Mr. Chartwell: A Novel

By Rebecca Hunt

July 1964. Chartwell House, Kent: Winston Churchill wakes at dawn. There’s a dark, mute “presence” in the room that focuses on him with rapt concentration.

It’s Mr. Chartwell.

Soon after, in London, Esther Hammerhans, a librarian at the House of Commons, goes to answer the door to her new lodger. Through the glass she sees a vast silhouette the size of a mattress.

It’s Mr. Chartwell.

Charismatic, dangerously seductive, Mr. Chartwell unites the eminent statesman at the end of his career and the vulnerable young woman. But can they withstand Mr. Chartwell’s strange, powerful charms and his stranglehold on their lives? Can they even explain who or what he is and why he has come to visit?

In this utterly original, moving, funny, and exuberant novel, Rebecca Hunt explores how two unlikely lives collide as Mr. Chartwell’s motives are revealed to be far darker and deeper than they at first seem.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
• Release date: Feb 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9780679604341

Rebecca Hunt

REBECCA HUNT graduated with a first class degree in fine art from Central Saint Martins College in 2002. Her paintings have been successfully exhibited in London and all over the UK. In 2008 she started writing and her short stories have already been published in several eminent literary magazines.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

5.30 a.m.

Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill’s mouth was pursed as if he had a slice of lemon hidden in there. Now aged eighty-nine, he often woke early. Grey dawn appeared in a crack between the curtains, amassing the strength to invade. Churchill prepared himself for the day ahead, his mind putting out analytical fingers and then coming at the day in a fist, ready for it.

A view of the Weald of Kent stretched beyond the window, lying under an animal skin of mist. Bordered to the west by Crockham Hill and to the east by Toys Hill, Churchill’s redbrick house sat in a shallow coomb, enclosed by a horseshoe of ancient forest that opened in a long, green horizon to the south.

Although he was fully awake, Churchill’s eyes remained closed. On his back, the bedcovers pulled and folded at his waist, he lay with his arms alongside the quilted log of his body. On the other side of the house, Clementine lay sleeping in her four-poster bed. He thought of his wife, wishing to be with her.

But Churchill wasn’t alone in his bedroom; something else in the dark, a mute bulk in the corner, a massive thing, was watching him with tortured concentration.

Churchill was aware of its presence. He didn’t need to see or hear it to know it was there; he had more of a sense, an instinctual certainty when it appeared. Its eyes pressed on him hotly, imploring him to wake up. It willed him to move. After hours of waiting it ached with the desire to explode from the corner and shake him.

Churchill spoke in a barely audible whisper, not that it mattered—he knew the thing would be listening.

Bugger off.

There was a long silence as the thing scrabbled to compose itself. Churchill could feel it grinning filthily in the blackness. It said with unsuppressed relish, No.

CHAPTER 2

8.30 a.m.

In a terraced house in Battersea, Esther Hammerhans came tearing down the stairs with one arm through a cardigan sleeve, the rest flapping at her legs, and turned off the hob. The kettle stopped its screaming, throwing out hysterical clouds of steam. Esther found the teapot and filled it with hot water, some spilling over the work surface. The tea leaves had been forgotten, something she discovered five minutes later, after a wild campaign with the washing up. Idiots! she cursed the tea leaves, beating them into the water with a spoon.

Then she put on the entire cardigan. This seemed a good step, a positive move. A moment passed where she calmed herself; it was important to look calm. Mr. Chartwell would arrive at any minute; it was important that the first impression be a good one. She admired the yellow cabinet doors and drawers which she had scrubbed earlier, the walls painted a paler yellow and lit with a fluorescent tube on the ceiling. The dark-orange tiled floor had been mopped, pots of spices and dried herbs arranged neatly on wiped white-gloss shelves. The blue Formica-topped kitchen table was arranged with a vase of flowers, a stainless-steel candlestick there for show as if she used it every day. Sugar cubes were stacked into the only small bowl without chips. A tasteless bowl designed to resemble a cockerel; Esther had hidden the cockerel-head lid in a drawer.

Esther went to the mirror hung near the window and examined herself, seeing a wispy, long-haired person with a delicate underbite. She had always been slim, slimmer now and a bit bare with it. The mirror returned a smile which expressed fatigue, a varnish of melancholy painted behind the features. The general package, Esther decided, would not benefit from further examination.

The boxroom she wanted to rent didn’t have many things but it did have a garden view. Light mobbed every crevice from the first gloss of daybreak, and this would flaunt the room’s extreme cleanliness. The carpet, meticulously hoovered, had come up well and showed its brilliant ochre colour, the colour of a toy lion. A decorative earthenware tile hung on the wall above the bed—a painted scene of a hillside village in Greece, the white cottages whirling with violently green-and-orange foliage, thick black lines everywhere as if drawn with a thumb. Her friend Beth had loaned her a single bed, a very modest and old bed which didn’t look so humble when dressed with fresh sheets and blankets. The lightbulb was decorated with a woven wicker shade, purchased last week, which Esther felt gave the room a sense of style. A new wardrobe completed the room’s transformation into a bedroom. If necessary she would throw in the occasional use of her car.

But—disappointment—only one note of interest had answered her advert, silently hand-delivered yesterday evening from a Mr. Chartwell requesting a viewing in the morning. The lettering was savage and strange, pressed so hard into the paper the commas were torn through. It seemed to Esther this note had been written by someone deeply unfamiliar with a pen, someone who held it like a pole they wanted to bang into the ground. Finding the note, Esther had creased it in a fist, stunned suddenly at the idea of sharing her home, the idea of the intrusion making her gently seasick.

Maybe, thought Esther, now in the front room at the record player, she should put some music on to insinuate that she was a hip landlady as well as a calm one. Mr. Chartwell was probably a music fan; he would appreciate the charts. The Rolling Stones were number one with It’s All Over Now, and Esther had bought the single. She busied herself with this task, supremely confident. With the needle on the record, the song blared at an obscene volume, Mick Jagger’s voice screaming through the tissues of her head. Esther snatched the needle off.

The music was abandoned and silence restored. Then, just as quickly, it was overthrown.

The doorbell buzzed. In the kitchen, Esther stood motionless, feeling the hoof-kick of nerves. A few seconds passed. The doorbell called again.

