In 1982, Regent's Park, North London, was not a bad place to be a nanny. At the home of Mary-Kay Wilmers--deputy editor of the London Review of Books--two young boys read from the dictionary for fun, meals were all eaten from mismatched antiques and company included such literary figures as playwright Alan Bennett. These charming surroundings inspired 20-year-old nanny Nina Stibbe to write dozens of highly amusing, impressively observant letters to her sister. Love, Nina is a compilation of those letters, which Stibbe gathered and published more than 30 years later.
Though the premise might suggest an almost saccharine sweetness, Love, Nina is full of dry wit and the occasional crass injection. In her first letter, Stibbe describes her employer by saying, "She swears a lot (f and c), and reminds me of Eslpeth, but not an alcy." (Eslpeth is the girls' mother). After a while, the rapid-fire banter in 55 Gloucester Crescent takes on the feel of an endless game of table tennis, wherein every casual remark is returned with a smart and satisfying quip. "I saw (that woman) pointing at my ponytail and smirking," Stibbe remarks. Mary-Kay responds: "Oh, she's just an idiot and you're more of one for caring."
Amid the silliness, there are real concerns; for instance, one of Stibbe's charges has a serious illness and must make frequent trips to the doctor. But there is an almost defiant sense of good naturalness within the household.
Stibbe's greatest talent--which she shares with her employers--is her ability to find humor in the quotidian. --Annie Atherton