Here's a good book: Portrait of a Marriage, by Nigel Nicolson.

Nicolson tells the story of his mother, Vita Sackville-West, and his father Harold, who had a very unusual marriage during the first (most romantic) half of the 20th century. Nigel seems to hold the same view as my own mother, who once told me, mischievously, "I don't think there's any secret that somebody's gotta take to the grave."

There were certain disturbances in the force during Sackville-West and Harold Nicolson's 50-year marriage, but ultimately it was seen to be a marriage of deep love and a stable one. They had three or four productive careers between them, raised two happy children (with productive careers of their own), and died more or less by each others' sides. As a great believer in love in the long arc, I found it an inspiring tale, and a ripping good yarn.

I credit it with a very vivid beginning in medias res, for a biography. Also, for us egalitarian Americans (I count myself one), the book makes an intimate view into the British upper class in the 20s and 30s—a world sufficiently strange as to lift this biography almost to magical-realist status.

Fear of spoilage prevents me from saying more, but let me tempt one trice you further, Unknown, by noting that there is a surprise midnight airplane flight undertaken by two unlikely, ersatz friends to salvage a delicate situation (they fail, then it comes through anyway, etc.). If that doesn't sell you, nothing will. Benedictions, Unknown.