Mandy is a gorgeous creation, a character so warm and vivid you half wish you could take her out for a drink . . . Dawson is good at delineating class, particularly as it manifested itself in the '70s, when the clenched '50s and the new world of the '60s were still in a fight to the death: every detail is perfect, from children's toys to mealtimes . . . it's impossible to tire of Mandy, or of Neville, the West Indian man with whom she falls in love
Lady Morven and Mandy are superbly drawn . . . a sensitive and often beautifully written novel
Dawson has a great talent for turning real people into fictional characters . . . By viewing the drama through the eyes of two nannies - the watchful Mandy and her more gullible friend Rosemary - Jill Dawson introduces an intriguing new perspective on the well-known tale. The cold, knowing world of upper-class entitlement is captured with fresh eyes. Dawson is particularly sharp on the nanny's conflicting thoughts about her neurotic employer.
Highly engrossing . . . Dawson gives powerful voice to someone silenced in history . . . She delves unflinchingly into themes of domestic violence, mental illness and murder with sensitivity and skill. Her greatest achievement is to make Mandy live from these pages not only as a victim of murder but as a young woman filled with an energy too cruelly cut short.
Compelling . . . it's a heartbreaking read
The complex intersections of the mother-baby-nanny triangle and the loneliness of childcare are beautifully depicted . . .The narrative's progress towards the terrifying evening in the dark basement kitchen has the ineluctable pull of tragic myth. We know what must come, but this knowledge never detracts from the memorable beauty and intelligence of the novel. By focussing on the victim, Dawson allows us to completely rethink the original story in a way that honours Sandra Rivett's short life.
Jill Dawson explores the [Lucan] case from the nanny's perspective, bringing her to life as a fictional yet vivid character. And, in the process, she takes on the British class system, misogyny and domestic violence. Even though we know the tragic ending, the novel is curiously uplifting.
Poignant and heartbreaking.
In a class of its own . . . A glimmeringly intelligent, vital and compassionate exploration of nature, nurture and female desire, it also taps a deep vein of anger and sorrow at the fate of innumerable abused and murdered women. Timely, devastating and superbly realised.
Refusing to get distracted by the largely spurious mystery of Lucan's disappearance, this imaginative and often poetic novel keeps itself grounded in the no-nonsense realities of social class and domestic violence.
Gripping . . . This dazzling novel combines the pace of a thriller with moving, poetic writing.
Glorious and exquisitely written. And - for a book that takes one of the most famous murders of the 20th century as its inspiration - astonishingly full of life and joy.
I loved it. It's a brilliant riposte to all the Lucan myth-making that has developed over the years - so moving and so righteously angry.
Addictive and moving