High Rising - Angela Thirkell

The shine has worn off Christmas a bit for me now (I've had two months of it already and the milk of superhuman patience is drying up which is unlucky when I consider what the next three weeks has in store for me...) I'm also to tired to concentrate on anything overly complex so have picked up and re-shelved George Bernard Shaw's 'The Intelligent Woman's Guide', Ali Smith's 'Artful' went the same way, and I think it's probably better if Alexander Solzhenitsyn's 'Apricot Jam' waits until I'm in a more receptive mood too. For now my reading is mostly being sponsored by E.F. Benson's 'Night Terrors' and Angela Thirkell. Thank god for Thirkell and Virago.

I've hoped that somebody would start to reprint Thirkell for a long time now but must admit my money was on Vintage doing it - Thirkell fits much the same niche as Stella Gibbons and Vintage have a nice habit of doing the whole back catalogue even if it is only as print on demand. My knowledge of Thirkell is limited to the half dozen or so easy to find second hand copies here in the UK, and they are all from fairly early in her Barsetshire series, the later books are far to expensive to be attractive. I've heard that the quality of her work was somewhat variable and wonder if this is why the later books weren't as widely printed? Either way I'd be happy to see plenty more.

I realised when I started 'High Rising' that I'd read it before albeit a while ago, now so far I've thought of Thirkell books as a bit of fun but perhaps slightly throw away, a second read has made me reassess her. 'High Rising' centres around the novelist Laura Morland (mother of the irrepressible Tony) she's a widow who has turned to writing to support her four sons through school and into their various careers, Tony is the only one left but feels like quite enough boy to be going round. Laura, who is surely based on Thirkell, is a woman happy with her life and in her skin, and who for all her apparent absent mindedness has no intention of letting the comfortable balance of that life slip. She has an old friend - George - who's secretary is making eyes at him, and Laura is having none of it... So will George be rescued from the ambitious Miss Grey, will his daughter find love,will Laura manage to fend off inopportune proposals, and will Tony Ever Stop talking about trains?

Everything bounces along in a jolly enough way with plenty of snappy one liners, first time round I was probably caught up more by the story which is a little unevenly paced - everything happens in fits and starts, but this time it was the humour that drew me in and that, I think, works a lot better than the plot. Thirkell takes some time to explain Laura's approach to novels; she wants to write good bad novels, repeatedly making the point that her work is second rate but as good as second rate gets.

This is actually something I have quite a bit of respect for, too much high art gets a bit wearing, and Thirkell's gentle, well crafted, humour absolutely has it's place. I think in this book, and in Alexander McCall Smith's introduction there is perhaps too much apology for Thirkell's perceived shortcomings - she's good at what she does and books like this are the perfect antidote to stress filled winter days.

More problematical are some of Thirkell's prejudices, she makes casually racist observations in a way that absolutely reflects attitudes in the 1930's but which can be quite abrasive to modern sensibilities. In 'High Rising' it's some throw away comments about Jews - the context takes much of the sting out of it but it's those moments that show the books occasional shortcomings, although from a historical perspective it's also what makes it really interesting - it's another reason I'd like to read some of the later books in the series; to see if those attitudes change or are edited out. 

'High Rising' is a perfect winter read, and was a much bigger treat than I expected (the perfect stocking filler for any Virago lover) I have everything crossed that more Thirkell's will join the list. 

Cheerfulness Breaks In - Angela Thirkell

I've had the last lot of Virago Thirkell reprints sitting around since November waiting to be dusted down and read, took 'Marling Hall' on holiday with me, and then thought that I really needed to read 'Cheerfulness Breaks In'. It's a source of real irritation to me that Virago chose to issue this as an ebook only. It means I've had to read it on my phone, which I don't enjoy, and makes it very hard to refer back to when I want to check something, remember it, or write about it.

On the plus side it means that it is available to read at a reasonable price. I think I can understand why Virago went down the ebook route as well. Plot wise it's not perhaps Thirkell's best, it's hard to work out/remember what's going on at times as characters from previous books pop in and out (I've not read these books in sequence, and there are so many very similar people then it gets confusing), and this as Thirkell as un PC as I've met her. There's lots of casual racism, anti Semitism, snobbery, and high Tory propaganda. Despite all of that, and maybe because of my own current mood, I found this one particularly moving and relevant.

Published in 1940, 'Cheerfulness Breaks In' starts in the summer of 1939 when it's still possible to hope that war might be averted and finishes just after Dunkirk on a shocker of a cliffhanger. In between people get married and engaged, take in evacuees, get involved with work parties and committees, watch the younger men head off into the various forces, worry about if they're doing their bit, and generally dig in for the future.

It might not be a perfect book, but it captures a moment and a mood whilst reflecting back prejudices and fears in a way that really got under my skin. Well ordered, comfortably elegant, middle class lives are about to be shattered forever and Thirkell knows it. From the older generation of characters who have fought and lost people in the previous war and are now faced with children or grandchildren facing the same destruction there's a palpable sense of distress.

Younger characters can see it as fun, apart perhaps for Lydia Keith who's time s taken up with the mundane but neccesary tasks of caring for her elderly parents, running the family estate so her father and brother can concentrate on other things, and lots of less glamorous committees and voluntary work (work that leaves her smelling of rabbit stew) at an age when she might reasonably have looked forward to parties and fun. Mostly though, it's an elegy to a world that's about to be smashed to pieces and I can't help but feel evident Thirkell's dismay regardless of how I feel about her politics or prejudices.

Her point of view may at times feel controversial by contemporary standards, but that doesn't make it any less valid, or important to remember - or even to consider.

As ever with Thirkell I know that when I come to re read (please let it be in a paper copy by then) this I'll find much more in it. I don't think I made a bad job of spotting some of her references (I got the Radcliffe Hall/Compton Mackenzie one) but there will be dozens more to spot, and plenty more to consider.

