Thrumpton Hall: A Memoir of Life in My Father's House

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Binding: Hardcover Dewey Decimal Number: 823.914 EAN: 9780061466564 ISBN: 0061466565 Label: Harper Manufacturer: Harper Number Of Items: 1 Number Of Pages: 288 Publication Date: 2008-07-01 Publisher: Harper Release Date: 2008-07-01 Studio: Harper
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Editorial Reviews: Dear Thrumpton, how I miss you tonight, wrote twenty-one-year-old George Seymour in 1944. But the object of his affection was not a young woman but a house—ownership of which was then a distant dream. But he did eventually acquire Thrumpton, a beautiful country house in Nottinghamshire, and it was in this idyllic home that Miranda Seymour was raised. Her upbringing was far from idyllic, however, as life revolved around her father's capriciousness. The house took priority and everything else was secondary, even his wife. Until, that is, the day when George Seymour, already in his golden years, took to wearing black leather and riding powerful motorbikes around the countryside in the company of a young male friend. Had he taken leave of his senses? Or had he finally found them? And how did this sea change affect his wife and daughter? Both biography and family memoir, this sometimes hilarious, sometimes heart-wrenching story—told in a voice as unforgettable as it is moving—is a riveting and ultimately shocking portrait of desire and the devastating consequences of misplaced love.
Spotlight customer reviews: Customer Rating: Summary: Daddy Dearest Comment: Well, this is a dark memoir indeed. What is abundantly clear from the get-go, stated quite plainly by the author, is that she hated her father George. What is less apparent is why. She paints a picture of a less-than-manly man, who didn't carry the war credentials that were the coin of his era. She depicts him as someone without an aristocratic title, who fancied himself a snob. A sociable man with almost no friends. A family man who ruled his roost a little too tightly. An emotional man given to bouts of maudlin self-pity. Yet as I read the book, I kept thinking, "But he tried, he tried." George Seymour does not emerge from these pages as a likeable person, but neither does his daughter. Her basic premise is that he fell in love with Thrumpton Hall, the run-down estate of his aunt and uncle, where he lived as a small child--and then spent the rest of his life loving it better than anything or anyone else, particularly after he came into possession of it and made it his own. But even then the manor disappoints. It does not attract to George the status and friendships and admiration that he is hoping for, and a hydraulic plant is built right next door, a looming figure on the landscape. Its need for upkeep taxes his resources. Reaching middle age, his depression brings him to a point of crisis; what is he to do? His iconoclastic answer is to give himself over to fast motorcycles and presumably gay relationships (Miranda hedges on this last point). He enjoys a good two years of buddydom with Nick until he marries, and then another fourteen years with Robbie until he blows his brains out. Along the way, Thrumpton itself is burgled and stripped of some of its treasures and its trusty watchdog drugged and stabbed and then left to die in a terrible way. So George came by his depression honestly. Miranda will tell you that her father died of pancreatic cancer, but personally I think he died of a broken heart. She wrote, "We sat in silence at meals where my father, pushing his plate away, leaned forward, rocking his head in his hands, attempting to shield from sight the tears that never stopped falling . . . `I wish I could overcome this misery,' he wrote to me, but it held him as if in a vice." The writing in this memoir is superb, witty and evocative and compelling. But the author's craft can not disguise the fact that her writing is perhaps best understood as an exercise in self-therapy, a book meant to exorcise the demons of a woman who felt unloved by her father her entire life. One enlightening feature of Thrumpton Hall is the ongoing dialogue between Miranda and her mother as the book is being written. As she paints one negative scene after another, mom (the other eye witness to the events described), keeps reminding her, "It just wasn't that bad. Why do you have to write like that?" The answer simply must be that the author wants to validate her own dour view of things. Read it for the writing, not for the unhappy story . . . Customer Rating: Summary: OK, I get it! Miranda hated her father! Enough already! Comment: I was tricked into reading this book by the great review in the New York Times. It sounded like a book about a man's obsession with a big old house. It turned out that it was only a very little bit about George Seymour's obsession with Thrumpton Hall. The book was actually about Miranda Seymour's relationship with her father. A lot of it came across as whining. For example, she has apparently been totally scarred for life because her father made her wear a wig for a family portrait because he thought her hair had been cut too short. She describes every event from her own childish point of view and, now that many of the participants are dead, she is free to make as many unsupported accusations as she wishes. Customer Rating: Summary: Superb writing and a great story Comment: I don't usually add reviews to Amazon, but after reading that one person found this book "sophomoric," I had to respond. I don't know which book entitled, "Thrumpton Hall" that particular reviewer is referring to, but it can't be this one. Ms. Seymour's memoir of her family's stately house is a wonderful story, and she gives it great life. If you like Evelyn Waugh or Nancy Mitford, this book will please you enormously. Books that receive raves on the front page of the Ny Times book review often end up disappointing. This one lives up to the hype. Customer Rating: Summary: Great, except that ... Comment: I really enjoyed this book and would have kept reading if it was twice as long. Just a great portrait of one of the last of a vanishing breed of great country home owners in England. Seymour's writing is crisp and clear, as she skillfully interweaves past to present. My only comment would be that I never fully understood why the author hated her father. He evidently could be a little difficult - not exactly unusual - but he was hardly a monster. To me, he seems to have made the best out of being a man who no longer fit his times. Regardless, a book well worth reading. Customer Rating: Summary: What is this book about, anyway? Comment: I couldn't put this book down - although not the best writing ever, the structure that combines a linear life story with present day discussions between mother and daughter is an interesting device that works well here. I bought the book based on the NY Times review (in fact, one of the other reviews here reads a lot like that review), expecting insights into life in an English country house in the last century, focused around one person specifically. It starts that way, but by about halfway through, it's much more about George Seymour than his house or even his relationship to his house (in the latter part of his life, the house apparently lessens in importance to him). By the end, I realized it's actually a book about Miranda Seymour, the author, and her as yet unresolved relationship with her father. A few days after finishing the book, I've decided that the book is in fact entirely about Miranda Seymour, and her as yet unresolved issues with herself. Reviews here and elsewhere have portrayed George Seymour as the villain, an unsympathetic character and a deplorable man. But by the author's own testament, short of a few odd episodes such as the one revolving around wigs, her father tried hard to create a close-knit family and a happy childhood for his two kids - exactly what he did not have growing up, and which in part led to his obsession with the only tangible constant in his life, Thrumpton Hall. I'm left with questions about the father's relationship with his own father (who barely plays in the story, and even his "beloved" mother eventually dies without fanfare), and in turn his son (a conscious choice by the author in respect of her brother). The father's older siblings are also barely mentioned; and after going to the trouble of printing a full family tree at the start of the book, very few of those relationships are explored. One does get the idea that George Seymour felt lonely and isolated - it's a key theme of the book - but at the same time, his passion for correspondence, social visits and parties is well documented, in stark contrast. Thus, I remain curious about this man's relationships beyond his daughter and wife (the latter being rather distorted through the eyes of the former). On this point, on a personal level, this is perhaps the most important lesson - that our tendency to become angry with loved ones over their relationships with other people is often misplaced. In the end, if it's supposed to be a book about Thrumpton Hall, then 2 stars, because I want to know much more. If it's supposed to be about George Seymour, then 4 stars, because I feel I now know him, even if left with several perplexing questions. If it's about Miranda Seymour, then 5 stars, because I think I know her quite well now - to the point that I've had enough and don't want to know any more at all. But since I think the author set out to tell a different story, I'll put it back down to 3 stars. More Reviews