The first arc really hooked me in, and I really liked the MC because of how unique his personality was compared to other novels. Honestly, I really wanted to like this novel, but it was really just all over the place especially after the second arc. You might think I'm biased because I'm the translator, but no sane person would take on a 300 chapter unfinished series if they didn't love it from the bottom of their heart. It is, however, charming nonetheless and deserves every star I can ever bestow upon it. It's a story of romance, interwoven into the events that shape its world and by god is it deliciously satisfying to experience.ĭespite the five star review, this series is by no means perfect - nothing ever is. It's a story of ordinary life in extraordinary circumstances. more> of this turbulent journey that the characters embark on, because they actually have a life to live outside of pining for their love interest. If you choose to take the ride, however, you might find yourself loving every second. People who are in this purely to see some gay action are advised to turn away now because this is not the novel for that, mainly because they don't even get together until the second volume. Its romance is tortuously slow but so, so realistic as the author spins a tale of two people whose love for each other perseveres through the trials of hardships and time. The flat, and how it was paid for, is actually not a bad metaphor for Johnson’s politics.This is a series very dear to me. They’re flogging a theme park version of it – two parts Raj, one part boho, two parts anteroom from the set of The Crown – to the world of the High Net Worth, a world to which the views of Alan Clark, John Lewis, all its partners, and the assorted citizenry of this sceptred isle could not be less relevant. Johnson and Symonds are not seeking to visually represent their own class. Even though we’ve yet to see pictures of the inside of Downing Street (give the Mail a break, it is trying to bring down a prime minister here), we can probably guess from Lytle’s look book that what we’d see is not timeless English class, but a billionaire oligarch’s idea of what an aristocratic English interior should look like. They never have any draught exclusion and their plumbing doesn’t work.Īlan Clark, faced with an interior by Symonds’s favoured designer, Lulu Lytle, might have found it gaudy and crass, but also unspeakably arriviste, as he would any sofa whose springs weren’t digging into his butt. Their furniture is all 300 years old, and it emphatically does not blend into their wallpaper. Alan Clark’s famous (though contested) slur on Michael Heseltine’s breeding – “ The trouble with Michael is that he had to buy his own furniture” – is the touchstone of the aristocratic interiors-worldview. Some of the shock at this snobbery is confected: many were probably already aware that Posh is a foreign country, and they do things differently there. After this saga, it’s fair to say that he doesn’t have a clue what any of us care about. Furthermore, Johnson’s best counterattack strategy to all the recent sleaze allegations has been a version of “people don’t care about silly stories, they care about the vaccine rollout”. A man who didn’t care whether people lived or died probably would end up with a woman who thought John Lewis – John Lewis! – was for little people. It’s all clicking together like Lego, another horribly common yet universally coveted thing Carrie probably can’t abide. This is particularly problematic in the light of the still-denied “ let the bodies pile high in their thousands” remark. It makes Johnson and Symonds seem scornful, remote and painfully clueless about the lives of their compatriots. To homeowners, John Lewis is the idealised court portrait of the Ikea flat pack they actually bought to renters, it is a world away from landlord-assembled tat. The headline offence is snobbery: to the vast majority of Conservative voters, possibly just about all of them, John Lewis furniture represents something of a pinnacle. The killer, of course, was one visitor recalling Symonds’s desperation to see the back of Theresa May’s “ John Lewis nightmare”. ![]() Even though Samantha Cameron had only just installed a new kitchen – sure, it’s a long time ago in politics, but it’s not a very long time in the life cycle of a lacquered unit – Carrie couldn’t live with it, according to a “friend”, because it was “greige” (this has particular connotations in the world of interiors, I understand – a kind of dated-hotel-chic).
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