Excellent Women, by Barbara Pym, Reviewed.

I read the Folio Society edition of this novel, illustrated rather charmingly and with considerable insight, by Debra McFarlane. There’s something essentially apt about reading a book from the early 50s in the form of a hardback with appropriate plates. Set in the period just following World War II, and written in the first person by one of the ‘excellent women’ of the title, it should really be entirely of its time. The simple brilliance of the writing, the wonderful characterisation and the gently comic surface of a story bursting with subterranean passion, angst, desperation and injustice elevates the novel to the status of a minor classic.

There’s no violence, no sex, no foul language; yet all of humanity is here amongst the weary, caring, superficial, flirting, thoughtless, considerate, courageous, resigned and loving people that inhabit the pages. Church, though neither spirituality nor real faith, plays a significant part in the lives of the protagonists who attend the edifice but appear devoid of any passion for their religion, frequently gently mocking their membership of the club.

Miss Mildred Lathbury, who describes herself in the fourth paragraph of the first chapter as an unmarried clergyman’s daughter just over thirty and living alone without apparent ties, is far from the dull spinster we might expect. The gentle humour that suffuses the whole book often hides a deep pathos as the excellent women of the title go about their daily lives without hope of fulfilment in marriage, career or society in general. Being busy, showing and dealing with concern for their fellow human beings, whilst living grey, unnoticed lives, these are the women who make life easier, sometimes even possible, for those surrounding them.

The unexpressed intelligence, the unacknowledged charity, the unspoken desire, the unrecognised hopes and dreams of these single women is so exquisitely drawn that the reader feels every nuance of the subtle insults that surround them. Taken for granted, patronised, ignored, relied upon and rejected without thought, these women take on all those tasks that others find either boring or irrelevant until the jobs are neglected; only then are the quiet duties seen for the social glue they truly are, but not for very long, of course.

The society in which this novel takes place has largely disappeared, but the people and the circumstances remain. I laughed out loud many times whilst reading the book but always, under the surface, was a recognition that the humour sprang from deep inequalities of both gender and income. I was reminded of the best of British sitcoms where humour is mingled with pathos, each quality emphasising the other in a balance that works so well to entertain whilst putting across a message.

This is a story in which nothing of any significance to anyone outside the narrow confines of the small neighbourhood takes place. There are no earth-shattering events, no crime, nothing crude, nothing erotic. But it depicts lives lived in quiet, courageous desperation and does so with a deep affection for those described. I enjoyed it, and I suspect Mildred will live with me for a long time. Those who enjoy action and adventure will find this hard to read, but I thoroughly recommend it to all those who love romance in its best form, those who enjoy books with real characters, and those who find enjoyment in gentle humour.

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The Best After-Dinner Stories, by Tim Heald, Reviewed.

A book better presented than compiled, Tim Heald’s The Best After-Dinner Stories is a special edition available through the Folio Society (£19.95). As is often the case with such books, the text is illustrated, in this case by Paul Cox, who does an admirable if somewhat cosy job of work with the material offered.

There’s an underlying tone to the collection and the introductory passages which will undoubtedly appeal to those of a clubbish or socially elevated nature. I found it complacent, self-satisfied and smug and not at all attractive. In fact, I was tempted to stop reading after a short while because of this slightly snobbish and superior tone. I’m glad I didn’t.

In the collection, Tim Heald introduces readers to such luminaries as Chaucer, Shakespeare, Churchill, Samuel Johnson, Horace Walpole and Her Majesty the Queen, amongst others. A few less elevated entertainers jostle for space within the pages, including Joyce Grenfell, Eric Idle, Gyles Brandreth, John Mortimer and Joanna Trollope, again, amongst others.

Of course, the very title of the book should have warned me of the probable approach: after dinner stories are, after all, mainly the province of establishment organisations such as Oxbridge, Gentleman’s clubs and various scholarly or exclusive societies. It is telling that the book was published by the Folio Society, a book club specialising in high end quality book production, where all volumes are hardbacks and most editions are presented in slip cases specially designed for the organisation. You’ll find it available on Amazon, but only in the form of the original publication; sometimes offered as ‘new’, when it is clear that it’s a book passed on to the seller by a society member.

Apart from the social snobbishness that drives the text, there’s an intellectual snobbishness that presents certain references, likely to be familiar only to scholars, as if these were common knowledge amongst common readers.

So, why did I continue to read? Well, the simple fact is that some of the stories presented were very amusing. Some. There was a good deal of comedy I could enjoy, though there was as much that left me cold due to its class basis. I skipped large portions, bored by the pretentions of the narrator. But I also learned the true sources for a number of lengthy jokes that have become popular through re-telling and clearly attributed to the wrong creative minds by that reprocessing.

I obtained the book as a returning member of the Folio Society, an organisation that attracts those of us who love real books. It was part of a free introductory package. I’m glad I didn’t pay for it but also glad I stuck it out to the end. Would I recommend it? That depends on the reader, really. The old-fashioned, club members, Oxbridge dons and graduates, and those who consider themselves upper-middle or upper class would undoubtedly enjoy a number of the ‘in’ jokes. For the rest of us less elevated readers, the pleasures are less obvious. If you enjoyed Punch, you’re likely to find something to amuse you here.