Wynd, through diary entries and letters spanning forty years, tells the story of Mary as she travels to marry British military man in China, but really tells of the pervading strains women are forced under, and the loneliness that is born in every circumstance. This is a bittersweet novel, for Mary, amongst the forces outside of her control, forges a life for herself, and we follow her as she grows and hardens, as her position and happiness peaks and troughs, and as she sheds the shame bestowed upon her and takes advantage of her independence. Through the form, Wynd is able to infer much about Mary that she does not write explicitly, as often is the way when people are unable to feel themselves changing when it happens so slowly, nor put words to their feelings that they do not understand or accept, or fully grasp the societal forces that submerge them. The experience she accumulates creates a complex character, one scared of connection, craving stability, often wanting to resign to her unhappiness, yet unable to do so - most importantly, she is always evolving. Within the backdrop of political tumult, Mary evolves through her rejection, and though so much remains out of her control, the life she carves out for herself, by herself, is fascinating to read of; a story not so much of female empowerment, but of the female condition, and of the unending pursuit for fulfilment beside the forces against her.

I can't believe that there are relationships in our living organised for us from 'outside', and yet at times I find myself believing what I don't believe. This probably comes from not having a defined personality, or at least not one I can define to myself. I look at those around me who seem to have absolutely fixed identities, wondering if these are the result of the accident of their circumstances, or something deliberately achieved. It is people like these who make a real impact on their environment and people like me who make none at all. I should be ashamed, but I'm not.