One thing I'm definitely considering after reading a couple of her book back to back is the way the title of snob is applied to her. It's in much the same way as with Georgette Heyer, and seems much more pejorative than when applied to say, Nancy Mitford (I'm going to guess that Thirkell might not have considered Mitford quite the thing). I find Thirkell both funnier and more illuminating than Mitford whose affectations can get tiresome and whose characters are hard to care about.

For rather less muddled, and better informed, thoughts on Cheerfulness Breaks In see This from Kate Macdonald.

Marling Hall - Angela Thirkell

still in 1942, but this time in Barsetshire and the War is everywhere. It's a very different atmosphere to George Bellairs 'Death of a Busybody' where he ignored it as far as possible. As ever with Angela Thirkell reading her books once is not enough (I'm very grateful for the Internet and the access it gives me to the Angela Thirkell society's guides go her novels. Invaluable for chasing down references.) there's so much detail that a lot of it will always slip past me first read round.

That's partly because the first time I read these books I'm sort of concentrating on the plot, such as it is, and trying to keep everybody's relationships, names, and children straight. After that it's Thirkell's rather malicious humour as she digs her pen into people or types that annoy her. And then there's her insiders view of an upper middle class world under increasing threat.

'Marling Hall' opens with William Marling, squire of Marling Hall, a man in late middle age contemplating 'his small and much loved world crumbling beneath his feet during his life and a fair probability that his family will never be able to live in Marling Hall after his death.' Regardless of how you might feel about class, this is a sad reflection - it's not the relative luxury, but the personal history, and the pride in being able to pass something beloved on to the next generation that's being threatened. Knowing the number of country houses that were demolished post war (see Here for more), some of them of real architectural significance, it isn't unlikely that Marling Hall would have been raised to the ground. I don't know if Thirkell had any inkling if the scale of the destruction that would come with peace when she wrote this, but it lends a considerable pathos to her defence of old county ways.

There's a lot about the county set in 'Marling Hall' and I will admit that I'm feeling faintly nostalgic for my memories of what that meant when I was a child. Men in tweed suits that they quite possibly had made before the war, or that may even have belonged to their fathers before them and frankly intimidating women with pearls who looked capable of just about anything, mostly encountered at the local agricultural show. They would have been the generation that Thirkell is writing about here - something I hadn't really considered before, but is probably another reason I like her books (without wanting to live in one).

Something else I found particularly interesting in 'Marling Hall' is the focus in child rearing. In Thirkell's eyes this means the right kind of nurse/nanny followed by the right kind of governess, before going to the right kind of schools. It's definitely worth noting that her fictional school (Southbridge) seems to be filled with benign, well educated masters, who do not take pleasure in beating boys. Their diet is good, and they get hot water. This is very much at odds with just about any description of private schools I have ever read or heard.

The question of whether bringing up children is best left to professionals or parents is an interesting one though, but even more interesting is Thirkell's frank admission through one of her characters that her children are far easier to like because she isn't primarily responsible for their care. She can enjoy them without becoming tired or overwhelmed by them. It's not a point of view that fits with the #blessed Instagram image of motherhood - but it's honest.

On the other hand I get the impression that Thirkell would only defend her way of thinking so vehemently if it was under threat not just from outside forces, but from within her own glass/the class she writes about.

Northbridge Rectory - Angela Thirkell

I've been happily immersing myself in Angela Thirkell's Barsetshire with the care of Virago's reissue of 'Northbridge Rectory' and 'Before Lunch'. There is also a kindle edition of 'Cheerfulness Breaks In' which I'm wondering what to do about. The nearest I've got to an ereader is a kindle app on my phone, but it's a far from satisfactory way of reading a book and if I'm going to spend almost the same as a paperback would cost - well I'd rather have a paperback. Especially for Thirkell, who I can't imagine approving of ebooks. On the other hand I do want to read it - it's all very annoying!

My first brush with Thirkell was almost a decade ago and courtesy of an old penguin edition of 'The Brandon's' picked up in a second hand bookshop because she sounded vaguely familiar. I liked it enough to buy (and read) more of her books as I found them, and if they were cheap enough, but it's only really been since Virago started reprinting her that I've come to appreciate Thirkell properly.

That's partly because they've increased the number of titles to be easily found at reasonable prices, partly because more people I'm aware of are discussing them as they come out revealing all sorts of details in the process, but mostly because I've re read quite a few of them along the way. Thirkell is definitely an author who rewards re reading.

This is the first time I'd managed to get my hands on 'Northbridge Rectory' and I raced through it. Not very much happens, but it doesn't happen in a very enjoyable way. It's 1941 (or at least that's when the book was published) war is becoming familiar, but for the residents of Northbridge life is continuing much as normal albeit with some ominous clouds on the horizon.

The book centres around 'Mrs Villars' the rectors wife. Her ten bedroom rectory (this seems like an enormous number of bedrooms, more so as I'm not sure it includes servants quarters) has had 8 officers billeted in it, who are probably much less trouble than evacuees. There's no problem with servants, rationing isn't posing any particular problems, the Villars have plenty of money, and their sons though both in the forces are neither of them doing anything especially dangerous. Mrs Villars is, all things considered, a lucky woman, but does she know it? And will her luck continue?

For anyone reading these books with hindsight (I wonder how far away the world described here felt in 1951, I think almost as far away as it seems to me now) we know this comfortable upper middle class world is under all sorts of threats. Mrs Villars is a capable women, she would need to be to run her large household successfully, but she's a manager dependent on her staff and a private income and she's unsettled by signs of social change. The evacuees that have invaded Northbridge with a city bred indifference to the niceties of the county social order make her see that her world is being eroded away, but she, I suspect like Thirkell herself, can see no way to bridge the gap. I can only guess that Thirkell dealt with the world that disturbed her by writing the world that she wanted.

Meanwhile there's the usual cast of people falling in, or almost in, love and just generally getting by. The most interesting of these (to me at least) is Miss Pemberton. Unattractive  to look at, relatively poor, fearsomely educated, and something of a bully, it looked for a while as if she were destined to be the ugly sister, or the dragon from which her lodger, Mr Downing, will need rescuing and then there's a change of heart.

