitford continues the lives and loves of the Radlett family and their various off-spring. In this Fanny, our narrator, first met in the impeccably charming novel "Pursuit of Love", is now in France of the 1950's with her teenage boys bordering on adulthood and jobs. Her husband, Alfred, has moved from the safe cloisters of Oxford into the dizzying world of international diplomacy and is Ambassador for France. Their first problem is getting rid of the old Ambassadress, Pauline, who, despite having been despatched from the embassy onto a train the week before, is discovered holding court to French society in a lesser used wing and shows little sign of budging.

Into this all falls Northey, the daughter of Fanny's cousin, Louisa. Northey has been sent by Louisa to act as Fanny's social secretary, but proves herself singularly unsuited to the position being unable to speak French, and it seems pathologically disinclined to do a lick of work. She is in the way of the British upper-classes, immensely charming and so this is really mostly the story of Northey's pursuit of love. Perhaps not as satirically funny as Mitford's first book in the series but it is still an amusing and witty novel. Characters waltz in and out of scenes without any respect for the plot but with enormous charm and verve. You could still read this book without ever having read any of the others in the series but it would certainly make a lot more sense.

NYRB has done it again, in bringing forth a new edition of an early twentieth-century gem that needed to be reissued. Nancy Mitford's biography of Madame de Pompadour shimmers and sparkles with exquisite prose and a thorough handling of the facts; I couldn't put this down until I had read right through it from beginning to end. Mitford's style is very fluid and sophisticated: she can describe the endless diplomatic minutiae of the wrnagings during the Seven Years' War as impressively as she can detail the beautiful interiors of the Marquise's houses. Clearly she has mastered the style of Tacitean biography-as-history championed by Lytton Strachey decades earlier, although this fact seems lost on the writer of the edition's introduction, Amanda Foreman, who seems to be of the inaccurate conviction that Mitford was doing something entirely new. Indeed, the uninformedness of Foreman's preface and the edition's unfortunate lack of the illustrations that graced early versions of this biography are all that keep me from granting this a full five stars; it is nevertheless highly worth your while.

History in the hands of Nancy Mitford is centred entirely on the personal - it is history as anecdote, gossip, inside story, in miniature. An earlier reviewer has perceptively identified Lytton Strachey as a literary ancestor for the kind of historical works that Mitford wrote, and there is more than a little of the Mitford novels in them as well ("Love in a Cold Climate," "The Pursuit of Love." In my view, Madame de Pompadour was more enjoyably treated in the other Mitford biography "The Sun King," which might have been a better choice as a New York Review of Books Classic. This book tends to get bogged down in details of geneology (lovingly dwelt on by the aristocratic Mitford), decorating and dresses, and in the end one feels that the author does not quite convince her readers to like her famous subject as much as she does. Nevertheless, "Madame de Pompadour" is well worth a read if you are interested in the period. Mitford's "Volatire in Love" is a related work that might also be of interest.

The sheer magnetism of Nancy Mitford's eloquence draws one into her vibrant story of Louis XV and the enchanting Madame de Pompadour and soon we regret not having met them earlier.Time flies as we experience their twenty years of devotion in the glittering French court.Although the illustrations and photographs are superb,there's much more to this biography than that which initially meets the eye

I kept wondering why anyone would want to read a biography of any one of these women. Together, they make an interesting family. However, Sydney, the mother, is the best Mitford by far.
Through all her children's wild political workings, living with
her husband's gruff demeanor, and living through her son's death in the war, she sails gracefully on, always there for her children and having a few wild politics of her own. I did feel that I knew each one of them so I'll give the author that.

Mary S. Lovell made a wise decision when she took up her pen and joined the Mitford industry. The Sisters (The Saga of the Mitford Family) is a truly fascinating and endlessly engaging book. And there was no way it could not be with those crazy Mitfords: Nancy, Jessica, Debo, Diana, Pam and, of course, the very tragic Unity Valkyrie, conceived at Swastika Canada and devoted friend of Hitler. The story of these sisters spans the twentienth century and travels all over the political spectrum. The author shows her own conservative bias clearly throughout and was obviousaly charmed by Diana Mosely (nee Mitford), the still living wife of Sir Oswald Mosley, leader of the British Fascists during the interwar years. But her prejudices and political naivete (the author's suggestion that World War II could possibly have been avoided if Diana just brought Hitler and Churchill, a relative of hers, together is quite silly and should have been edited out) are so apparent that one can enjoy the book regardless. The portrayal of the mother of the girls, Sydney, is the most interesting to come along of her. A wonderful, delightful read of six powerfully individual women.

As skeptical as I was about how interesting a book about six British sisters of another era could be I am glad to say I was delighted in being wrong. Mary Lovell has made another time come to life in this multibiographical tome which chronicles the lives of what certainly must have been one of the most fascinating (and often most reviled) families in British history.
As entertaining as the book is as a general read it also adds some dimension to the understanding historically of the time and the social and political upheavals then in existence. These girls may have been misguided, naive and sometimes just plain stupid but they certainly weren't boring.

The truly confectionary novel seems to have languished in the current vogue for the kind of fiction that purports to struggle with the darker side of human nature. It was a pleasant surprise to have discovered Nancy Mitford's novel, The Blessing. As is well known, Mitford's fiction always had a hard core of autobiography. As Mitford herself emigrated from London to Paris and fell in love with a Frenchman, we find The Blessing's heroine, Grace Allingham doing the same -- the only difference being Grace marries her Frenchman. The culture shock and social gaffes that Grace must endure give the novel its spice.

