The Right Attitude to Rain (Isabel Dalhousie Series #3)

( 22 )

Overview

Edinburgh once again provides a colorful setting for the adventures of Isabel Dalhousie, the 40-ish editor of a philosophy journal who loves solving problems. But, like McCall Smith's previous heroine, Precious Ramotswe, she often embroils herself in problems that are none of her business, including some that are best left to the police. Charming and affable, she continually finds herself pulled into the complicated lives of those around her—especially those in need of assistance. Like the others in this series, ...

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Overview

Edinburgh once again provides a colorful setting for the adventures of Isabel Dalhousie, the 40-ish editor of a philosophy journal who loves solving problems. But, like McCall Smith's previous heroine, Precious Ramotswe, she often embroils herself in problems that are none of her business, including some that are best left to the police. Charming and affable, she continually finds herself pulled into the complicated lives of those around her—especially those in need of assistance. Like the others in this series, Right Attitude to Rain offers both a cosy mystery and a fascinating moral dilemma.

Precious Ramotswe fans are sure to embrace Scotsman McCall Smith's plucky new protagonist, who leads a cast of delightfully quirky characters that includes Toby, a dapper bachelor with a dubious understanding of fidelity, and Grace, Dalhousie's morally upright housekeeper, who sizes up society's reprobates in two syllables or less.

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Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble
Eros is in the air in this installment of Alexander McCall Smith's Sunday Philosophy Club series. Isabel Dalhousie's cousin Mimi flies in to Edinburgh from Dallas with her husband, Texas honcho Tom Bruce. Mimi's libidinous observations lead Isabel to question the foundation of her cousin's marriage; she is equally befuddled by Tom's unseemly and quite unpleasant interest in herself. Meanwhile, niece Cat is tumbling hard for a spoiled mama's boy, while Isabel herself is wondering why a rational editor of The Review of Applied Ethics would become so undone by encounters with her own young man. And these are just the beginnings of mysteries unfurled in The Right Attitude to Rain....
Publishers Weekly
The third novel featuring well-to-do and somewhat-nosy philosopher Isabel Dalhousie continues McCall Smith's exploration of the rights and wrongs of everyday life, with Isabel's thoughtful presence providing decidedly more intellectual punch than the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. When Jamie, a young musician, begins to show interest in Isabel, her stirred feelings threaten to overwhelm her even keel, throwing her into ethical crisis. To what degree are our lives dictated by biological imperatives and desires? Does the meaning of art arise from the art itself or its audience? Are white lies permissible, and if so, when? What does the well-off individual owe the homeless man on the corner? Out-of-town visitors to Edinburgh Americans, no less provide further touchstones for all manner of ethical mulling as well as the grist of the book's mystery: does Angie, a young, inscrutable woman betrothed to a wealthy Dallas bachelor, Tom Bruce, have her eyes set on true love or money? At times Isabel's intense dedication to mindfulness borders on the didactic, but love comes to the rescue, nicely illustrating the book's most important philosophical puzzle: how is it that people find real happiness, and what does it have to do with loving rather than thinking? (Sept. 19) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
Editor and philosopher Isabel Dalhousie ponders hijinks of the heart in the latest of the popular "Sunday Philosophy Club" series. Smith lives in Scotland. Eleven-city tour. Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
From the Publisher
“Enchanting. . . . Delicious mental comfort food. . . . The ‘intimate’ city of Edinburgh is an appealing character in its own right.”—Los Angeles Times“Genial. . . . Wise. . . . Glows like a rare jewel.”—Entertainment Weekly “The literary equivalent of herbal tea and a cozy fire. . . . Invites readers into a world of kindness, gentility and creature comforts. . . . McCall Smith's Scotland is well worth future visits.”—The New York Times “At the heart of this deftly written novel is one of the most irresistible sleuths in modern fiction.”—Tucson Citizen
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781440745393
  • Publisher: Recorded Books, LLC
  • Publication date: 4/17/2009
  • Series: Isabel Dalhousie Series, #3
  • Format: MP3
  • Edition description: Unabridged
  • Ships to U.S.and APO/FPO addresses only.

