Biographers are sometimes accused of falling in love with their subjects. Here we have a variation upon the theme: a biographer who falls in love with her subject’s husband.

I should add, before the writs begin to rustle, that Mary Lovell never met George Putnam. She readily acknowledges the popular view of him as a ruthless manipulator and, in the early chapters, exposes his biographical warts under an unforgiving lens. Later, one senses that the Putnam charm is taking effect, and although every attempt is made to infuse Amelia Earhart with the same charisma, she remains stubbornly passive – and less interesting.

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