If there is anything annoying in the novel it is the habit of the novelist to lapse into fragments of French. The narrative seems to zip along in English, then, for apparently no reason, there are linguistic speed bumps in the form of French phrases, which for those unfamiliar with the language, can bring the pleasure of the narrative to a grinding halt.

Nevertheless, though it is a little dated, the Blessing remains just that: a fictional treasure for those who seek a few hours undemanding literary diversion.

Nancy Mitford's comic variant on 'The American' is certainly more FUN than Henry James ever was; after a bitty start, it turns into a classic comedy about cultural clashes, loneliness, abandonment, love. Mitford's eye is strictly realistic in her attitudes, if not her style - in the tacit spaces, one can hear Grace's howls of despair.

The book is full of exquisite characters - Charles-Edouard, dashing, aristocratic, Resistance hero who uses his Frenchness as an excuse for serial adultery; Sigi, the Blessing ot the title, a devious monster who sees his happiness in his parents' divorce; the variously sophisticated and cynical grandes dames of French society; the spectacularly pompous 'Heck' Dexter, millionaire advisor to the US President. But Mitford not only has a gift for portraying eccentricity; she somehow makes dogged dullness palpable as in Grace's half-hearted suitor Hughie.

This is Mitford's most Waugh-like novel - full of short, pregnant, elliptical scenes, told in terse, comic sentences. The frustrating lack of structure means that scenes don't accumulate emotionally as they do in Waugh, leaving the book feeling a little thin (unlike her masterpieces, 'The Pursuit of Love' and 'Love in a Cold Climate'), but with this much pleasure, who cares?

-- as Nancy Mitford herself would have said. The Blessing, along with Love in a Cold Climate, represents the best of her always hilarious fiction. Evelyn Waugh gets all the credit for being the satirist of their generation (if you really want to be amused, read their correspondence, expertly edited by Charlotte Mosley, Mitford's niece-in-law), but there was no one funnier than Mitford then nor, alas, is there anyone as funny now, a fact which says much -- none of it good -- about our current society and how (groan) seriously we all take ourselves. I mean, think about it: the woman lived through the Blitz, a sister's attempted suicide, another sister's imprisonment (tho' Nancy herself was partially responsible for that one), her brother's death in WW II, and several miscarriages. If she could still poke such brilliant fun at herself and others, then why must we all act like self-absorbed guests at one giant pity party? What I wouldn't give for a good shrieker these days.

I found this novel a teeny weeny bit disappointing after its superlative predecessor, 'the Pursuit of Love'. I think if I compare the two, I can see why - 'Pursuit' packs about ten novels worth of incident into its slim frame, as terse, fast, heartless and comic as 'Candide' (Mitford wrote a biography of Voltaire), full of gaps and tacit implications. 'Climate' goes back to those gaps and fills them in, following as it does relatively the same time span. This makes for a slower, more thoughtful book, which feels, on occasion, a little padded out. Similarly, both books take their cue from their heroine - 'Pursuit' is as lively, adventurous, funny and adorable as Linda; Polly in 'Climate', though beautiful, is as dull as people find her, and so, when she is in it, is her book.

I say this relatively of course; on any other terms, 'Climate' is a comic joy, full of two sublime new characters, Lady Montdore, the imperious snob, and Cedric, the stereotypical queen from untypical Nova Scotia. Add to these old favourites like Boy, Davey, and, especially, the immortal, phlegmatic Uncle Matthew; some choice set-pieces and an odd flash of the old callousness, and you have a real pleasure, especially in the second half. 'Climate''s breezy surface belies a real anger at the limited roles offered women.

Although this book is very well-written (at times it feels like a novel), I cannot help feeling that at times there was something missing. The sections that deal with Frederick's upbringing and home life are compelling, but as soon as Mitford dives into Frederick's battles (which were so numerous they almost defined his later life!) the discussion becomes very dense and hard to follow. While I loved hearing abour Voltaire's visit to Potsdam, and the interaction between the two luminaries, I felt that this short time was dwelt upon for a bit too long, perhaps to the detriment of other events in Frederick's life. The book is very sympathetic to Frederick William I (Frederick's father), who I feel is one of history's least likable characters. When it gets to Frederick's later life (after the Seven Years' War), the coverage becomes sparse. However, because at times it is so readable, I recommend this book to those who have little to no knowledge of Frederick and his times.

I am a picture person and this book is jam packed with many color plates depicting various aspects of Freddie and his environment. One plat shows a map of Frederick's battles. For collectors there is a picture of A gilded snuff-box set with diamonds with a miniature of the King. To know some one you must know their background and environment. Then when you read about their actions you get a feel for the reasons behind these actions. What was going on the world around Freddy that help mold him?

In this book Nancy Mittford takes the blur of many wars and focuses them through the eyes of a single great leader.

This book is divided into twenty to chapters usually separated by wars, a section on resources, and an extensive index.

This book is, in my opinion, the essential starting point for anyone interested in the life of Frederick the Great and his times. More of an in depth personal and at times extremely heartrending portrayal of a complex, to say the least, and enigmatic figure. At the end of this study, it is as though you have gotten to know and then, tragically, lost a great friend. I highly recommend this book to anyone interested in history.