Meet the Author

Alexander McCall Smith
Alexander McCall Smith is the author of the international phenomenon The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, the Isabel Dalhousie Series, the Portuguese Irregular Verbs series, and the 44 Scotland Street series. He is professor emeritus of medical law at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland and has served on many national and international bodies concerned with bioethics. He was born in what is now known as Zimbabwe and he was a law professor at the University of Botswana. Visit his website at www.alexandermccallsmith.com.

Biography

Alexander McCall Smith was born in Zimbabwe (then Rhodesia) and went to school in Bulawayo, near the Botswana border. Although he moved to Scotland to attend college and eventually settled in Edinburgh, he always felt drawn to southern Africa and taught law for a while at the University of Botswana. He has written a book on the criminal law of Botswana, and among his successful children's books is a collection of African folk tales, Children of Wax.

Eventually, Smith had an urge to write a novel about a woman who would embody the qualities he admired in the people of Botswana, and the result, The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, was a surprise hit, receiving two special Booker citations and a place on the Times Literary Supplement's International Books of the Year and the Millennium list. "The author's prose has the merits of simplicity, euphony and precision," Anthony Daniels wrote in the Sunday Telegraph. "His descriptions leave one as if standing in the Botswanan landscape. This is art that conceals art. I haven't read anything with such unalloyed pleasure for a long time."

Despite the book's success in the U.K., American publishers were slow to take an interest, and by the time The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency was picked up by Pantheon Books, Smith had already written two sequels. The books went from underground hits to national phenomena in the United States, spawning fan clubs and inspiring celebratory reviews. Smith is also the author of a detective series featuring the insatiably curious philosopher Isabel Dalhousie and the 44 Scotland Street novels, which present a witty portrait of Edinburgh society

In an interview on the publisher's web site, Smith says he thinks the country of Botswana "particularly chimes with many of the values which Americans feel very strongly about -- respect for the rule of law and for individual freedom. I hope that readers will also see in these portrayals of Botswana some of the great traditional virtues in Africa -- in particular, courtesy and a striking natural dignity."

Good To Know

As a professor at Edinburgh Law School, Smith specializes in criminal law and medical law, and has written about the legal and ethical aspects of euthanasia, medical research, and medical practice.

When he isn't writing books or teaching, Smith finds time to play the bassoon in the candidly named amateur ensemble he co-founded, The Really Terrible Orchestra.

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Read an Excerpt

The Right Attitude to Rain


By Alexander McCall Smith

Random House

Alexander McCall Smith
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0375423001


Chapter One


To take an interest in the affairs of others is entirely natural; so natural, in fact, that even a cat, lying cat-napping on top of a wall, will watch with half an eye the people walking by below. But between such curiosity, which is permissible, and nosiness, which is not, there lies a dividing line that some people simply miss--even if it is a line that is painted red and marked by the very clearest of warning signs.

Isabel adjusted the position of her chair. She was sitting in the window of the Glass and Thompson café at the top of Dundas Street--where it descended sharply down the hill to Canonmills. From that point in the street, one could see in the distance the hills of Fife beyond: dark-green hills in that light, but at times an attenuated blue, softened by the sea--always changing. Isabel liked this café, where the display windows of the shop it had once been had now been made into sitting areas for customers. Edinburgh was normally too chilly to allow people to sit out while drinking their coffee, except for a few short weeks in the high summer when café life spilled out onto the pavement, tentatively, as if expecting a rebuff from the elements. This was a compromise--to sit in the window, protected by glass, and yet feel part of what was going onoutside.

