Candida; by George Bernard Shaw.

Revolutionary, as much else by Mr. Shaw, this work, about a luminous woman with her own mind and strength and wisdom - perhaps much like your wife or mother, at that - and entirely worthy of more than reading. About love and truth about love, and about marriage. About strength, and about one's responsibility.

Once it was understood without hypocrisy that a man looked for a wife who could make a home for him, and a woman had to make the best possible choice at every moment, either gambling on getting a better offer, or taking the best she had, in marrying a man who could provide for the home she would make. Few were lucky to find lvoe as well, at the same time - most did the best they could, and things have not changed in this respect, only there is more hypocrisy in name of love.

Love is not so easy to either find or chooose or live with.

Love might very well be a man too young to provide a family for the woman whom he fell in love with - she might be married, with a family, if she is lucky, not still waiting and dispirited. Will she then choose him? Or will consevative values win and she advise the younger man, the lover, to go find soemone appropriate?

If she does, it might just be that she has wisdom and courage to name the real reasons for her decision, and explain them. A woman - a wife and mother, in potential and instinct even when not de facto - chooses the weaker one, to care for and to protect with all she has to give, which is love and care and understanding and more.

A scrawny young poet, and a respected much loved minister, who does the woman choose? Or does she have to choose between them?