Miss Pemberton is revealed as someone who wants someone to care for, and so she cares for Mr Downing with some inconvenience to herself. It's a very human desire to love and seems if anything to be maternal in nature. When she guards him from the possible advances of the towns ladies it's not so much because she wants him for herself as that she knows he can't afford to support another person. In the end she becomes an (almost) noble character, and one to sympathise with, which is new to me in Thirkell, normally she mocks.

It may be a book where nothing very much happens, and where the author doesn't bother to name one of the characters who ends up with the required engagement ring at the end (which is a lot funnier than I've made it sound), but none the less it's given me plenty to think about

August Folly - Angela Thirkell

I first read 'August Folly' almost exactly 3 years ago - I guess it's the August in the title that makes it seem like the right time to do it. Looking back I didn't seem to have much to say other than to have finally been able to pick up on the Trollope references but as ever (or so it seems to be turning out) Thirkell repays re-reading. The Trollope references still amuse me (there is a dramatic incident with a bull which is the making of the fortunes of both young Richard Tebben here and young Johnny Eames in 'The Small House at Allington' ) and I still think this is a good stand alone book despite it's Barsetshire setting, in fact it's a pretty good place to start with Thirkell for a couple of reasons.

The thing with Thirkell, and this is in part why this is a good book to start with, is that she can be a terrible snob. There are moments here when that snobbishness comes out, moments I thought I'd made a note of - but it turns out hadn't so I hope I'm remembering correctly, the point being that if you can't warm to Thirkell here than she's probably not for you. A much better reason to start here is that it's a charming funny book, exactly the sort of thing to lift a person out of the kind of flat mood to be found after their flat has been flooded (or at least significantly leaked into) twice in the space of a week (that's my flat people, and I'm not happy about it).

'August Folly' has two families at it's heart, the Tebben's and the Dean's. The Tebben's are a scholarly couple with not much money and a brace of grown up children who are rather a worry at the start of the book - how are they to be started out in life? Richard Tebben has just come down from Oxford with a third class degree and Margaret has returned from being an aupair in Grenoble. Both are slightly embarrassed by their parents, especially their mother who's inclined to wear shabby clothes and fuss a lot, and both are uneasily aware that they need to find jobs without being particularly qualified for anything, or well enough connected to get a helping hand.

The senior Tebbens are genuinely the sort of parents who might be a trial to their offspring and at the same time a couple who the reader really feels for. Mr Tebben is a civil servant who lived for academic argument about the Norse saga's, Mrs Tebben (who took a first in economics) supplements the family income by writing textbooks on the subject. It's the money she's earned that has built a house just a little to small in the country (where her dear family least want to be). Thirkell's characters can be a little two dimensional, but not the Tebben's, which made me wonder if they were based on real people.

The Dean's are a family of nine children ranging in age from mid twenties down to about five, only six of the children feature. Mrs Dean, despite her many children and being almost 50 is a woman still beautiful enough to be a suitable object of infatuation for a young man (Richard Tebben) her husband is a vague kind of a figure and the childre fill their various places in the plot most satisfactorily but they don't come alive in quite the same way that the Tebben's do. But then the Dean's have money, pots of money, their lives are charmed and easy in comparison to others and that's the point of them.

As it goes the love story between Margaret Tebben and Laurence Dean is more convincing than some I've found in Thirkell, and Margaret's situation calls for genuine sympathy but the real point of reading Thirkell for me is her humour. This is a book that can raise a smile (in the face of considerable domestic disasters on this readers part) through a well described pair of ears in the moonlight, there's something utterly charming and extremely English about it all - I thoroughly recommend it.

Wild Strawberries - Angela Thirkell

I read this one well before Christmas but have been procrastinating over writing about it - amongst all the delights of reading older fiction there is one recurring thorny issue politely referred to as 'opinions reflecting their time'. I had thought about trying to organise my ideas on this and using a particular passage in 'Wild Strawberries' as an illustration but so far so disorganised and it's a theme I'll have plenty of opportunity to return to.

Meanwhile back to 'Wild Strawberries' before my memory fades. It's not (in my opinion) quite as much fun as 'High Rising', it lacks a Tony Morland, and the eccentric Lady Emily is no substitute for Laura Morland either. Lady Emily is an immensely irritating woman who is always late, always losing things and always re-organising things that were working just fine before she interfered with them - I sensed that even Thirkell was fed up with her by the end of the book as she allows a certain amount of criticism to drift into the narrative. Annoying as she can be though Lady Emily is still a living breathing character you can believe in- the vicar who perhaps suffers most from her ability to disturb the peace is determined to speak stern words to her until he sees her touched by tragedy. The bitter sweet moments that Thirkell creates for Lady Emily and her husband are one of the strengths of this book - and one of the things that marks it out from being a standard read once and throw away romance.

Being Thirkell however there is plenty of romance - mostly for Mary Preston, Mary has been having a hard time at home looking after her mother and holding down a job. The job is fairly meaningless but the Preston's really aren't at all well off so Mary is grateful for an invitation to her relations country house for the summer - where she promptly falls in love with a glamorous sort of cousin who turns out to be as unreliable as he is attractive. Will she realise in time that her affections are being wasted on the playboy type and that there's a much more suitable alternative right under her nose? Of course she will, it wouldn't be a very satisfactory romance without a happy ending.

The joy of Angela Thirkell for me is partly that she makes for enjoyable light reading and so often that's just what I need at the end of the day, the other side of what she does is throw a light on a particular way of life in the 1930's. For someone who delighted first in P.G Wodehouse and later in Evelyn Waugh and Nancy Mitford anything from the 30's raises a bit of interest, but much as I love those writers they're not great for domestic detail. Thirkell's world feels more or less real and it's fascinating.

I still hope that Virago plan to publish lots more Thirkell's, so am delighted to see that 'Pomfret Towers' is coming out in November (shame about the long wait) especially as it's one that I haven't read and is prohibitively expensive second hand. With luck it will come out in a pair as 'Wild Strawberries' and 'High Rising' did but either way is set to be one of the highlights of my bookish year. 

