An Episode of Sparrows by Rumer Godden

Octopuses have three hearts and hagfish have four; I am not sure how many this story has—at least two, but maybe five. One is Lovejoy Mason, a little girl growing up between the cracks of society, suddenly and furiously possessed by the impulse to create a garden in her ratty, post-Blitz London neighborhood. But there is also Olivia, middle-aged and muddled, smothered by the efficient morality and complacent prosperity of her sister, Angela, but reaching for some way to make her life make sense. Also Sparkey, small and runny-nosed and bony-legged, and Tip, who can’t help himself from helping. There is Vincent and his empty restaurant, and his wife, Mrs. Crombie, trying to make it work. There is a miniature rosebush. And then there are the plates. I don’t think I’ve ever come across another scene in literature where a plate made me cry.

It’s a beautiful, subtle, richly observed story about the possibility and impossibility of change and compromise and love.

"I sometimes think," said Olivia, "from watching, of course, because I am not experienced, I think experience can be a—block." Again it was clumsy, but she knew what she meant.

"And why?" asked Angela, amused.

"Because if you think you know, you don't ask questions," said Olivia slowly, "or if you do ask, you don't listen to the answers." Olivia had observed this often. "Everyone, everything, each thing, is different, so that it isn't safe to know. You—you have to grope."