Right, here we go, I suppose, she said to a photograph of Michael on the windowsill. That funny chin angled left, broad-shouldered in a blue denim shirt, the top two buttons undone. His big face was captured in a moment of serenity, grey eyes trained on something beyond the sights of the camera. Esther imagined what he would say to her and then his voice was in her ears, summoned from a library of memories, talking as if through a seashell. He made a few comments, all practical. His words were encouraging, so she stayed there, listening. I miss you, Esther said to Michael. He whispered something, a hand on her cheek. Then the doorbell issued its instructions with new ferocity. Michael clicked off. Esther went to let Mr. Chartwell in.

The first thing she noticed was that Mr. Chartwell was a colossal man. He filled the porch with the silhouette of a mattress, darkening the pane of frosted glass. As she walked towards the front door a weird odour developed and intensified, emanating from the doorway. It smelt like an ancient thing that had been kept permanently damp; a smell of cave soil.

Esther’s instincts transmitted high-frequency pulses of intuitive information. They told her that someone odd and kinky awaited her, someone with a rare kinkiness that rode off the spectrum. They told her to hide. But hide where? There was nothing in the hallway to dive behind, it was a wasteland. And what about their appointment? Her dutiful feet pushed forwards.

Opening the door was as violently traumatic as anything could conceivably be, the shock of it blasting out like a klaxon. Esther mashed herself against the wall. She watched with billboard eyes and didn’t move.

Mr. Chartwell’s black lips carved a cordial smile. Mrs. Esther Hammerhans? He extended a paw the size of a turnip. Hello, I’ve come about the room.

CHAPTER 3

9.00 a.m.

His fur brushing against her arm as he moved past, Mr. Chartwell went down the hall into the kitchen and stood with his ears pricked attentively. He waited there alone. Esther had stayed uselessly by the front door. This was a textbook response, expected. He listened. The noise of a small footstep. Good, she was edging towards the kitchen after him. Here she came, but taking forever. A headache of adrenaline would blossom as she crept nearer, and, yes, now he could smell it.

Esther stared from the doorway with a blank face as Mr. Chartwell poured a cup of stewed black tea. His tongue fell into it and made quiet and industrious progress. He placed the empty cup back on the table and gazed out the window, mild and horselike, pretending to admire the view. It was his polite way of giving Esther time to come to terms with the situation. He knew it wasn’t easy. Then he turned to face the landlady with an expression that said, I know what you’re thinking, but what do you say we just ignore it? The expression also said, Hi there!

Seeing his head move, Esther made a jerk, hands raised over her face.

Nice garden, said Mr. Chartwell. Do you grow vegetables?

Esther looked at him over a network of fingers. Then the fingers slowly lowered. Terrified, she spoke with all the pepper of lettuce. I’m sorry … I’m sorry, but you—

Mr. Chartwell nodded with disappointment; it disappointed him that they couldn’t ignore the situation as he had hoped.

You’re …

More disappointed nodding.

… a dog.…

Mr. Chartwell’s answer didn’t sound unfriendly. Yes.

There was a long, silent period where nothing happened. You’re really enormous for a Labrador, Esther said finally.

I’m not a Labrador. Mr. Chartwell leant back against the kitchen counter and folded his arms. He seemed fairly relaxed.

Are you a ghost? Esther found a chair at the table and blindly fell into it. … Some sort of ghost?

Mr. Chartwell said, It’s pretty obvious I’m a dog. We established that two seconds ago.

Esther didn’t know what to say; she didn’t think to say anything. Her eyes moved in steady repeating laps from his head to his feet. Reaching his feet, her eyes leapt to his head, and began their journey again.

Mr. Chartwell was unmistakably a dog, a mammoth muscular dog about six foot seven high. He would have been shorter standing on all fours, but was balanced comfortably on hind legs, his inverted knees jutting backwards. He did look similar to a Labrador, with the vast barrelled chest and stocky limbs built to move over rough and difficult terrain, but a heavier-set and strikingly hideous Labrador. There was nothing decorative about him: His short black fur was dense and water-resistant, his broad face split by a vulgar mouth. The monstrous grey tongue dangled, droplets of saliva spilling onto the floor.

Esther took this all in slowly, the horror of him mesmerising. Her fear began to ebb at the sides. The more she looked the more it ebbed. It melted into a passive state of alarm. Mr. Chartwell let her look, although it made him uncomfortable. He wiped a white rope of drool from one crêped lip. There was no way of doing this with any decorum.

Eventually Esther could trust herself to speak to the animal again. Are you going to attack me?

Not much. Mr. Chartwell said this with disdain.

A pause.

Esther whispered at him, You’ve come about the room?

I have, said Mr. Chartwell, pleased they were finally on the right subject.

If she didn’t cling to the chair with straining knuckles, Esther felt she would drop and explode over the floor like a collapsing pipe of ash. "You want to rent my room?"

Mr. Chartwell nodded. I’m keen to move into this area.

For how long? Esther said, and then added immediately, Why?

Not sure, a few days, answered Mr. Chartwell, not telling her why.

Esther said truthfully, I’m really looking to rent out the room for longer than that. A few days is a bit inconvenient.

It might be longer, maybe a couple of weeks, perhaps a week. He broke off. He went over her with his eyes. We’ll see how it goes, he said quietly. But regardless—his voice was loud and persuasive now—I am able to offer you a unique short-term deal which will make it very convenient.

There was another pause. Esther looked at him. This was a ridiculous thing to say: Nothing could make it convenient.

Mr. Chartwell continued. For the duration of my residence, Mrs. Hammerhans, as recognition of the inconvenience of such a short rental, I can offer you a bulk payment.

She asked how much. She had to. He was waiting for it.

Mr. Chartwell picked from a jackpot. The charismatic chat-show host, he said, One thousand pounds. Was it too high? But too late now.

The shock crawled over her face. One thousand pounds was a massive sum, a staggering amount. Esther’s annual salary as a library clerk at Westminster Palace was only five hundred pounds. The beast knew the power of his deal, nodding with half-closed confident eyes, watching her wrestle through the financial possibilities.

But then came a spike of doubt. Where was this money?

Have you got it with you? Esther asked. It seemed unlikely. It seemed suspicious.

He repeated quickly, a paw directed at her, directing her to be ambitious, One thousand pounds!