August Folly – Angela Thirkell

I find the end of summer beginning of autumn a deeply depressing time of year, no season of mists and mellow fruitfulness for me, instead it’s all downhill until after bonfire night when the promise of properly grim winter perks me up no end. As I’ve got older I’ve collected more and more reasons to dislike these next couple of months and probably less control over how the season makes me feel – wonderful things could, and sometimes do happen but I feel like I’m programmed to retreat into a cup of tea (possibly some giant chocolate buttons) and the thing that really saves me from myself – a good book.

Books have been the answer at least since the autumn when I was eleven and read ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’ 16 times in a row to keep the blues at bay. It worked then and it works now. Looking round for something that would cheer me up on a bank holiday Monday that has been so grey and damp I’ve had to have the lights on since morning like it was winter already I hit on Angela Thirkell’s ‘August Folly’. It seemed appropriate for what will probably be the last book I finish this month, and which summed up nicely how I felt today in its title, it turned out to be just what I wanted.

I have perhaps half a dozen Thirkell’s on the shelf, mostly the old penguin editions, all clearly much read if not necessarily by me, and all exasperatingly out of print. Given the current market for rediscovered books and Thirkell’s apparent popularity on the web it seems almost incredible that no one has picked her up yet – she feels ready for a revival to me and ‘August Folly’ would be a good place to start – one frustration with previous Thirkell reads has been coming midway into a sequence and then being totally unable to get my hands on either the previous or next book in her Barsetshire (same Barsetshire as Trollope) series.

 ‘August Folly’ works well as a standalone book, and so for the first time I don’t feel cheated at the end, otherwise it follows the same formula as all the others – lots of county families going about their business, a handful of terrifying and bloodthirsty schoolgirls, a young man with a crush on an unobtainable (but generally amused and kind) older woman, and at the end of it all true love and marriage for at least one (sometimes more) happy couple. What lifts them out of the ordinary is the sense of humour – it’s the place names that I particularly love with Winter Overcotes and Winter Underclose being favourites, Thirkell also seems to have a thing for double entendres which crop up to often and are, I think, to broad to be accidental (I’ll bet she was a hell of a woman to down a bottle of sherry with).

‘August Folly’ borrows more than a setting from Trollope – sort of hero Richard Tebben is a hobbledehoy in the mould of John Eames (from ‘The Small House at Allington’) and like Johnny he covers himself in glory after facing down a bull. There is something in the authorial tone which casts a nod to Trollope too. I think he might have enjoyed the exchanges between Gunnar the cat and Modestine the donkey (I learnt from reading a ‘The Tapestry of Love’ that Robert Louis Stevenson travelled the Cevennes on a donkey called Modestine and lo in the very next book I read there is a donkey called Modestine – a reference which otherwise would have flummoxed me) which so easily could have been revoltingly twee but are instead deliciously funny.

It seems from the little I’ve read about her that Angela Thirkell didn’t take her own work terribly seriously which is perhaps half its charm, she was quite prolific and there’s an undoubtedly dashed off feel in places. The other half of the charm comes from plots which despite being little more than sunlight and foam maintain an inner integrity because they make no bones about what they are.

The Brandons - Angela Thirkell

'The Brandons' was the first Thirkell I read, I found an old Penguin copy second hand about 7 years ago, experience now tells me it's the one of the easiest to find, it's also what I've come to think of as classic Thirkell. I've read a couple that I think are better books, ones that go a bit deeper beneath the surface and that have a genuine emotional pull, but they're not necessarily as much fun as this. Because it was the first 'The Brandons'  has always been my benchmark, re reading now that I'm reasonably familiar with her work has confirmed that benchmark status. This is the work of a writer who's really hit her stride, she knows what her fans like and she's providing it, but it also feels like she's enjoying herself in the process. There's a ridiculous paragraph about a carousel ride which I won't quote because I'm afraid of the sort of spam it might attract but which is ridiculous and sublime and full of the sort of terrible double entendre that you can't quite believe you're reading.

There are two reasons to read Thirkell, one of which is the particular sort of social history she records. The Irish Times describes her as a middle class Nancy Mitford which I take issue with a little, Thirkell's background comes from the heart of the Edwardian artistic and intellectual elite, it doesn't sound like middle class life suited her particularly well when she tried it (in Australia) so she begged money from her godfather (J M Barrie) and cleared off out if it back to London and her family. Life, she felt, was much more peaceful without husbands (a sentiment Mrs Brandon clearly shares in this book). Nancy Mitford is self consciously upper class to a fault - it seems likely to me that Thirkell would have been amused by her efforts.

'The Brandons' is an idealised chronicle of upper middle class life just before the war, almost everyone has plenty of money (which must be nice) and plenty of time (which must be nicer) which is not to say they're entirely free of problems but for the most part it's a gracious easy way of living. The relationship with servants is the comfortable Downton Abbey sort where for the most part they get to share the good things their employers have and in some cases enjoy a domestic tyranny over them. I don't doubt that this is an idealised version of the reality of life in service and can well understand why the second world war really put an end to that way of life but I can also see that especially in that interwar period when choices were opening up for women (and almost all the servants here are women) and the balance of domestic power was changing that it could have been as comfortable as Thirkell describes. Because we know the war is coming and it'll wipe this comfortable elegant world away there's an elegiac quality about the book which adds a certain piquancy to the story.

Otherwise it's a fun romp, Mrs Brandon is a woman in her early 40's who still has claims to beauty (I should think so too), her husband sadly (but not that sadly) passed away fairly early in their marriage leaving her with plenty of money, two children, and a devoted following of retainers, friends, and admirers. Her life would be altogether easier if people would be content to flirt and not fall in love with her. especially tedious are young men who insist on reading the books they're writing to her... Mrs Brandon really comes into her own when she starts taking a hand in Miss Morris' affairs. Miss Morris is the put upon companion of a rich Brandon aunt who keeps threatening to leave her fortune to one nephew or another. It's a light and frothy confection with a  genuine heart - there are some satisfying romantic conclusions, appearances from old Barsetshire friends, a glorious lack of the vague anti- Semitism that can mar some of her books, and above all else it's a book that makes me laugh (even more so second time around). 

