I didn't not like this book, but there was something a little off about it. I found the story a weird (if slightly less wholesome) combination of Stand By Me, A Christmas Story, Where the Red Fern Grows (without the dogs, or the fern, or the tear-jerkiness), and even a little bit of Anne of Green Gables (without Anne, or the nostalgia). The writing seemed overly florid and old-fashioned. And half the time I found myself wondering if it was possiby quite autobiographical--not because the story was so believable or realistic, but because it was so full of unnecessary detail. Not in a quirky, Dickensian way, but in a "what was the point of that paragraph?" way. But in the end I decided it wasn't based on Tryon's life (although he was born in Connecticut) and I found myself not really warming to the book. I don't know if that's because I'm being a book snob (this book is already fifty years old, but I'm pretty sure it's not considered a classic; it doesn't seem to be talked about or remembered) or if the book just isn't that great.
Lady tells the story of Woody, a young boy living in Pequot Landing, Connecticut, in what is probably the early 1930s. He befriends the pretty, wealthy widow living across The Green, Adelaide Harleigh, who goes by the nickname Lady. And the whole book is basically Woody growing up and gradually, over decades, learning Lady's secrets (most of which were probably much more shocking nearly a hundred years ago--or even in 1974, when the book was first published; and most of which were telegraphed pretty clearly before being spelled out in plain English). All that said, I still managed to enjoy the reading experience, and I'm always glad to knock another book off my TBR list (and it's just a bonus that it's one I'm happy to expunge from my shelves afterwards).
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