Esther’s eyes pinned him, wanting to ask how a dog could come by that much money. She said nothing for fear of menacing their fragile peace. Sorry, are you sure? It’s just that it—

He interrupted. I’m sure. One thousand pounds, yes. He canted forwards. Another few inches forwards. Esther didn’t argue.

He spoke again. Well, that’s the offer. So could we see the room?

Esther frowned, thinking about this. He wanted to see the room? Let him. What could she actually do to stop him? If he came at her she would be powerless to fight him back. Pitched against him in a struggle, she would be like a sponge thrown against the teeth of a chain saw. She gestured for him to follow her up the stairs.

Esther opened the door to the boxroom. Her head jolted and met the wall as he went past her, assaulted by the stench of cave soil. Mr. Chartwell threw back the crocheted blanket and sheets, testing the mattress underneath with firm jabs. It was found to be satisfactory. The wardrobe door was pumped open and shut several times to check the action. His head disappeared inside to assess the storage space.

Esther said, Well, this is it. This is the room.

Mr. Chartwell’s eyes were busy. They rested on the rosewood desk against one wall, the wooden chair placed beneath it. The chair held a ruined cushion lined with creases, the filling worn thin. Efforts to whack it into a regular shape were hopeless but it would never be thrown away. The desk carried a regiment of pots full of pencils, pens, and trivial antiques. In one pot an ancient stick of rock, in another a plastic toy cow and a drumstick painted with a face. There was a peeled twig among the pencils, a compass and a little ivory carving next to it. Stained rings on the wood showed a history of hot drinks. The desk was a museum. Mr. Chartwell’s paws went to a drawer and twisted the handle. The handle was loose and he rattled it fondly. He stopped himself.

On the wall above the desk was the small pale square of a removed photograph. Mr. Chartwell continued to stare at this pale patch as Esther spoke.

This room used to be a study. That’s why the desk is here.

Mr. Chartwell turned from the absent photograph, fidgeting with his dewlap while he considered everything. He said after a time, What about use of the car? Would I have occasional access?

No, Esther lied firmly. The lodger would have absolutely no use of the car.

He looked at her, knowing she was lying. The dewlap was pulled this way and that. His eyes roved across the ceiling. And the neighbours, what are they like?

Okay, I guess, said Esther. I don’t really see them much. Then, as an afterthought, They do have a cat though, so I don’t know if that would be a problem—

Mr. Chartwell gave her a sarcastic look. Is the cat a problem for you?

No, said Esther. I just thought that— She didn’t bother to tell him what she’d thought.

"And there

Reviews for Mr. Chartwell

[theeccentriclady · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I purchased this audio book for $1.00. If I did not like it I felt I could just pass it along. I'll be honest there were times I was board and not as engaged as I'd like but Miss Hunt's use of Mr. Chartwell as the shadow of depression or the feeling of malaise was very unique and interesting. Also using a well known historical figure (Sir. Winston Churchill) made the story that more realistic.

[undermyappletree · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I thought this book was going to be historical fiction but it's not. It takes place at a historical moment - Churchill's retirement - but the story itself is about depression. Depression takes the form of an imaginary creature, a large dog, named Black Pat. Black Pat regularly visits Winston Churchill and now is also dropping in on Esther Hammerhans, a librarian at the House of Commons.

It's an interesting and clever concept but try as I might, I just could not get into this story. Maybe because there wasn't much of a story, just a lot of conversation. There were a few humorous moments and it made me think about depression and how it affects people, but mostly it left me unsatisfied and glad it was a short book.

[melissarochelle_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Read from February 07 to 12, 2011

To turn something tragic like depression into something entertaining seems impossible, but Rebecca Hunt manages to do just that. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this book. Even the horrible Mr. Chartwell, aka Black Pat, was a pleasure. (I feel the need to learn more about Winston Churchill after reading the book though!)

[tandah_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book offers a really interesting perspective on depression through two sufferers. Winston Churchill's suffering is a burden programmed into his psychology; Esther is experiencing more situational depression, it may pass, or it may take her over. Imaginatively told with depression represented via a very large, mostly unpleasant black dog, this book is informing as well as a page turner.

[readhanded · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Originally published on Read Handed.

Winston Churchill is a widely admired and respected figure. A renaissance man, he excelled at writing, painting, politics, oration, history, military service, leadership, and more. And, apparently, he did it all while suffering from depression.

Rebecca Hunt's novel Mr. Chartwell gives insight into Churchill's depression, which he called his "bête noire", literally "black beast", but often interpreted as "black dog." The book follows Churchill through his final days in parliament as he prepares to retire. It also follows the struggles of a library clerk named Esther Hammerhans as she commemorates a dark anniversary. Throughout these days, the two characters are hampered by Black Pat Chartwell, a giant black dog who insists on making their lives even more difficult.

Esther decides to rent out her spare room for some extra money and receives only one response to her advertisement: someone called Mr. Chartwell. When Esther opens her front door when he arrives for their meeting, she is shocked to see "a mammoth muscular dog about six foot seven high" (pg. 10). Oh, and he can talk. For some reason, this is much easier for Esther to swallow than for the reader. The strange character took some getting used to, but by the end of the book proved to be an effective and accurate personification.

Black Pat is depression. With Esther, he creeps in innocently enough. She does, after all, invite him into her house and rents her spare room to him. For Churchill, he is a lifelong, uninvited companion. He has dealt with Black Pat for years and has seen him take over the lives of dear family members. Once Black Pat has his victim's attention, he hangs around, annoying and distracting them with his foul odor, disgusting habits, and tendency to destroy everything. Esther doesn't know how to deal with Black Pat, and doesn't really understand his purpose in her life, but Churchill knows him too well.

Structure-wise, the book follows a chronological pattern, separating the action into days and times and alternating between Churchill's and Esther's stories. The writing is light, funny, and descriptive. The side characters, such as Esther's friends Beth, Big Oliver, and Corkbowl, are quirky and fun. Hunt's descriptions are unusual, striking, and apt. For example:

"Corkbowl watched Esther's cheeks light with a nunnish smile. He looked at her hair, hair that had never been lavished with attention. A plaster wrapper around the end of her index finger was found to be mystically stylish. Corkbowl's heart rang like a tuning fork" (pg. 88).

Or

"Black Pat burst through like a bowling ball smashing into fresh pins" (pg.169).

