I should start out by saying I am NOT a fan of Jane Austen or the whole “comedy of manners” oeuvre. The only book in that genre that I’ve ever really liked is The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton which takes a decidedly darker turn than Austen or Forster. Needless to say that this book, while only about 150 pages long felt like a slog through a War and Peace sized book. But instead of the Napoleonic wars, I got some silly girl’s search for a husband.
I think my main complaint about this book is that I just couldn’t be bothered to care about any of the main characters. The ones that weren’t downright awful were shallowly written. Our protagonist, Lucy Honeychurch, was raised to be a proper girl with a proper husband but seems to long for something more and sees beauty and things that aren’t conventionally beautiful. That’s nice but we don’t get anything beyond that. Her love interest, George Emerson is a middle class (gasp!) young man who seems sad and feels out of place in society. I suppose it’s a spoiler to say they both find their way to each other in the end despite the relatively minor obstacles put in their way but it seems pretty obvious from the beginning that the book was heading there.
Perhaps if you’re into a more Austen-y type read, this is a book for you but it was definitely not my Edwardian cup of tea.