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Contentment Cove by Miriam Colwell $15.95 Softcover, 226 pages ISBN: 0-934031-04-6 New! "Her insight into the minds of young people, especially, make me reminiscent of my own youth and cognizant of what a hard thing it is to be young." —Cynthia Thayer, author of "A Brief Lunacy" "Nasty, funny, witty, biting, perceptive … The themes recall The Great Gatsby and the whole issue of class in America. A major theme is that the very rich or the moderately rich are different from you and me, that wealth and money inspire a certain kind of carelessness. Miriam has a definite eye to class gradations within that community." —Burton Hatlen National Poetry Foundation

Miriam Colwell’s Contentment Cove—her fourth novel set in Maine and her first in more than five decades—is a riveting story of class distinctions in a 1950s Down East coastal village during a time of cultural change.

Meet Dot-Fran, Hilary, and Mina, three residents of a Maine coastal village in the 1950s. Dot-Fran, the youngest, is a native; she runs the town's drug store. Hilary, middle-aged, is a worldly artist. The wealthy Mina and her husband retired to the town after being enchanted with its charm during a one-night visit. Their disparate lives become entwined and eventually clash tragically.

The story—which features recognizable "Maine" characters as well as those "from away"—takes place over only a matter of days one summer.

And while Maine-native Colwell infuses Contentment Cove with humor, it is nonetheless a novel that deals with serious issues that remain relevant today, none more compelling than the erosion of one way of Maine life and the evolution of another.

About the Author Colwell was born in Prospect Harbor in 1917 and still lives in the house built by her great-great-great grandfather in 1817. Colwell also wrote Wind off the Water (1945), Day of the Trumpet (1947) and Young (1955). Those novels earned her attention at the time and prompted The Puckerbrush Review to write recently, "Everyone who wants to get acquainted with the whole body of Maine literature in the twentieth century should read Miriam Colwell." As a resident and long-time postmistress she has watched change upon change wash over the fabled coast for nearly nine decades. She explores those themes in her fourth novel, Contentment Cove, which is set in a Down East coastal village in the 1950s when social clashes and changing values were starting to tear at the fabric of Maine's traditional way of life.

It was a lovely day, the morning of Hilary’s party, with bright sunshine and a clear blue sky, and just enough breeze to keep it from being too hot.

The party was the first thing I thought of when I woke up. Stan and I were going, just like summer people! And it was a perfect day. I could wear my navy sheer, with the pleated skirt.

Dad had breakfast ready when I came downstairs. The bacon smelled so good, and the whole house was full of sunshine, and Dave Garroway talking away to himself on the television in the den. Beulah was purring around Dad’s feet, everything so dear, and familiar, and everyday, and, lying underneath, was the wonderful thought of the party to look forward to. It was one of those times when you just feel like singing!

I gave Dad a hug while he was trying to slide my egg onto the plate without breaking it.

“Well, well,” he said, with his pleased little grin, “somebody’s happy today! What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, just that it’s so nice out, and this afternoon is Mrs. Wister’s party!”

“So that’s it.”

He leaned down and gave Beulah her strip of bacon. No one had any peace in the morning until she got it.

“This is the shindig Stan’s coming down from Center City for, is it? The bank certainly gets its money’s worth out of him. Having to drive a hundred miles every time one of their customers gives a cocktail party.”

My brother Stan’s coming had nothing to do with the bank, but I hoped Dad really believed it did. You never knew whether he was being fooled or not.

Dad had angina. He couldn’t go to the drugstore since his last bad attack, but he did all the bookkeeping in the den at home. He had to be quiet, and not get nervous or upset.

“I hope he gets a babysitter for the boys, and brings Beulah along with him this time,” he said. “That’s a long drive to make all alone.”

Our cat, Beulah, was named for Stan’s Beulah, because the way she loved anything new reminded us of her. The minute anything new came into the house, from a refrigerator to a new chair cover, our Beulah had to jump up on it, sharpen her claws on it, and take a nap on it straight off the reel.

Of course Stan had no intention of bringing Beulah to the party.

It was just as well that I had to hurry along and open the drugstore, because Dad had been making remarks like that lately, and he could usually tell if I was trying to hide something.