And, as an example of Hunt's understated wit:

"He made a welcoming sound over a mouthful of flapjack and shut his newspaper. He did the universally understood spin of his hand to show he couldn't understand why it was taking so long to swallow. It was the spin that said, I'm bored of chewing; I can't believe I'm still chewing" (pg. 131).

And, finally, an example of how disgusting Black Pat is:

"Black Pat's head rolled to manoueuvre her hand to the base of his ecstatic ear. She scratched it, swearing never to eat with this hand again. Fur worked loose in clouds" (pg. 143).

Hunt depicts Winston Churchill as a highly intelligent, determined, and tender old man who loves his wife.

Overall, Mr. Chartwell was good: imaginative if a little strange, witty and delving.

[deepikasd_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I originally saw this book on LibraryThing Early Reviewers and immediately wanted to get it the moment it came out. Happily, I discovered it at my local library and immediately check it out.

I've always been the type to shy away from historical fiction, but I must admit that this book is not only well-constructed but let's you see history from a different point of view.

Mr. Charwell, or Black Pat is a big black dog. A big black dog that can talk.

In the book he is shown in the lives of two people, Winston Churchill and Esther Hammerhans. He is the legendary "black dog" that bothers Churchill throughout his life. He is also the new tenant at Esther's house.

Throughout the series it is hinted as to what Black Pat really represents and upon realizing it, the two main human characters can learn to live through their "ordeal".

I loved this book from page one. It is a story that occurs over the course of five days, and yet the story changes the two humans forever. Chruchill learning how much Black Pat is tied to him, while Esther realizes the truth of what happened to her husband and her.

I recommend it to anyone interested in Churchill as it provides a different insight to what the man went through, as well as anyone who has ever gone through depression.

[horomnizon · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Summary: Winston Churchill is about to step down from the Parliament and his old enemy, the black dog, reappears in his life as it has at many stressful moments. He has also seen what it did to his father and his daughter (who committed suicide in 1963 - the book takes place in 1964). He apparently referred to this black dog in his life frequently and his bouts with depression are well recorded. Here, Hunt thrusts the black dog (called Black Pat or Mr. Chartwell) on an unsuspecting young widow (Esther) on the second anniversary of her husband's suicide as well as Churchill.

The concept (as others have agreed) is an interesting one - to 'flesh out' that depression as a literal black dog. I will have to take their word on it that Hunt's descriptions are what depression feels like and I applaud her efforts there...and recommend that people interested in learning more about that read this book.

As just a stand alone story, though, I felt it lacked something - it did not really hold my interest. Hunt did not draw me into the story of two depressed people dealing with big moments in their lives enough for me to really care about them. I found Churchill interesting and searched the internet a bit to read more about him, and may even pick out a biography to learn more and perhaps see if Hunt really did her research. The information I've found does refer to alcoholism (Hunt does portray him taking a drink frequently, but not showing him outright as an alcoholic) and also indicates that by 1959 he was using a wheelchair, which Hunt does not convey at all, 4 years later...although he is generally seated or on the bed, he is also taking walks through the garden at times.

It is a quick read, the chapters are short and there is a slight side story with a new co-worker that might be able to help Esther through her visit from the black dog. I found the ending a bit 'pat' shall we say (pun totally intended)...as if wrapped up (too) nicely for a Hallmark movie. I guess it is supposed to feel hopeful, and it does to a small degree, but just seemed unrealistic as the black dog seems to show compassion toward both main characters.

Three stars - not awful, but not great. Read it if you want to explore depression in an interesting way.

[brigidsmith · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A curious novel about depression which many describe as a black dog. Do people have the choice to reject him when he first appears? Is his company hereditary?

[bbleil_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was a delightful book. A quick-read with very interesting characters. Mr. Chartwell is an unwelcome visitor to Sir Winston Churchill and a young librarian. As the story progresses, you start to figure out why Mr. Chartwell is there. It's a dark reason, but the writing is so light you can handle it. As Mr. Chartwell is a big black dog who can talk and walk, you have to suspend reality to best enjoy the story. Highly recommended.

[pbadeer · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It's rare that I review a book and attempt to comment on how well it is "crafted" (I don't feel I'm in a position to comment on how an author's process works), but Mr. Chartwell just seems to beg that kind of description. In her debut work, Hunt was able to capture a unique concept and develop it in such a way where enough is described to draw the reader in, but mysteries remain hidden until they are needed. In addition, the "real people" of her narrative were so deftly incorporated that the reading becomes even more personal without drifting into pseudo-biography.

Her unique concept? What if depression were a physical entity? What if Winston Churchill's "Black Dog of Depression" was, in fact, a big black dog? And where does that dog live when he's not bothering Churchill?

On intimate terms with Churchill - and many members of Churchill's family - the Black Dog takes on increased significance in the final days leading to Churchill's retirement from Parliament. So the walking, talking dog is spending more time with Churchill and needs to find a nearby room to rent. Enter Esther, with a story of her own, unsure of how she feels about letting the dog into her house.

Hunt parses out bits of Esther's story in such a way that you're never 100% sure what the full story will end up being. Both the dog (Mr. Chartwell) and even Churchill end up serving as conduits to understand a character which may have initially seemed expendable.

Highly recommended

[kmaziarz_4 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Winston Churchill fought a life-long battle with clinical depression. He characterized that depression as being a big black dog that bedeviled him. In "Mr. Chartwell," Rebecca Hunt takes that metaphorical description and makes it literal. Churchill's depression is literally a big black dog who gives his name variously as Mr. Chartwell (Chartwell being the name of Churchill's home estate) and Black Pat.

When widowed and lonely young librarian Esther Hammerhans advertises for a boarder, she is unprepared for who turns up to take the room. A huge, talking black dog who walks on his hind legs and cracks impenetrable jokes and whose name is Black Pat is not exactly whom she expected. But she finds herself unable to say no and he moves into her spare room, and, from there, into the rest of her life and her house. After an encounter with Churchill in which each recognizes the other as an unwilling companion of the obnoxious dog, Esther comes to realize that if she cannot find the willpower to deny Black Pat entry into her life, she will be trapped with him for the rest of her life...which might not be terribly long under his baleful influence.

A dark subject, lightly treated.