A Thirkell!

It's been a very busy week, so much so that I'm currently slumped on the sofa fighting to stay conscious - the only thing energising me at all is a desire to share the news that I found another Angela Thirkell this week. I went over to Uppingham with my friend R on Wednesday afternoon where the highlight was a browse around The Rutland Bookshop. It's impossible to describe how tiny, dusty, cobwebby, and crammed with books this place is. There are some pictures from a previous visit here (along with an excellent recipe for Rowan jelly) but they really need somebody in them to give a sense of scale. Unfortunately it's hard to get far enough away from a second person in the shop to get all them in the picture to really give that sense of scale. the place is a treasure trove (neither very cheap or terrifyingly expensive, it has a wonderful collection of middle brow fiction, hunting shooting and fishing books, and Victorian children's books). 

My treasure this time was an old Penguin paperback edition of Angela Thirkell's 'The Headmistress' in not bad condition and reasonably priced at £2. There where a few hard back Thirkell's as well but they were more than I could afford (more than £2) and take up to much space on the shelf to be really attractive to me. I struggle to find affordable second hand Thirkell and when I do come across her books it's almost always 'The Brandons' or 'Wild Strawberries' (why is it that there are so many second hand copies of specific titles around and so few of others? It's a rare charity or second hand shop that doesn't have 'Precious Bane' and 'The Well of Loneliness' knocking about for example) so I'm delighted with this find. I've not had much time to read more than a few pages yet but was really pleased to find a little recap of a couple of Trollope's Barchester chronicles (mostly Doctor Thorne) relayed as gossip.

On the Thirkell front there's more good news - a quick search on amazon reveals that Virago are reprinting 'Summer Half', 'August Folly' (which I think is my favourite so far) and the ubiquitous 'The Brandons' in May 2014. I'm more excited by November's release of 'Pomfret Towers' and 'Christmas at High Rising' (apparently an exclusive, never before collected set of short stories) as both will be entirely new to me but overall the portents seem good for an extensive re-print of her back catalogue and that's excellent news.  

The Headmistress - Angela Thirkell

My early forays into Thirkell left me with an over all impression that she wrote pleasant, easy, generally amusing books that were as good a way as any to pass a few hours but not much more. As I've found more titles to read and been prompted by the Virago reprints into re-reading so my respect for Thirkell has increased. She is still a nice easy read and a good way to spend a grey afternoon but books like 'The Headmistress' are much more than that suggests. Published in 1944 the Angela Thirkell society describes this as her most acclaimed novel and the story of a strong woman in wartime, I can see why it's her most acclaimed novel but there are at least three contenders for the position of strong woman.

The headmistress of the title is Miss Sparling, a woman who I assume is in her 50's, she and her school have taken over Harefield park from the impoverished Belton family who can no longer afford to live in Palladian splendour. Miss Sparling is an exemplary headmistress and woman who soon becomes popular in the village where there is speculation about her romantic chances with the vicar and Mr Carton an Oxford Don. Meanwhile Mrs Belton would be another contender for the strong woman title, the Belton's are uneasily aware of the fact that the world is changing, their removal from Harefield is officially temporary but they both know it might well be permanent as a way of life has quite decidedly ended for them, and then they have 3 children at war - one son in the navy, another in the army, and a daughter doing something very hush hush and responsible. All three children are at that stage on independence before they can become friends with their parents and whilst they're still quite horribly selfish. My third contender is Mrs Updike the solicitors wife who has an unfortunate habit of picking up cuts, bruises, scalds, sprains, lumps and bumps. Accident prone hardly begins to cover it, pre-war this is a woman who's life would have been cushioned by servants and who has none of the necessary skills for doing without but who also accepts  her lot with unremitting cheerfulness.

Of these three Miss Sparling is probably the lucky one, she has a successful career to look back upon and by the end of the book a dignified romance to look forward to, Mrs Updike is an example of an intelligent woman who has never been trained or educated to do anything in-particular which leaves her vulnerable in a changing world but again (barring a fatal accident) she will adapt. Mrs Belton on the other hand is a woman who's outliving her role as lady of the manor, hers will be the regrets of being the generation who could no longer make it work and she is the one who has to watch her children go out into the world knowing that not only is it dangerous and that she can do nothing to protect them, but that she can't even offer them the same old certainties to come home to. Thirkell is clever enough not to lay it on to thick, there is a general air of nostalgia for what once was but also a hint that change isn't so very bad either all overlaid by the familiar humour and need to marry off at least a brace of couples. 

Elsewhere I was delighted by the Trollope references - there are plenty of references made to the events in 'Dr Thorne' and the Barchester chronicles generally, and also in the way that she uses the authorial voice. Other bits are pure Thirkell - my favourite being a description of one character wearing a string of pearls just the right length for a country outing. There are also the troublesome moments of casual anti semitism and decidedly un pc attitudes towards women, sometimes it bothers me but this time it simply served a reminder that some change is very much for the better.      

Pomfret Towers - Angela Thirkell

Some books (like this one) finish far to soon. I'm having a definite pre Christmas wobble (will I have the energy, patience, and enough sticking plasters to get through the next 5 weeks in something approaching one piece?) so it was wonderfully calming to spend Sunday immersed in Thirkell's pre war house party world, I wouldn't have complained if it had been twice as long.

I don't know if I started with some ropey Angela Thirkell titles, or if it helps to have read a few more to have a feel for the Barchester she creates, or if it's that her books really do get better and better (I haven't read any of the late ones which I hear really aren't as good), or if it's my taste that's shifted slightly. Whatever the reason my opinion of her goes up with every book I read. On reflection I don't think that the number of her books read makes too much difference because 'Pomfret Towers' works very well as a stand alone book, and perhaps it helps that since reading Trollope's Barchester books I understand a few of the references and jokes she makes that would have been lost on me before.