She edged her chair forwards in order to see a little more of what was happening on the other side of the road, at a slight angle. Dundas Street was a street of galleries. Some were well established, such as the Scottish Gallery and the Open Eye, others were struggling to make a living on the work of young artists who still believed that great things lay ahead. Most of them would be disappointed, of course, as they discovered that the world did not share their conviction, but they tried nonetheless, and continued to try. One of these smaller galleries was hosting an opening and Isabel could see the crowd milling about within. At the front door stood a small knot of smokers, drawing on cigarettes, bound together in their exclusion. She strained to make out the features of one of them, a tall man wearing a blue jacket, who was talking animatedly to a woman beside him, gesturing to emphasise some private point. He looked vaguely familiar, she decided, but it was difficult to tell from that distance and angle. Suddenly the man in the blue jacket stopped gesturing, reached forward and rested a hand on the woman's shoulder. She moved sideways, as if to shrug him off, but he held on tight. Her hand went up in what seemed to be an attempt to prise off his fingers, but all the time she was smiling--Isabel could see that. Strange, she thought; an argument conducted in the language of smiles.

But more intriguing still: an expensive car, one of those discreet cars of uncertain make but with unambiguous presence, had drawn up on the café side of the street, just below the level of Isabel's window. It had stopped and a man and a woman had emerged. They were in a no-parking zone, and Isabel watched as the man pressed the device on his key ring that would lock the doors automatically. You are allowed to drop things off, thought Isabel, but not park. Don't you know that? And then she thought: People who drive cars like that consider themselves above the regulations, the rules that prevent those with humbler cars, and shallower pockets, from parking. And these people, of course, can afford the parking fines; small change for them. She found herself feeling irritated, and her irritation became, after a few moments, animosity. She found herself disliking them, this man and woman standing beside their expensive car, because of their arrogance.

She looked down into her coffee cup, and then up again. No, she thought. This is wrong. You should not dislike people you do not know. And she knew nothing about them, other than that they appeared to imagine that their wealth entitled them to ignore the regulations by which the rest of us had to abide. But then they might not know that one could not park there because they were from somewhere else; from a place where a double yellow line might be an invitation to park, for all she knew. And even as she thought this, she realised that of course they were not from Edinburgh. Their clothes were different, and their complexions too. These people had been in the sun somewhere, and their clothes had that cut, that freshly dry-cleaned look that Scottish clothes never seem to have. Scottish clothes are soft, a bit crumpled, lived-in, like Scottish people themselves really.

She craned her neck. The two of them, the man considerably older than the woman, were walking down the road, away from the car. They paused as the man pointed at a door, and the woman said something to him. Isabel saw her adjust the printed silk scarf around her neck and glance at the watch on her wrist, a small circle of gold that caught the sun as she moved her arm. The man nodded and they climbed the steps that led into the Scottish Gallery. Isabel sat back in her seat. It was not remarkable in any way; a wealthy couple from somewhere else, driving into town, leaving their car where they should not--but out of ignorance rather than arrogance--and then going into one of the galleries. There was nothing particularly interesting about all that, except for one thing. Isabel had seen the man's face, which was drawn up on one side from Bell's palsy, producing the condition's characteristic grimace. And the woman's face had been, by contrast, a beautiful one--if one's standards of beauty are the regular features of the Renaissance Madonna: soft, composed, feminine.

They are none of my business, she thought. And yet she had nothing to do until twelve o'clock--it was then ten-thirty in the morning--and she had been half thinking of going into the Scottish Gallery anyway. She knew the staff there, and they usually showed her something interesting by the Scottish artists she liked, a Peploe sketch, a Philipson nude, something by William Crosbie if she was in luck. If she went in now, she would see the couple at closer quarters and reach a more considered view. She had been wrong to dislike them, and she owed it to them now to find out a little bit more about them. So it was not pure curiosity, even if it looked like it; this was really an exercise in rectifying a mistaken judgement.