[polarbear123_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Well worth a little sojourn to capture this little gem of a novel. Go on it won't take you more than a day or two to read it. If you have ever suffered from depression then this is a useful way of looking at the topic, with the aid of Churchill's Black Dog. Ok so it does not explore all of the issues to do with depression but it looks at a very touch subject in an engrossing and endearing way. It certainly cheered me up and got rid of the Black Dog for a few hours!

[libsue · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

When there is a grey fog of sadness surrounding you and you can't find a name for it, nor can you escape its malevolent presence you may have allowed Mr. Chartwell into your life. Centered around the end of Sir Winston Churchill's last days in Parliament the story follows Churchill and Esther Hammerhans and their dysfunctional relationship with Mr. Chartwell, a dog that speaks and walks upright. Please understand this is NOT Marley and Me! Esther, a young librarian, puts one foot in front of the other each day just trying to survive after the death of her husband Michael. Looking to earn extra money she has placed an advertisement in the paper looking for a lodger. The only response she receives is from Mr. Chartwell who offers her a deal that is too good to be true.
Rebecca Hunt has written a truly innovative tale- a fast, enjoyable read.

[sarah1e · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Mr. Chartwell is a large, black dog with a dark, seductive presence. Esther is a lonely young widow. Churchill is facing retirement and the conclusion of his life's work. Their paths intersect.

I don't want to give much away, not because there's some trick at the end, but because I think that sometimes it's better to start reading something without much of an idea of where it's going to go. I waited a long time for this book, and I wasn't at all disappointed.

[dablackwood · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Such an interesting concept and a beautifully written book. I really enjoyed the intrusion of Big Pat into Esther's life. It was scary to see how easily depression could come in and take over. And the parts about Churchill and his acceptance of his depression were poignant. All in all a very interesting read.

[thelostentwife · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

While I do not feel the summary shows this novel in the light it should have been shown, Mr. Chartwell definitely takes it's place among some of the most unique, interesting books I've read. I approached the story believing there'd be more interaction between the famous Mr. Churchill and Esther but instead, found more of a coincidental connection and just one small scene with both involved. This disappointed me a bit, but something else made up for that disappointment.

Having dealt with depression in my own life, I can attest to how it is like what Ms. Hunt portrays Mr. Chartwell to be. A mangy, annoying, loud dog skulking about, refusing to leave, worming his way into your every thought. At first I was a bit annoyed by the appearance of a creature I thought belonged in a fantasy book, but as the novel progressed I began to see Mr. Chartwell for who he was and what he represented, and then things began to get interesting.

Even if depression is not something you've ever dealt with, this book gives each reader a solid look at what it is like to be in those black depths, to feel the despair and annoyance and be completely unable to claw your way back to the light. It gives a picture of what it is like to overcome and to succumb and I think it's a read that was definitely worthy of my time.

[zibilee_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

When librarian Esther Hammerhans decides to rent out her box room to a boarder, she’s horrified to discover a huge black dog at her door inquiring about the vacancy. But this dog is like none other, for he can speak eloquently and wryly, and seems to have an uncanny way of getting into Esther’s subconscious. Though renting to this absurd creature is the furthest thing from her mind, the dog, known as Black Pat, is soon in residence, and Esther’s life is slowly spiraling into melancholy.

When Black Pat isn’t busy hounding Esther and making her uncomfortable, he’s on the other side of town menacing the great Winston Churchill on the eve of his retirement from public office. But whereas Black Pat is somewhat gentle and self-deprecating in his dealings with Esther, he’s a lot more ferocious and malignant to Churchill. Sitting on his chest and making it impossible for him to move, or whispering horrible things to him from the corner of the room, Black Pat is a terrible specter that haunts Churchill malevolently.

As Esther and Churchill battle the black dog of depression, they come to find that Black Pat is not only destructive, but also very unwilling to let them go. When an unexpected meeting between Churchill and Esther is scheduled, the two recognize that they are both being haunted by the same menace, and the battle between these two and Black Pat intensifies. With witty verve and a startling poignancy, Hunt manages to catch the elusive ramifications of the depression that Churchill once described as a “black dog” with both a humor and horror that will delight readers to their core.

One of the things I found so remarkable about this book was Hunt’s ability to capture all the melancholy and dread of the depressive state through her clever use of the black dog in her narrative. When Black Pat first arrives, he negotiates with Esther over whether or not she’ll let him stay, finally sliding in when her defences are down. This is symbolically accurate from the accounts of depression I’ve read. Later in the story, Esther and Churchill speak about the menace of the black dog being akin to warfare, in which the depressive person must staunchly maintain his defenses from the ceaseless attack of Black Pat. It was curious that Black Pat’s strategy differed between his victims, and I grew to recognize that in his initial attack of Esther, he was turning on the charm and hoping to wiggle in under her radar. Later things would be different, as they were with Churchill. Once the dog was granted admittance for the first time, he was free to take over and became horribly abusive and cloying.

Black Pat is the embodiment of depression to a T. Capable of being darkly humorous in his initial attack, he’s portrayed here as obstinate, vulgar and persistent, even as he is uncharacteristically charming and self-aware. Though Churchill has faced Black Pat many times before and knows his opponent, Esther is completely unaware of the danger in letting him linger and is surprised to discover just who her boarder really is. In both cases, the dog makes both a physical and mental nuisance of himself, sometimes playful and other times ominous. He regards his role in the lives he usurps as lamentable but necessary and often claims his existence and persistence is not within his control, believing that he is summoned by affinity. Black Pat is inventive and wily while also being profound and deep. He can be intolerably rude, coarse and undignified, but in him resides a kernel of remorse that he wishes wasn’t there. Though he is dogged (no pun intended) and charming at times, he’s also fierce and dangerously destructive.

Though I’ve described the bleaker aspects of this book, it also was rather funny, which was an unexpected surprise. The relationship between Esther and her boss was a source of many snickering laughs, as were some of the conversations and situations that arose with Black Pat. The book melded both profundity and laughter in a perfect package that at times delighted and often made me ponder depression in a way I hadn’t before. The narrative was also filled with some unique and well-developed characters, who rounded out the story very nicely and gave a lot of heft to what may have otherwise become a thin farce of a narrative. It’s not often that I laugh aloud at a book, but I did so here, which sort of startled me because one wouldn’t expect to find this particular topic amusing.

