After decades of worshipping Rosalind Russell in the film adaptation of this book, I was startled to discover that the book did not entertain me as I had assumed it would.

There is some very witty writing, but in the end, everything was too over the top for me. Even the movie borders on the ridiculous, but it never fully tipped over. The Agnes Gooch in Maine chapter made me want to claw out my own eyes.

The film watered down (somewhat) the offensive anti-Semitism, sexism, and other "of the era" writing, which is so pronounced in the book.

After assuming for years that this would be a five-star read for me, it breaks my heart to give three stars (and I may be feeling a tad generous due to nostalgia).