The Last Garden

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The estate has passed down through the family and Diane Melcourt is charged with holding it all together. She’s met with resistance from her deceased husband’s sister who has moved herself into the house and is on the verge of a coup.

The Last Garden | Rachel Ip

They called this month Brumaire, the revolutionaries. From the word for mist. They were going for an agrarian feel, with the new calendar, for authenticity. But they also had a serious hardon for the Roman Republic, so they had to sound some classical notes too. Seriously, they were running out of baskets for the heads at this point, and this was the shit they were agonising over. Onwards and upwards, I guess they figured. It’s straight-up fanaticism, is what it is. No two ways about it. But there’s no reasoning with us on this point. Because like all fundamentalists, we believe ourselves to possess a sacred knowledge, to be admitted to a higher truth. I've always been an admirer of gardens, so this novel appealed to me right away. The stunning cover also attracted my attention. Unlike many historical novels that feature a 'dual timeline', this one has a 'triple timeline' which the author skillfully weaves together. I thought about my immune system, spooked by some unfathomable false alarm, and now diligently devouring the myelin that insulated my nerve cells. For most purposes, clearly, this was not a good thing. The creative passion of the main characters - two garden designers and a painter spoke to me with their insightful determination and the artistic aspect was especially appealing.Interwoven are stories of the the owners of the grand estate for the three generations and the events that unfold in those years. Most of the intervening stories are set during the War with some of the staff, land girls, soldiers and friends.

The Last Garden by Rachel Ip | Goodreads The Last Garden by Rachel Ip | Goodreads

When we say that something is wrong, that something isn't doing much work. It's the wrong that does the heavy lifting. There's a lot of nuance in there, a whole spectrum. And beyond the visible range – familiar aches, homely traumas – it turns out there's a whole other domain. He’s going to buy a rose plant on the way home. It’s the right time of year, he knows, for getting them established. He’s been keeping up his reading. The Last Garden takes worker placement and crosses it with a betting mechanic. You have a set of 'Robotanists' that are your workers and you must place these in different areas to gain effects.MyHome.ie (Opens in new window) • Top 1000 • The Gloss (Opens in new window) • Recruit Ireland (Opens in new window) • Irish Times Training (Opens in new window) Julia Kelly’s captivating novel, The Last Garden in England is as immersive as it is enchanting...Historical fiction at its very best." —Patti Callahan, New York Times bestselling author of Becoming Mrs. Lewis To care for a garden, you have to know it deeply. You have to know it carnally. You have to touch it intimately, get under its skin. You have to go down on it, taste its undermurk, get as filthy as it wants, let it claw you, mark you, draw blood. You have to ache from it, stink of it, reel from it But Eve already knew a thing or two. First, she knew this was no kind of life. Made from a rib? To be some dork's helpmeet? Yeah, no. Not feeling it.

The Last Garden by Rachel Ip (9781444946352/Paperback

Because it’s not a moment at all. Moments are ending in there. That’s how it works. Time and space have collapsed, are reconfiguring. There are new dimensions now, unfolding from this dark and pristine singularity. I could still do things, mind you. That’s the thing with this disease. It doesn’t say, Yeah, you can’t do that any more. Not at first, anyway. In 1907, Venetia Smith has made a reputation for herself as the designer of gardens for the wealthy. Her designs are innovative and her latest commission is to design the gardens of Highbury House. Her reputation is her most coveted asset and she guards it as such. It is when she meets the brother of the lady of the house that things go very wrong. A few days earlier, leaving the house, I had caught sight of a single fragile iris rising from a drift of dead leaves. I had crouched before it in a remorseful attitude, freeing it gently from the surrounding detritus. Look at all of this, God told them. Isn’t it beautiful? All these rivers, every kind of tree. You can even eat the fruit. Oh, except that one. The Tree of Knowledge? You eat the fruit from that one, trust me, you’ll know all about it.One of my favorite things about this was the garden that tied each woman and their stories together. The bees dazed in the apricot light, the butterflies carefully flinching. That’s what I’ll remember, when the time comes.