I was also struck by the surprising outcome of the story, for even as I loathed Black Pat, I grew to appreciate him in some ways despite my reluctance. I ended up feeling enormously sorry for him in one sense, and in another I was glad to see him in such reduced circumstances. It was a curiously odd feeling to hate and yet admire a creature so repulsive and all-consuming, but I have to honestly admit that I did. Black Pat was a villain whom I came to care about, though I knew he was rotten to the core. I think part of this had to do with his ability to sympathize with his victims and his need to warn them of his trickery. This made him seem almost a victim of his own circumstances and made me feel that there was more to him than I had first suspected. He was altogether perplexing, in both good and bad ways, and not a character whom I will likely forget.

I found this book to be utterly amazing and superbly crafted. The originality of the material coupled with characters that were believable and well-rounded made this a book that I would recommend to a host of readers. In addition to its very nuanced story, the humor of the tale is something I think a lot of readers will find unexpectedly welcome and winning. If you’re on the fence about this book, I would encourage you to take a chance and see what all of the fuss is about. It was an excellent read. Highly recommended.

[copperskye · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Mr Chartwell is the story of six days in the lives of two people, Winston Churchill on the eve of his retirement in 1964, and Esther Hammerhans, a librarian with a room to rent. Mr Chartwell is interested in moving in but Esther has her doubts. You see, Mr Chartwell is a dog, a very large dog. Who talks. This is such an imaginative story, I really couldn’t help but like it. Black Pat is the personification (dogification?) of Churchill’s Black Dog and he is quite a character. Esther’s story comes out slowly and provides a bit of suspense but this is really just a quiet, blackly humorous tale. I thought the writing was lovely and the descriptions of Black Pat were great.

I know this was offered as an ER book. I had to look back at the description to see why I decided not to even request it. I think I was turned off thinking I’d be reading about Churchill and depression. Well, I was, but it was done in such an inventive manner and with a wonderfully light touch, that it really did work for me.

[mrstreme · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

We all have our demons, and for Winston Churchill, his was depression. It plagued Churchill his entire life - so much so that he named it "Black Dog." Churchill's battle with his Black Dog has been documented and written about, but not like how Rebecca Hunt does in her extraordinary book, Mr. Chartwell.

Esther Hammerhans is a widowed librarian with a room to rent. When a knock comes to her door from her would-be boarder, imagine Esther's surprise when she finds it's a large black dog who calls himself Mr. Chartwell. Mr. Chartwell is all dog - furry, smelly, hungry - but also quite human with eloquent speech and a convincing manner. He somehow persuades the reluctant Esther to take him in as a boarder.

For Mr. Chartwell, or Black Pat as he becomes, staying at Esther's has two advantages. First, it puts him near Winston Churchill, who is about to retire from Parliament. It also puts him near Esther, who is grieving over the loss of her husband. Black Pat can only be seen by people he's after - people who are depressed, grieving and maybe a little lonely. Winston and Esther are perfect for him.

Hunt's characterization is marvelous. Personifying depression as a big, clumsy, humorous and opportunistic dog was nothing short of remarkable. While Winston may have named it, Hunt gives Black Pat his character. Through Black Pat's actions, you can see how depression isolates people, offering them a sense of security in a world of otherwise happy people. Hunt's depictions of Winston Churchill and the meek Esther also add greatly to this novel. You root for them both, hoping they can kick the proverbial dog to the curb.

Thankfully, I've never suffered from depression, so I can't say if Hunt's depiction of this disease is correct or not. I can say, though, that Hunt delivers an inventive and compelling story that gives readers a view of this disease - perhaps one no one has considered. Despite the darkness of depression, after finishing Mr. Chartwell, I was left with a sense of hope that people can overcome this condition - and move on to brighter points in their lives.

[jsiegcola · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Mr. Chartwell by Rebecca Hunter follows the progression of Black Pat, a metaphor for depression embodied in a monstrous dog, during 5 days of July, 1964. We are introduced to this mangy beast through two very different characters...Winston Churchill and Esther Hammerhans. Churchill is dealing with his upcoming retirement from parliament, while Esther is greeting "Black Pat" as a potential lodger in her home. Each person is affected by their interaction with this all to real shadow in both subtle and suffocating ways....Winston, having struggled with depression all his life, suffers patiently with this ever-present darkness, while Esther can't quite accept a talking dog that no one else sees or hears. But Black Pat brings each one into his strange stranglehold until fate brings all three of them together in a symbolic last battle for each of their souls. A slow-moving but thoughtful approach to how depression creeps into a life without one's full knowledge or understanding.

[bookish59 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Charming and sweet characters, nonsensical names, delightful dialogue, wacky wordplay, and Black Pat make reading Mr. Chartwell a delight. Black Pat is too adorable to be anyone's "bete noir." Messy, annoying - yes, evil - NO. Read this book and have some fun!

[upstairsgirl · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

So. Many. Dangling. Modifiers. ARGH.

Overall, this is a well-written book with an interesting premise - the physical embodiment of the idea of a black dog one's shoulder as a metaphor for depression as a giant, messy, slobbering, humanoid-and-yet-awfully-doglike actual dog that can only be perceived by those whom he comes to torment - and tries to tell a story about the nature of sadness and depression but ultimately doesn't wind up making much of a point about it. Or, to be more precise, I found it so hard to care I'm not sure if it was really making any point.

I had two issues with the book, which I really did want to like. One is that things like the frequent dangling modifiers are not only distracting in this book but also serve to obscure the author's meaning. I could not tell whether Hunt was using poor grammar intentionally as a tool to disorient the reader at times, or whether some parts of the book just weren't as well edited as others. (On the whole, the writing is actually quite good.) The second is that while there are some vague platitudes about fighting depression and not giving in to the black dog, they neither ring true nor achieve any larger point about the nature of any person's struggle with depression. So much about the way the dog acts as a metaphor for depression are fantastic in here - the way shed fur covers everything in the main character's house, and the way she can't bring herself to try to clean it up, rings very true - but the characters feel like paper dolls, with personalities hung on them by hidden paper tabs. It's hard to care about any of them, even though one wants to.

This wasn't a bad book or a bad read, I just hoped for something much better to come out of this idea. Making the dog physically real to the people he haunts (for lack of a better verb) isn't a revolutionary idea at all, but I was hoping the execution would be, and it just wasn't.

