In this elegant biographical study of her grandmother, her mother and herself, Margaret Forster traces her family's emergence alongside that of the town of Carlisle, giving the story the sort of narrative urgency usually associated with a detective novel. As with most families - if not most detective novels - there are a few skeletons mouldering in cupboards, and she is forced to admit, after a deal of fruitless research, that she will probably never find out the truth about her grandmother's illegitimate daughter. But the real joy of the book is the line it traces from woman to woman through the generations, a firm, unwavering line of empathy which even life transforming inventions like the washing machine and contraceptive pill cannot erase. Don't make the mistake of dismissing this book as another "trouble at't mill" family history; the writing is too good for that, the past too vividly evoked.
