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If her name rings a bell at all, Mary Wesley, who died aged 90 in 2002, is remembered for two things: publishing the first of ten successful novels at the age of 70, and knowing a surprising amount, for a ladylike senior citizen, about sex. Even her greatest fans, though, might wonder if she rates a serious, full-length biography, and why a well-regarded writer and journalist like Patrick Marnham, who has previously produced books on Simenon, Diego Rivera and Jean Moulin, should choose her as a subject. All such carping questions can be put aside immediately. This biography is pure pleasure, a riveting, hilarious tragicomedy of manners.
Mary Wesley was born Mary Farmar, and her forebears were soldiers from the Anglo-Irish gentry. Her pen name reflects her ancestry: her great-great-great-grandfather, the older brother of the first Duke of Wellington, became Governor General of India and changed his name from Wesley to Wellesley.
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