[hairball_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A wonderful little book. I love the way depression is concretized into a giant, snarky dog--much better than any of those hideous commercials for antidepressants. There's a portion of the book in which two of the characters who are suffering from relationships with the dog--Mr. Chartwell--recognize each other, and have this comically oblique conversation, made even more so by Churchill's circumlocutions. It was the sort of "I'm a (depressed) nobody--who are you?" that happens in real life.

Mr. Chartwell is enjoyable, funny (!), and different from the vast majority of books being published. I was so pleased when my ER copy finally arrived, and the wait turned out to be well worth it.

[dissed1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Rebecca Hunt's tale of depression personified in the form of a large, black, troublesome dog, named Mr. Chartwell, or Black Pat, is unique and well written. It's obvious Ms. Hunt has done her research both in the symptoms of depression and the innate mannerisms of canines. I enjoyed her choice of characters--particularly her decision to juxtapose the depressive state of Winston Churchill as he ends his political career, with her main character, Esther, who's suffering from the loss of her suicidal husband.

Mr. Chartwell is a very quiet, unaffected read. At times, I believe it could use a good charge of action and drama. Otherwise, though thoughtful and intriguing, the book is a bit slow to hold reader's attention. I appreciate Ms. Hunt's wit and ability to portray a complicated emotion in realistic--and even inviting--terms. Mr. Chartwell will do for a rainy afternoon read, drowsing in a favorite armchair.

[goudareads · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

At Chartwell, his English countryside home, Winston Churchill spends his last days before resigning from public life contemplating his life and career. In London, Westminster Palace librarian Esther Hammerhans is dreading an upcoming anniversary. Her colleague and friends are doing all they can to bolster her mood to prepare her for the unhappy day. Both Churchill and Esther are visited by an exceedingly large black dog, Black Pat, seemingly invisible to all but Churchill and Esther, who is determined to attach himself to their lives and bring unhappiness.

In Mr. Chartwell, first-time author Rebecca Hunt does an amazing job of representing depression as "other." Black Pat is an unwelcome, oppressive, stubborn entity visited upon those who are unlucky enough to suffer. He is indifferent to class and circumstance; he refuses almost all offers and demands to leave the sufferer be. Hope is the only defense. Though the book is about depression, it is not depressing. Hunt is able to illustrate love, support, longing, frustration, friendship, fear, and hope among her characters. Even Black Pat is multidimensional; he's loyal, gruff, jokey, insistent, and even playful. In the end, Mr. Chartwell is a touching snapshot of a few days in the life of two people living rich and perhaps greatly satisfying lives who have also been affected by depression.

As an aside: I am a librarian with personal experience with how people and families are affected by depression. I also recently visited London and Kent and toured Chartwell. This book felt very personal to me. However, the book's themes are universal; no knowledge of WWII history, libraries, or depression is necessary to appreciate this well written book.

[beserene · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I find it strange that I unknowingly gravitated toward this book about depression whilst in the thrall of my own, but perhaps there is order in the universe after all.

This debut novel provokes mixed feelings in me. On the one hand, it is well-written and unusually cogent for a novel whose center is mental illness; its depictions of grief-induced depression resonate truthfully and its female protagonist, Esther, is a sympathetic heroine without feeling overwrought or cloying.

The flip-side of the novel, however -- the side that includes Churchill and his life-long battle with clinical manic depression/bi-polar disorder -- strikes some false notes, at least for me. Hunt picks up the mythic metaphor of Churchill's "black dog" (the image Churchill supposedly used to signify his depressive periods and one whose shadow appears on the deceptively bright, chipper cover of the book) and runs with it, personifying depression as Black Pat, a massively threatening yet charmingly seductive combatant in the mental game which both Esther and Churchill are fighting.

My problem with this extension of the popular metaphor is that it firmly externalizes depression in a way that can feel very misleading to the reader who actually has depression. Depression is not a stranger at the door or even an enemy in the room -- it is your own twisted face sneering back at you, your own voice whispering that you are worthless, that your friends only tolerate you, that your lover only uses you, that your family finds you pathetic, that there is no meaning and no true joy and nothing worth reaching for. Depression is an internal enemy, and while the novel starts to hint at that parallel toward the end, I found that the externalized metaphor was taken too far in the bulk of the book, to the point that it became a frustration for the reader (me) rather than the emotional connection that it should have been.

In fairness, there are many things about the Black Pat character Hunt has created that do have a truthful resonance. Depression is incredibly seductive -- there is nothing easier to do, when that black weight starts pulling at the loose threads of your life, than to let the burden press you into the ground, to curl up and close up and give up. Depression does have a largeness in your life -- its effects are broadly destructive, it is unwieldy and impossible to ignore. And to fight depression is a complex but necessary act of defiance, in reality, self-defiance. I did appreciate Hunt's construction of an historically consistent Churchill, a protective force, representative of that constant mental struggle, battling upright against his particular demon, even into his last days.

I cannot accuse Hunt of counterfeiting such a darkly intimate experience, only of taking what was originally a psychologist's metaphor for the unexplainable a little too far. There is value in this novel -- in the end, it does acknowledge, subtly, that those who encounter the "black beast" (and I am more comfortable with that phrase, if we must, since personally I struggle to think of a black dog as anything other than cuddly) must and should fight, and that some can shake the darkness from their lives (those whose depression is born of grief or other external circumstances) and some must battle continuously because the beast is borne within their brains and cannot be fully exorcised.

As I read the novel, I struggled with it, but having finished it this afternoon and considered it, the bottom line is that the book can have a positive impact, even though it may frustrate certain readers. A worthwhile, if difficult, exercise.

A final note, in anticipation of some reactions: I do know that this novel is "only fiction", and obviously my own experience and my own current state of mind focuses my attention more minutely on certain details than others, but even were I not where I am now, I do feel that if a novelist places a particular mental illness at the center of her novel, she had better be sure her details in that regard can hold up to serious scrutiny. Otherwise, such a novel can hold only superficial entertainment (which is not terribly admirable for a book about depression) and little artistic or personal truth.

[readingrat_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Wonderfully original.

[lindarollins · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An unusually creative and surprising tale

A story about Winston Churchill, a young woman named Esther and a massive black dog called Mr Chartwell, who walks on his hind legs and talks. The intrigue of this introduction alone leads you to read on.

