Naomi and I have
been trying to get Heather into Charlaine Harris’s Sookie Stackhouse books, the
series on which TV’s True Blood is
based. She dutifully gave the first audiobook a try, but was put off by the chirpy
narrator portraying a lead character who is, as Heather said, “constantly
talking about her ponytail.”
Although I
understand that reaction, the reason Heather disliked the book is actually one
of the things that, to me, make the series so appealing. Despite the
fantastical and racy subject matter — vampires, shapeshifters, and fairies,
with a side helping of sex and violence — the author devotes a significant
portion of the books to following lead character Sookie through the business of
her daily life as she cleans her house, agonizes over what to wear, goes to
church, plans baby showers, suntans, works as a barmaid, and, yes, adjusts her
ponytail.
That such
mundane details would contribute to the charm of a novel might seem
counterintuitive. It’s received wisdom among teachers of fiction writing that a
successful book should reflect Alfred Hitchcock’s assertion: a good story is
“life with the dull parts left out.” And yet somehow, in these books, judicious
inclusion of “dull parts” works. They help create the reality of the setting
and build a feeling of familiarity with the lead character.
The Sookie books
are not unique in this feature. It may seem strange that a sexy urban fantasy
set it small-town Louisiana should have anything in common with a comedy of
manners set in postwar England, but according to interviews and her own blog,
Harris is a fan of Barbara Pym and rereads her works often. So it’s perhaps not
surprising that her books should use a technique honed to perfection by Pym.
Intrigued by Harris’s plug for Excellent
Women, I gave it a try and am now officially hooked on this writer.
Barbara Pym
(1913–1980) was a British novelist known for her novels satirizing middle-class
English society. According to a bio piece on the website of the Barbara Pym Society (yes, there is one): “...she probes the human condition, seen through
the prism of such quotidian events as jumble sales and walks in the woods. Her
characters are unassuming people leading unremarkable lives; Pym became the
chronicler of quiet lives.” Excellent
Women, first published in 1952, is the second of her novels.
According toWikipedia, the title phrase “excellent women,” “is used ironically as a
condescending reference to the kind of women who perform menial duties in the
service of churches and voluntary organizations.” Or, as A.N. Wilson more
pithily writes in his introduction to my edition, “Excellent women are women
that men take for granted.”
Mildred
Lathbury, the lead character, is one of these. Her quiet life, filled with good
works for the church and her part-time job helping “impoverished gentlewomen,”
is disturbed by several events: an unconventional married couple move in
upstairs and she develops a crush on the husband; the anthropologist wife
appears to be having an affair with a fellow anthropologist who becomes
increasingly interested in Mildred; a clergyman’s widow seduces Mildred’s
friend Father Malory. Nothing particularly earth-shattering happens — the
pleasure of reading the novel is in sharing the perspective of its lead
character and becoming immersed in her small world as seen through her eyes.
As Penguin’s essay on the book points out, “Mildred’s wit and
independence subvert the stereotype that ‘excellent women’ are dull. Set
against the backdrop of postwar London, a city sorting through the disruptions
of wartime bombing, the beginnings of feminism, and the end of colonialism, the
novel offers effortless social critique that is as entertaining as it is
enlightening.”
Few of us would
identify “social critique” as something we are looking for in a novel; we want
a good read. We want to lose ourselves and be entertained. Pym achieves this,
paradoxically, by leaving in the dull parts. Just like Charlaine Harris’s
Sookie and her ponytail, it is through everyday acts that Pym builds the
reality of her setting and her character and makes us care about them. Through these
details — the making of endless cups of tea, the hemming of a set of curtains,
the planning of the Christmas Bazaar, the discussion of the correct placement
of an oven cloth, the supplying of a shared bathroom with toilet paper — the
plot develops, the humour emerges, the attitudes of the characters are revealed,
and the realities of life in postwar Britain are brought vividly —and hugely
enjoyably — to life.
by guest contributor Sara Goodchild
PS
Other reasons to immediately go and read this novel:
1. The character names are incredible. E.g.:
Rockingham “Rocky” Napier (the unsuitable love interest)
Everard Bone (an anthropologist and eventual suitor)
Allegra Grey (the clergyman’s widow, a seductress)
Father Greatorex (a bumbling curate)
Sister Blatt (a jolly parish worker)
2. It’s just over 200 pages — a good fast read. All you
need is a big squishy chair, a pot of tea, and a few nice biscuits and you’re
set for an afternoon of pure pleasure.
3. The
Barbara Pym Society would want you to. Please don’t
disappoint these nice people.