Alice Barton is the very shy daughter of a successful local architect and his equally successful authoress wife, she was a sickly child so has always lived at home which makes her first grown up invitation to the house party of an elderly and irascible earl utterly terrifying but her parents are determined she should get out in the world and so she duly heads off. Also on the guest list are her brother Guy, and her great friends Sally and Roddy Wicklow, another brother and sister, Roddy is also the earls junior land agent. The cast of young people is completed by Julian and Phoebe Rivers (also brother and sister) relatives of the earl, and Gillie - heir to the title. The Countess has an eye out for a wife for Gillie and a fondness for Alice's mother, Hermoine Rivers a successful but trying novelist wants Gillie for her daughter Phoebe. Phoebe wants someone to get her away from her family, but not Gillie much as she likes him. Julian is far to selfish to think of anybody but himself, Roddy wants Alice, though Alice becomes rather smitten with Julian, and Guy is very taken with Phoebe. Gillie seems to like both Alice and Sally, Sally likes dogs and horses. How will it all work out?

This being Thirkell the reader can take it for granted that there will be happy couples by the end of the book - it's one of the reasons it's such a good winters afternoon read. What you can't take for granted in a book this age is political correctness, but on this occasion I didn't notice any of the casually anti-Semitic remarks that can be so distracting however much you tell yourself to judge by the value of the times - but that was very much an after thought.

What makes 'Pomfret Towers' interesting beyond it's entertainment value is primarily the description of a fairly grand country house party from the days when people still talked of Saturday to Mondays rather than weekends, that it was published in 1938 when that world really was on it's last legs adds an extra pathos. There's the sort of service that will be familiar to anyone who watches Downton Abbey along with Alice's worries about how (and how much) precisely one is meant to tip the housemaid and if will she despise your nightdress. In fact even without the changes war made that Thirkell couldn't have known about there are indications that this way of life is coming to an end including the presence of the Bartons and the Wicklows which suggests a relaxing of social hierarchies.

The two very different authoresses are interesting too, Mrs Rivers writes a succession of very successful novels about women of a certain age (her age) who go off somewhere exotic, almost have an affair with a younger man and then reconcile with newly aware husbands. Her publishers refer to her as the Baedeker bitch for her habit of writing like a guidebook and generally being an unpleasant person to deal with. Mrs Barton writes extremely learned novels about the more obscure papal bastards from the 15th and 16th centuries, a time she's apt to loose herself in. Although she's generally much liked there are hints that her absorption in her work, though fully supported by her husband puts something of a strain on their marriage. His solace is their house, an architectural gem which is his pride and joy. It's leased from the earl, Mr Barton's satisfaction at the end of the book that the lease will see him out left me wondering just what would have happened to a house like his post war. (I think it looks bleak myself.)

I've been delighted that Virago are reprinting Thirkell purely because I enjoy her books and they aren't always easy to find cheaply (luscious covers for this series too) this is the first one that I hadn't read before and it's been a real treat. I can't wait for the next lot coming out in May next year.      

Before Lunch - Angela Thirkell

I should probably have re read this one before 'Northbridge Rectory' but as it was a re read I didn't, and in the end it doesn't really matter. The reason I might have done them the other way round is because this one published in 1939 is very much pre war, whilst the 1941 'Northbridge Rectory' obviously is not.

I've been reading a little bit about Angela Thirkell, mostly via blog posts I've found but still don't really know very much about her beyond how very well connected she was. I can well imagine that a lower middle class life in Australia with her second husband wasn't destined to be very successful - in fact it seems neither of her marriages were particularly happy, and neither was the relationship she had with at least one of her sons. The snippets of information (or perhaps it would be more accurate to say gossip) that I've picked up make me wonder how much of herself Thirkell put into her novels. I suspect the answer is quite a lot, but I haven't done enough research to really know.

I'm also coming to the conclusion that she spends a lot of time writing the world as she feels it ought to be. In 'Before Lunch' there's no hint of war in the horizon, if I hadn't checked the date it was written (I get a little bit obsessed with dates) I would have thought it was a good decade earlier - or more, the feel is almost Edwardian. I assume these books were shamelessly nostalgic even when they were hot off the press.

There are spoilers coming.

'Before Lunch' has a series of romances at its heart, there's young love destined to end in a happy engagement despite various obstacles and misunderstandings (in the best tradition) along the way. There's a more sedate affair between a middle aged couple, which also has some obstacles in the way, but is also destined to end happily. And then there's Mrs Middleton, another woman on the threshold of middle age. Her marriage to Mr Middleton is happy enough, but she is clearly not happy enough to be indifferent to the sympathy and care of a younger man, or to be quite indifferent to the prospect of a dear friend marrying another woman.

It's a web of relationships that could feel messy and unnatural, but it doesn't. There's nothing melodramatic (at least I didn't think so) about the set up, though there easily could be, but rather a sense of affections becoming somewhat deeper than they should be for safety or comfort.

Meanwhile, I'm sure Mr Middleton must have been based on someone real, and I'd love to know who.  So far I haven't found any kind of definitive list of who Thirkell may have based some of characters on but he feels like a portrait, almost a chariciture but for a creeping compassion towards him, so my money would be on a family member.

Beyond that it's the affectionate portrayal of county life that draws me back to Thirkell again and again. It may be idealised, she may be entrenched in her upper middle class prejudices and preferences, and quite so much solid comfort may be a fantasy, but she's spot on about agricultural shows.

Christmas at High Rising - Angela Thirkell

It had occurred to me to save this book as a Christmas eve treat but I've never been very good at waiting for treats so I just read it. 'Christmas at High Rising' is a collection of 8 short stories originally published in a variety of places (but mostly Harper's Bazaar and Cornhill Magazine) between 1928 and 1942 and is most definitely a treat for Thirkell fans though it might be a bit baffling for anyone completely unfamiliar with her Barsetshire novels. 