The entrance to the Scottish Gallery was a glass door, behind which a short set of open stairs led to the upper gallery, while a slightly longer set led down into a warren of basement exhibition spaces. These lower spaces were not dark, as basements could be, but brightly lit by strategically placed display lights, and brightened, too, by the splashes of colour on the walls. Isabel went up and passed the desk of her friend Robin McClure to her right. He sat there with his list of prices and his catalogues, ready to answer questions. What impressed her about Robin was that although he could tell who bought paintings and who did not, he was civil to both. So those who wandered into the gallery because it was wet outside, or because they just wanted to look at art, would receive from him as courteous a welcome as those who wandered in with the intention of buying a painting or, in the case of those who were weaker, a readiness to be tempted to buy. That, thought Isabel, was what distinguished Dundas Street galleries from many of the expensive galleries in London and Paris, where bells had to be rung before the door was opened. And even then, once the door had been unlocked, the welcome, if it was a welcome, was grudging and suspicious.

Robin was not at his desk. She glanced around her. It was a general exhibition, one where a hotchpotch of works were displayed. The effect, thought Isabel, was pleasing, and her eye was drawn immediately to a large picture dominating one of the walls. Two figures were before a window, a man and a woman. The man was staring out at a rural landscape, the woman looked in towards the room. Her face was composed, but there was a wistful sadness about it. She would like to be elsewhere, thought Isabel; as so many people would. How many of us are happy to be exactly where we are at any moment? Auden said something about that, she remembered, in his mountains poem. He had said that the child unhappy on one side of the Alps might wish himself on the other. Well, he was right; only the completely happy think that they are in the correct place.

She glanced about her. There were several people on the main floor of the gallery: a man in a blue overcoat, a scarf around his neck, peering at a small painting near the window; a couple of middle-aged women wearing those green padded jackets that marked them immediately as leading, or at least aspiring to, the country life. They were sisters, Isabel decided, because they had the same prominent brow; sisters living together, thoroughly accustomed to each other, acting--almost thinking--in unison. But where were the man and the woman she had seen? She took a few steps forwards, away from the top of the stairs, and saw that they were standing in the small inner gallery that led off from the main floor. He was standing in front of a painting, consulting a catalogue; she was by the window staring out. It was the reverse of the large painting that she had spotted when she came in. She was looking out; he was looking in. But then it occurred to Isabel that in other respects the scene before her echoed the painting. This woman wanted to be elsewhere.

"Isabel?"

She turned round sharply. Robin McClure stood behind her, looking at her enquiringly. He reached out and put a hand lightly on her arm in a gesture of greeting.

"Don't tell me," he said. "You're standing in awe before our offering. Overwhelmed by the beauty of it all."

Isabel laughed. "Overcome."

Robin, his hand still on her arm, guided her towards a small picture at the edge of the room. Isabel glanced over her shoulder into the smaller room; they were still there, although the man had now joined the woman at the window, where they seemed absorbed in conversation.

"Here's something that will appeal to you," said Robin. "Look at that."

Isabel knew immediately. "Alberto Morrocco?" she asked.

Robin nodded. "You can see the influence, can't you?"

It was not apparent to Isabel. She leaned forward to look more closely at the painting. A girl sat in a chair, one arm resting on a table, the other holding a book. The girl looked straight ahead; not at the viewer, but through him, beyond him. She was wearing a tunic of the sort worn by schoolgirls in the past, a grey garment, with thick folds in the cloth. Behind her, a curtain was blown by the wind from an open window.

"Remember Falling Leaves?" Robin prompted. "That painting by James Cowie?"

Isabel looked again at the painting. Yes. Schoolgirls. Cowie had painted schoolgirls, over and over, innocently, but the paintings had contained a hint of the anxious transition to adolescence.

"Morrocco studied under Cowie in Aberdeen," Robin continued. "He later discovered his own palette and the bright colours came in. And the liveliness. But every so often he remembered who taught him."

"Morrocco was a friend of your father's, wasn't he?" Isabel said. Scotland was like that; there were bonds and connections everywhere, sinews of association, and they were remembered. Isabel had a painting by Robin's father, David McClure; it was one of her favourites.

"Yes," said Robin. "They were great friends. And I have known Morrocco ever since I can remember."

