At the risk of beginning with a downer, this is a rather depressing little book.
As the title says, it's one person's life story - and what an uneventful life that proves to be. Rather as in "Waiting for Godot", the reader is waiting and waiting for something to happen, with the growing suspicion that nothing ever will. And the style of prose reflects that, with it's constant reminders of the passage of time: "The years passed..." etc.
Even more bizarrely, the book spans over 60 years during some of the most dramatic social changes ever seen in England, including the First World War, votes for women, the invention of electricity - yet not a mention is made of any of this. It is as if the main character is living in a bubble - one of her own making, and her life ends with a sense of futility, and no suggestion of redemption. If the author was making a point about the empty lives of Victorian unmarried women, then the point is well made.
However, salvation lies in the descriptive detail, the well-drawn characters and the strong sense of some mystery hovering in the background - never quite resolved. That, and the fact that this is a very short book, kept me going, if only to see what the ending would be, and knowing that the end was in sight.
