Scarlet Feather

Novel by Maeve Binchy

I think this is the first re-read I have posted about. And interestingly, I just had a conversation at the library with a woman who didn't want to re-read Jane Eyre for her book club so was looking for something else (I recommended The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell). I actually love to re-read old favorites, it can be such a comfort, but I wonder, can it ever be the same as the first reading?

I decided to read this book again because The School of Essential Ingredients reminded me of it so much, and then The Cookbook Collector  was disappointingly un-foodie-feel good. And that to me is what Maeve Binchy is all about (feel good, I mean, not foodie--Ireland isn't always known for its great food. Cabbage, anyone?) Scarlet Feather is a story of exactly one calendar year, January 1st to December 31st, based on the setting up of a Dublin catering company called after its founders, Cathy Scarlet and Tom Feather. In classic Binchy style, the heart of the story is the interwoven relationships between the characters and their families and in this case their clients. There are Irish class issues, affairs, an interesting subplot about the foster care system, and lots of yummy food.

Second impressions, though, poked some holes in the book for me. Because it was written in 2000, the food isn't as relevant (can food be relevant? I think so) as in The School. And as I read it this second time, the story seems a bit less...feel good, actually. I noticed the jabs at the foster system more, and the failing marriages are a bit depressing. Also, I was particularly attuned to the ups and downs in starting a new business, because my husband is starting one of his own and we are deeply wrapped up in that right now. It's interesting how much of our current life experiences we bring to our reading. I mean, I still enjoyed the book, but it wasn't as first-blush delectable. You can never go back, I guess, but does that make a good book less worth re-reading? I'm not sure.

Also, I have a silly confession:  I am a wee bit susceptible to the language. All week I've been saying meant to rather than supposed to and thinking things are grand and posh rather than great and fancy. I even dream in Irish accents. The worst is Frank McCourt's writing. His written accent is THICK and the cadences stick in my brain.  Does anyone else have this problem? No? Just me then.