That said I think the stand out story is 'Shakespeare Did Not Dine Out' (worth the price for this alone) which is basically a catalogue of all the horrible diner parties in Shakespeare's plays along with the suggestion that it might have been nice for him if he'd gotten out more, particularly to reasonably well regulated households with well trained servants. Thirkell makes it considerably funnier than I describe it. After that I'm rather a fan of Tony Moreland, especially when he's a hideously confidant child. Happily for me he features in several of the stories her. I wonder who his original was (surely there was a real Tony?), he reminds me somewhat of my brother at a similar age (thoroughly irritating with occasional glimpses of charm). 

The joy of the Tony stories is that they'll bear plenty of re-reads, especially the ones that have George Knox in as well - a single read isn't enough to unravel all the details, but it is enough to give a sense of the fun that Thirkell seems to be having with these stories and for me as the reader it's been fun too. I am more enthusiastic than ever about Thirkell - so here's hoping for plenty more Virago reprints. 

Summer Half - Angela Thirkell

'Summer Half' was the only book I managed to finish on holiday, I'm easily distracted at the moment - maybe it's the heat - but Thirkell is amusing enough to hold my attention which is one good reason to love her. I've said this before, and doubtless will say it every time I re read one of her books (or find one that's new to me) but she's a writer that improves with acquaintance. I've read all the current Virago releases before but they're proving far more rewarding second time round.

I think there are probably a couple of reasons for this - the most obvious is that I'm more attuned to Thirkell's sense of humour now that I'm more familiar with her, she can be quite subtle so it's easy to miss bits first time round. The second reason is that I've read more around her since I first read these books. I now recognize the Trollope references along with some of the others, and am better at recognizing when something probably is a reference all of which adds layers to her writing. It possibly also helps that I'm now in the best part of the series - I haven't read any of the later books but am told they become increasingly formulaic, the very early ones have a tendency to a casual antisemitism that I find disconcerting but that seems to crop up less as the books go on. 

I imagine somebody somewhere must have researched this but it's a curious thing observing how general attitudes change towards Jewishness in middle brow fiction. I'm reading Zola at the moment and he's having a sly dig at attitudes in France. Most Victorian writers I've read have displayed what was clearly a common prejudice and this continues well into the 1930's but from my reading I would guess it suddenly becomes less acceptable, less politically correct perhaps, as those uncomfortable references start to disappear. 

There is also a particular poignancy to the pre war books - this is a world of comfortable middle class living which would never exist again; servants are plentiful, standards are set, and the world seems a uniquely secure place for these characters full of comfortable certainties and afternoon tea on the lawn. Plot wise not so very much happens, young Colin Keith is training to be a barrister but wants some financial independence from his father so takes a job as a junior master at a local school. There is plenty of discussion about boys - also poignant - boys like this may still exist in the grandest private schools but mostly they have turned into teenagers which on the whole doesn't sound like much of an improvement. There is also the obligatory romance and a fair amount of humour booth of which are extremely satisfactory but what makes Thirkell special and worth being reprinted and reread are her occasional moments of observation and insight.

The one I've bookmarked in 'Summer Half' is a bit about blackshirts, it's only a couple of paragraphs but it jumped out at me. The phenomenally shallow Rose Birkett has been to the cinema with a couple of brothers (Fairweather Senior and Junior who are, I believe, on leave from the Navy) and they're recounting a something they found funny...

 "Oh yes, that was awfully funny,' said Fairweather Junior. 'It was a man selling little books. One of those blackshirt fellows, you know like Puss in Boots in a polo jersey. I don't know why, but it was awfully funny. Lord! It was funny!' he added breaking into laughter again.
   'I'll tell you another funny thing about those blackshirts,' said Lydia. 'No one knows who they are, or where they go. I mean, have you ever seen one, except standing on the pavement in waders, looking a bit seedy? You meet quite a lot of communists and things in people's houses...But you never go to tea with someone and find them sitting there in their boots."

It's not much but it says a lot about attitudes in Britain in around 1936 (the book was originally published in 1937) and about Thirkell's attitude inparticular. Fascism may have been alright for the lower orders and a few eccentric aristocrats but for decent middle class people it clearly wasn't the done thing. The earnestness of young communists is mocked in a friendly way in the assumption that they'll grow out of it but at least it has a sort of drawing room respectability.

Snowdrift and Other Stories - Georgette Heyer

This is 'Pistols For Two' repackaged for Christmas and with three recently rediscovered stories added. It's a hardback (which means it'll take up too much space on my shelf - space is more than ever at a premium), but at £9.99 it's a very reasonably priced one and if the publisher hadn't been kind enough to send me a copy I'd have been begging for it as a stocking filler.

My love of Georgette Heyer is no secret, and whilst her short stories don't necessarily show her at her best* they're still wonderful bits of escapism. The reason I'd say they don't show her at her best however is also one of the things I find particularly interesting about them - with less space to expand out into her technique and particular mannerisms are much more noticeable.

Because every story is inevitably a variation on a couple meeting and deciding to marry in fairly short order (after overcoming some sort of obstacle first) it's a collection that's best dipped in and out of - it's also very good company on a 20 minute bus journey when it's either to early, or to late, to concentrate on anything more demanding.

I periodically return to Heyer, generally in times of stress, when the mix of her familiar and well ordered world along with her sense of humour is particularly comforting. Another part of her enduring appeal is how generally capable her heroines are, which I think reflects both Heyer's own life, and more generally her generation of women. This was a generation that grew up in the aftermath of the First World War, and then had to deal with the Second World War and someday I'll sit down and try and work out my thoughts on this and how it's reflected in her books.

As far as this collection goes 'Pistols for Two' is a gem for not really being a romance at all (at least not in the traditional sense) but rather an account of what happens when two young men start competing for the same girl. 'Night at the Inn' has a bit of romance, but rather more in the way of gothic horror - though again, shot through with humour and is another highlight. Both show Heyer's versatility.