Isabel reached out, as if to touch the surface of the painting. "That awful cloth," she said. "The stuff that schoolgirls had to wear."

"Most uncomfortable," said Robin. "Or so I imagine."

Isabel pointed to the painting beside it, a small still life of a white-and-blue Glasgow jug. There was something familiar about the style, but she could not decide what it was. Perhaps it was the jug itself; there were so many paintings of Glasgow jugs--to paint one, it seemed, had been a rite of passage, like going to Paris. Artists, she thought, were enthusiastic imitators, a thought that immediately struck her as unfair, she conceded to herself, because everyone was an enthusiastic imitator.

"Yes," said Robin. "Well, there you are . . ." He turned his head. The man whom Isabel had seen had left the inner gallery and was standing a few steps away from Robin, wanting to speak, but reluctant to interrupt.

"Sir . . . ," began Robin, then faltered. Isabel saw his expression, the slight air of being taken aback and the quick recovery. And she thought: This is what this man must experience every time he meets somebody; the shock as the distorted face is registered and then follows the attempt to cover the reaction. She remembered how she had once had lunch with a young man, the nephew of a friend of hers, who had come to seek her advice about studying philosophy at university. She had met him for the first time in a restaurant. He had come in, a self-possessed, good-looking young man, and when they had moved to the table she had seen the scar which ran down the side of his cheek. He had said immediately: "I was bitten by a dog when I was a boy. I was thirteen." He had said that because he had known what she was thinking--how did it happen? Presumably everybody thought that and he supplied the answer right at the beginning, just to get it out of the way.

The man fingered his tie nervously. "I didn't want to interrupt," he said. Then, turning to Isabel, he repeated, "I'm sorry. I didn't wish to interrupt."

"We were just blethering," said Robin, using the Scots word. "Don't worry."

He's American, thought Isabel, from somewhere in the South. But it was difficult to tell these days because peo- ple moved about so much and accents had changed. And she thought of her late mother, suddenly, inconsequentially, her sainted American mother as she called her, who had spoken in the accent of Louisiana, and whose voice had faded in her memory, though it was still there, just.

She looked at the man and then quickly turned away. She was curious about him, of course, but if she held him in her gaze he would think that she was staring at his face.

Continues...


Excerpted from The Right Attitude to Rain by Alexander McCall Smith Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Reading Group Guide

National Bestseller

“Enchanting. . . . Delicious mental comfort food. . . . The ‘intimate’ city of Edinburgh is an appealing character in its own right.”
Los Angeles Times

The introduction, discussion questions, author biography, and suggestions for further reading that follow are intended to enhance your group’s conversation about The Right Attitude to Rain, the third episode in the adventures of moral philosopher and Edinburgh native Isabel Dalhousie.|

1. The novel opens as Isabel observes an obviously wealthy couple on a street in Edinburgh; she judges herself harshly for immediately disliking them, then decides to follow them into an art gallery: “She had been wrong to dislike them, and she owed it to them now to find out a little bit more about them. So it was not pure curiosity, even if it looked like it; this was really an exercise in rectifying a mistaken judgment” [p. 6]. What does this wry passage tell us about Isabel? Is her curiosity an admirable trait?

2. Isabel is in love with Jamie, but she feels that the age gap between them—she is fourteen years older than he—means that he will never love her. Is this a reasonable assumption? Is too much made of the age difference—by Cat, by Isabel herself—or is it truly a significant problem?

3. Isabel is putting together an issue of the Review of Applied Ethics on the subject of “character and its implications for moral involvement in the world” [p. 25]. As a philosopher she believes, “You may not be able to create a personality, but you can create a character for yourself” [p. 26]. The question hinges on what is given in us, and what we can change or will about ourselves. Do you think of Isabel as someone who has intentionally created a “character” for herself? Does this involve making moral choices?

