Work in progress: Jane, the deep V sweater

Where I’m at with my latest project and overcoming problems with decreasing, unintentional increasing and perfectionism

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My latest project is a replacement sweater for one that’s falling apart. Again. I really do wear my clothes to death. This one is a pink job with a deep V neck that I’m recreating, updating and hopefully improving.

So far the main challenge has been working out how to do the V neck. The idea is to layer a top underneath this one, either in a matching or contrasting colour depending on how I feel, so it’s important that there’s enough space to show off the top underneath, but at the same time the slope has to be nice and even. After a combination of maths and experimentation, I think I’ve got it sorted and the V is coming along very nicely.

The logical part of my brain isn’t very loud and nearly always gets drowned out by the louder, brasher perfectionist part of my brain

In fact I’m really enjoying knitting this as the frequent decreases and very deep V neck mean that the front piece is almost done. It hasn’t all been plain sailing, though. Just last week, 30 rows into the left-hand side of the deep V, I realised I had one too many stitches. I had done the right number of decreases. I definitely had the right number of stitches at the beginning. So where had that extra one come from?

The alpaca yarn I’m using, while gorgeously soft and mostly a joy to knit with, can be rather splitty, and that’s what had happened here. I’d split a stitch in two some 24 rows back. I could easily have incorporated an extra decrease to sort the mistake out, but my brain just doesn’t work like that. I had to pull it all back and start again.

I did something similar last night when I realised I’d decreased at rows 112 and 118 rather than 114 and 120. The logical part of my brain tells me that these things don’t matter, that these mistakes are easy to fix. But the logical part of my brain isn’t very loud and nearly always gets drowned out by the louder, brasher perfectionist part of my brain. That part tells me that I have to go back and make it right. So I do. And really I'm OK with that.

The front piece of the Jane deep V sweater is almost done.
Photo by Idoru Knits.

Book review: Larkswood

A mystery with intrigue – but ultimately did it satisfy?

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The synopsis of this book was really intriguing: dark secrets, families torn apart, a historical reach spanning generations. What’s not to like? The introductory chapter didn’t disappoint, either, setting up the mystery nicely.

The story begins with Louisa Hamilton and her coming out, along with her older sister. Louisa is then set for a season in London, which she really isn’t looking forward to. However, she becomes ill and is sent to Larkswood House, the family home to which her grandfather, whom she has never met, has only just recently returned.

As she recovers, Louisa begins to love Larkswood, her grandfather Edward and, more unfortunately, the hot gardener. She also discovers what appears to be a family secret and endeavours to investigate. Some 40 years ago, when Edward was a teenager living with his two beloved sisters and with absentee parents, disaster strikes the family, tearing it apart.

The two stories are told in parallel to each other; we don’t learn what the terrible secret is until near the end, but I found it easy to guess. That said, there were plenty of other twists along the way that I didn’t see coming. As a thriller this all works very well and I read the book in just a couple of days – the mystery is such that you really want to find out what happened.

I didn’t buy Edward’s acceptance – and tacit approval and encouragement – of Louisa’s relationship with the gardener

One of the things that often seems to suffer with thrillers, though, is characterisation, and this is the case here. The characters are all rather cliched and one dimensional. Edward is never more than the gruff, bluff grandpa. Louisa’s sister is the beautiful, shallow one interested only parties and securing a good marriage. Louisa herself is plain and bookish, intended no doubt to appeal to a rather bookish audience, or at least one that sees itself as such. Parallels between the two sets of sisters are clear but never examined.

I didn’t buy Edward’s acceptance – and tacit approval and encouragement – of Louisa’s relationship with the gardener. Their differences in station would have been enough for him to put his foot down and his own past would mean he would want to keep them apart. I can’t say much more without giving away the secret, but I found the ending unsatisfying. It was wrapped too easily for my liking.