The writing at first seems a little hesitant, almost as though the author isn’t quite sure and is trying too hard. The language used is sometimes beautiful but it doesn’t seem to flow as it should. However, the writing becomes more confident as you graduate into the story and if you stick with it you start to get into a rhythm and appreciate the art that is being crafted as you read. I feel the author has enjoyed playing with the words and there are some fantastic lines.

Without giving anything away, once you know who and what Mr Chartwell is, the story takes on a whole new meaning. You want to read on to discover the relationship between this unusual dog and the other character’s in the story. You need to know how they are going to respond to him, and who will be the victor.

It is an easy book to read; I finished it in a day. The chapters are short and punchy; the language creative but clear. That said, it isn’t a particularly light subject matter, but by utilising the concept of Mr Chartwell the author has managed to inject humour and a familiarity into what could have been a pretty gloomy tale.

The story looks at a difficult topic from an unusual angle, derived from Mr Churchill himself. There are funny moments, for example the bathroom scenario in Chapter 15, and in spite of what Mr Chartwell is he comes across as an almost lovable character and I think that’s a key point in this story.

I was surprised by this book, both by how the story developed and how it touched me. It is imaginative and clever and despite some initial apprehension I found it to be a very enjoyable read.

[karieh_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

There is such a sense of melancholy in “Mr. Chartwell”… Despite the subject matter, I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s sad…but despite its summer setting – there’s far more shadows than sun.

The two main characters, Winston Churchill and Esther Hammerhans, make for a very interesting contrast. They are each visited by the “black dog” (the name that Churchill used for the depression that beset him during his life) – “Mr. Chartwell” or “Black Pat”, but with very different results.

Esther, who lost her husband nearly two years ago, has only begun to know this black embodiment of depression.

“Esther awoke with a gentle jolt. The primitive departments of her brain, the units that dealt with anciently evolved instincts, were wiring encrypted telegrams to her consciousness. They told Esther in a subtle siren that Black Pat was near. The sirens were insistent, he was very close. It took a minute of hard concentration as she listened through the shades of silence, but then it came. Underneath the sound of the sleeping street, the sound of her own breathing, was the ambiance of an animal.”

Churchill, however, has known this dark presence for many, many years. “I understand that we share a wicked union, and I know the goblin bell which summons you comes from a tomb in my heart. And I will honor my principles, labouring against the shadows you herald. I don’t blench from this burden, but” – here he let out a deep breath, laying the glasses down gently – “it’s so demanding; it leaves me so very tired.”

The melancholy of the story of two people connected by this unseen but overwhelming presence, comes not only from the two of them but from Mr. Chartwell himself. The reader gets the sense that although he accepts his task of guarding them and not leaving them alone – he understands how dreadful it is.

“I’ve wondered on occasion whether you were there, waiting to stake your flag from the moment my soul entered this world.”

“I didn’t come until sent for.” Black Pat’s eyes were like leeches on him. “But I’ve been a companion to others around you, so I’ve never been far away.”

The “black dog” though used by Churchill, works well in the story. Other types of animals might have worked, but there’s something about the unavoidable smell, hulking size, overpowering fur and muscle that works very well. Even when not front and center, Chartwell’s sheer bulk makes it so that Esther/Churchill are aware of his presence at all times.

“It’s a love with a capacity you have no concept of.” Black Pat said with a hot voice. “It’s a love that would endure beyond the precinct of your days with a ferocity you can’t hope to equal.”

“Wait, ferocity?”

“Boundless, endless, friendless ferocity.”

“No,” Esther said after a speechless period, her eyes dark holes. “That’s not love, it’s possession.”

The draw of this beast, the consuming nature of his presence, forces not only a young librarian but one of the most powerful men in the history of the world to fight. Fight demons both inside and outside themselves. This “dark star in the constellation which forms me...” is the center of this poignantly lovely novel.

[noranydrop2read · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What an extraordinary first novel. Rebecca Hunt has taken an audacious, ambitious premise, and executed it in an insightful, rich way. Winston Churchill is a well-known depressive who referred to his sometime companion as The Black Dog. Hunt has personified The Black Dog with Mr. Chartwell, the new (canine) boarder at the home of librarian Esther, who is a widower. His presence is entirely unwelcome, yet strangely irresistible. Esther allows him to move in, but resents his presence. He has moved to be conveniently situated near Winston Churchill, who is reflective on the eve of his retirement from Parliament, but he has other jobs as well. This novel really should have been a disaster with this premise. A dog who walks on two legs and affects human manners (though not so well that he can resist chomping on a bone in the hallway) sounds laughable, and not in a good way. But Hunt approaches the subject of depression with sensitivity and deep understanding, and "Mr. Chartwell" embodies it nobly, with messy rudeness and plaintive pleas for understanding.

Hunt's language reveals a sensitivity to the nuances of depression, as well as an elegant precision. Churchill says that "the prospects of retirement could not yet be fully contemplated, being too full of awful passion. It churned the heart with thistles."*** Esther feels that "...the weeks of her life had drifted past as ghosts. There was the rare bump of pleasure, perhaps from a meal out or a visit to the cinema, but it was brittle and shattered under the lonely monotony of the ghost days." But she doesn't immediately recognize that her relationship with "Black Pat" is much more complicated than that of a landlord and boarder. He explains his "job" to her, nicely summing up the symptoms of depression: "With Churchill we know each other's movements, so we have a routine, I guess. I like to be there when he wakes up in the morning. Sometimes I drape across his chest. That slows him down for a bit..." Churchill speaks to Black Pat with familiarity, even affection, but also with bitter resentment. He always knew that Black Pat would return for Churchill's retirement, and he reluctantly accepts the presence.

Hunt's Churchill is fully believable and complex, a great man plagued by doubt, dreading retirement. Esther represents a different stage of visitation by depression, still adjusting to Black Pat's charms. She is also a well-developed character in her own right; a young widow still mourning her husband and coming to terms with loss while attending to new and old friendships and her job, which eventually leads her to Churchill's study to take dictation. Their encounter is the crux of the novel, beautifully exquisite and surprising.

I fully expect this to be my favorite novel released in 2011. Hunt's writing is utterly inventive and surprising, her story told with wisdom and sensitivity.

***All quotations are taken from an uncorrected proof and should be checked against a final copy, tentative publication date 2/22/11.

FTC Source Disclosure: I received an Advance Reader's Edition from the publisher.