4. Isabel thinks of her relationship to Grace, for whom she wants to buy an apartment, in terms of the concept of moral community [pp. 35–6]: Jamie feels that Isabel has no obligation to buy Grace an apartment, even though she can afford it and it would give her pleasure to do so. Likewise, Florence Macreadie has no obligation to offer the flat to Isabel at a lower price, but she does. How does the chain of relations involved in buying the apartment illustrate the concept of moral community?

5. A central issue in the novel has to do with perception—how we observe and interpret the behavior of others. Florence Macreadie observes, and makes assumptions about, the relationship between Isabel and Jamie [p. 68]; Isabel does so as well, about the relationship of Tom Bruce and his fiancée Angie [p. 119]. How accurate are the assumptions here? What is the novel saying about our interest in the private affairs of other people?

6. Cat “was attracted to tall young men with regular features and blond hair. It was a cliché of male beauty, really, and Cat subscribed to it enthusiastically” [p. 56]. What do Cat’s choices in romantic partners tell us about her? Why has Cat rejected Jamie, while preferring Patrick, for instance [pp. 55–61]? Does Isabel’s Darwinian theory regarding human attraction make sense [p. 56]?

7. What does Isabel mean when, after almost accepting the offer of the flat at a reduced price because of Florence Macreadie’s impression that she and Jamie were lovers, she says, "I have learned something about myself" [p. 70]? Was she being unethical in wanting to accept the offer?

8. What does Isabel experience when she learns of her mother’s affair with a younger man [pp. 96–7, 122–23]? Was Mimi right to tell her about it?

9. In a surprisingly intimate conversation, Florence Macreadie encourages Isabel to have an affair with Jamie, whereas Isabel feels she should proceed cautiously because of the “hazardous conversion of friendship into erotic love” [p. 132]. Grace also raises the subject of Jamie with Isabel [p. 140], as does Mimi [p. 147]. Is it surprising that other women are giving Isabel encouragement, and counseling her that she herself must make the romantic overtures?

10. If you have read the previous two novels in the series, did you assume that a love affair between Isabel and Jamie would ever happen? Read the full text of W. H. Auden’s poem, “A Lullaby,” from which Isabel quotes on page 204. Why does she call it “that most gravely beautiful of poems”?

11. Why does Cat respond so angrily to Isabel’s relationship with Jamie? She insists it is not jealousy she feels, “it’s disgust” [p. 228]. What might be the reasons for Cat’s anger? Are her feelings understandable, or not?

12. Angie, with her acquisitive habits, her insincerity, and her attempt to seduce Jamie, is the villain of the novel. Isabel has a dream that she has murdered Tom to get his money. Think about the contrast the two couples present: Angie is the young fiancée of an older, wealthier man, while Jamie is the boyfriend of an older, wealthier woman. Yet Tom discovers, on meeting Isabel, that he would prefer to be involved with her, not Angie. What qualities might have drawn Tom to Angie originally? Why would he now prefer Isabel?

13. Thinking about the changes she sees in her neighborhood, Isabel thinks, “There were pockets of character, of resistance, that held out against all the forces that would destroy local, small-scale things, even small-scale
countries” [p. 245]. What role do the Edinburgh setting and the Scottish cultural context play in making these
stories a pleasure to read?

14. Isabel worries that she is wrong to give Tom advice about Angie. As Jamie reminds her, she does have a tendency to get involved when she shouldn’t. Does she do so in this novel to the degree she has in the past?

15. How surprising is the final revelation? Earlier Isabel had thought, “She would not hold on to him; she knew that there would come a time when one of them would need to let go—and it would be him. When that time came she would not stop him” [p. 218]. How does the novel’s ending change Isabel’s idea that her love affair with Jamie is temporary? Were you surprised by what happened, or was it as you predicted?

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 22 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 22 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 2, 2008

    Read this book.

    This book is lovely. It really made me think about my life and where it's going. Don't whip through it though--take your time. It's worth it.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 8, 2007

    Was surprised I was able to make it to the end

    While the imagery and language of this book was pleasant, I was so bored with the plot by the 3rd chapter that I had to force myself to keep reading in hopes that something significant would happen in the story line. I was deeply disappointed. I cannot imagine an entire series of this character if this book is indicative of all that she ever does. 'I like him, maybe he likes me, now someone else I barely just met likes me, blah blah.' I sensed no passion with the direction of the plot and frankly didn't care what happened to any of the main characters. And I never did understand how the title of the book clearly related to the story unless the right attitude to rain is to sleep through it. Will not read this author again.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 20, 2007

    A reviewer

    Here it is: avoid it. Boring, boring, boring. Uninteresting characters.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 26, 2007

    A Mystery Series without Mystery!

    Odd that the sub-title for this series is 'Isabel Dalhousie Mysteries' when there is no mystery in this current book. With the other two titles, Sunday Philosophy Club and Friend, Lovers, Chocolate, there was a mysterious occurence to be solved. In the Right Attitude to Rain, I suspect McCall Smith of having been de-railed as he wrote. Isabel's second cousin Mimi exposes a surprising truth about her 'sainted American mother', a secret that could have served as the 'mystery' of the book (with the culprit being none other than a younger, healthier Tom Bruce!) But somehow, the focus of the story shifts entirely to Isabel's relationship with her niece's rejected suitor, with everyone under the sun unexpectedly and unbelievably expressing approval. I was completely leg-crossingly uncomfortable with the denouement. Without giving away the ending, McCall Smith puts the editor of the Review of Applied Ethics in an absurd situation, which I'm sure he'll make the most of in the forthcoming 'The Correct Use of Compliments'. Or, knowing his mass-production-of-novels method, touch on and get hopelessly involved in another tangent. Am I a skeptic who pooh-poohs romance? No, but Isabel's love life could have been handled in a more realistic and less 'tacked on' fashion.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 13, 2007

    Intriguing

    I have some catching up to do, not having read the two previous Dalhousie books. This will be rectified immediately. the book caught my eye because of the title ... intriguingly curious without giving anything away. It turned out to be a delicious read from beginning to end. Through the twists and turns, I sometimes held my breath, but it stayed the course and gave us the ending we wished for. I quite fell in love with the characters and didn't want the book to end. So, how can one get a date for tea with Isabel?

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 18, 2007

    Favorite in the Series

    This is one of those books that stays with you in your head for days after you finish reading it. It's my favorite in the series so far, even though there was not a big mystery to solve really. Isabel's character is fantastic.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 2, 2007

    Irresistible musings on life, love and applied ethics

    In the third Isabel Dalhousie novel so far, McCall Smith spoils the reader with yet another story fraught with spirit, philosophical wit and Isabel's irresistible musings on life, love and applied ethics. In 'The Right Attitude to Rain', we become more and more acquainted with Isabel's more intimate thoughts which is exciting and touching at the same time. As her deeper thoughts and emotions are revealed, our affection for Isabel can only grow. Once more McCall Smith has created a wonderful story larded with hints of poetry, beautiful landscapes, human insights and a sense of irony that betrays a great love for the persona he himself has created. Within its genre, I have seldom read a novel so beautifully written and imaginatively developed as the third Isabel Dalhousie novel. I am waiting eagerly and rather impatiently for the fourth...

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 19, 2012

    Love this series!!

    I read this Isabel Dalhousie series first and now my 86 year old Mother loves it too - she's of Scottish descent so that helps her relate. Great little series.

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  • Posted July 11, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Isabel just Shines!

    I have always enjoyed the Isabel Dalhousie's books and in my opinion The Right Attitude to Rain is a notch above the others. Even though Isabel was still analyzing family and friends, and coming to her own conclusions in the story was a departure from the other books. Isabel's niece, Cat, has a different personality or a different side, maybe that's what I'm trying to say. Oh well, no need to expound on the plot and other parts of the story because it would only spoil it for you.
    In summary, Mr. Smith has created a super story in which you will definitely care for the characters.

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    Posted March 22, 2011

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