The three 'new' stories were written for magazines, and if on first reading seem particularly familiar it's probably because all seem to be prototypes for later books (it was fun working out which ones). 'Incident on the Bath Road' was my favourite - but all three are fun. They do alter the balance of the original 'Pistols For Two' anthology - more stories feels like less variety as the new ones all fit a very traditional romance mould - but more Heyer is unquestionably a good thing.

Sometimes reissues, especially with a new name (like last years reissue of 'Envious Casca'as 'A Christmas Party') are mildly annoying - you get all excited by the promise of something new only to discover it's not. 'Snowdrift', however, delivers with the new material, it's pretty to look at as well, so for long time Heyer fans it's probably (if your copy of Pistols for Two is as tatty as mine) a timely replacement. New fans are lucky however I look at it.

It's also just really good to see Heyer getting a bit of love. Whatever her faults she was a remarkable woman who deserves a bit of celebrating.

*I kept thinking of Angela Thirkell's, Laura Morland and her books about cloths and romance every time an outfit was described (and an outfit is described every time). There's room for it in a full length novel where the details are part of the pleasure. In a short story it's something of a distraction.

Antidote to Venom with a Gimlet

I wrote about Freeman Wills Crofts 'Antidote to Venom' Here as part of a 1938 book club (what I particularly like about Simon and Kaggsy's book clubs are the way they make me consider what's happening in the years the books are being written in and looking at them with that particular focus).

It's an interesting one both because it tells the story from the point of view of the murderer and because of the strong moral, and christian, message it concludes with. The protagonist is an outwardly successful man with a slightly weak character. He's unhappily married to a woman who came from a more affluent background and can't, or won't, understand that she needs to alter her expectations. A series of bad decisions culminate in murder, and whilst in this case the details of the crime are exaggeratedly elaborate George's downward spiral rings true.

Slowly but surely he digs himself into a hole that he doesn't have the strength of character to get out of, his moral compass increasingly compromised with every step. one of the things I found really interesting about this one was the light it threw on social expectations. If George divorced he would lose his job, and the hose that goes with it, as a married woman his wife would be barred from a number of jobs even if she wanted to work, as it is the assumption that her husband will provide piles the pressure onto George, and when he fails, gives her a genuine sense of grievance. Obviously non of this excuses murder in the least, but the way Crofts tells it is provocative and masterly.

I associate Gimlets with navel officers (rum for the men, gin for the officers, and lime with both to keep scurvy away) they're also referred to in Angela Thirkell's 'Marling Hall' (there's a lack of lime for the gin, when it does become available the difficult landlady swipes it, using a whole bottle in an evening so I'm assuming Gimlets are the drink being made) which suggests this was a common way to drink gin. The colour and kick of the Gimlet certainly recalls venom.

The Gimlet is half and half lime cordial and gin stirred, it can be iced if desired.  (Rose's lime for preference, Plymouth gin if you want the Navy connection) The Savoy Coctail book also has a Gimblet which is 1/4 lime juice to 3/4 gin well shaken in a medium sized glass and topped up with soda water - which I like rather more, but are altogether less venomous, and less likely to encourage you to make bad decisions.

Gin & It and early Molly Keane

I've been making Damson jelly today, which got slightly fraught. It boiled over once, and then despite repeated wrinkle tests didn't seem to be reaching a setting point, which was around the time that I started mixing Gin & Its (because multitasking). Eventually I potted the jelly anyway, judging by the way it's sticking to everything it touched it did reach setting point, even if it didn't want to wrinkle on the cold saucer provided for it.

I was grateful for the cocktail by then. The Gin and It is one of the great neglected classic cocktails, the It being short for Italian Vermouth. It's half and half gin and vermouth, an orange garnish or a drop of bitters being optional, stirred over ice and strained into a glass. Simple and delicious.

If you want a stronger, dryer, version use less vermouth (the Savoy Cocktail Book has a recipe for an Artillery cocktail which is 1/3rd vermouth 2/3rds gin which is great, I also like it about a 1/4 vermouth 3/4's gin - which probably also has its own name, I think of them all as Gin & It).

Today because I was using the slightly more bitter Dopo Teatro Vermouth I used the slightly sweeter than I'd normally go for Tanqueray Sevilla gin. This was last summers big success which I bought, quite liked, and then couldn't really work out what to do with, which is my perennial problem with flavoured gin.

For a gin and tonic I prefer a gin that's really heavy on the juniper, and dry. The slightly sweeter flavoured styles aren't sweet enough to treat like liqueurs and so tend to sit neglected at the back of the shelf but this is a combination that really worked. The orange character worked nicely with the vermouth, and overall the sweetness was just right. Orange flavoured gins go back a long way so it doesn't feel like I'm taking a liberty with the Gin & It either.

I can't remember where I first saw a Gin and It mentioned, it might have been in an Angela Thirkell book, but it could also have been in a Molly Keane. Her impoverished Anglo Irish aristocracy might have had definite views about flavoured gins, but this mix also has something of the stirrup cup about it so it feels like a good match for her earlier books where hunting is more likely to be discussed and there are pre war standards to be maintained.

Autumn Books

In a very small example of how off this year feels I'm fundamentally failing to get excited about the majority of this autumns book releases - specifically the 600 that are meant to have come out on Thursday the 3rd of September. This might partly be because I don't have enough money coming in to buy books with any abandon, but I think it's more to do with finding it remarkably hard to spot the books I'd normally be enthusiastic about.

Leicester city centre has a small Waterstones, a decent branch of The Works, and a W.H. Smith's with a book section. It also has the main post office on the same floor which currently means a long queue to get into it, and makes book browsing feel really antisocial. Because it's a small Waterstones it's currently full of massive piles of the same dozen projected big titles that W H Smith would have if I had the heart to make the people who need to use the post office wait even longer to do so. They're the same books I could buy for half the price in any larger Tesco's, the same books that charity shops will be full of once they're accepting local donations again, and the same books that if I wanted them at all I would be waiting for the paperbacks.

Of the 600 books that came out on Thursday I had pre ordered the River Cottage Handbook on Fermentation (which I'm equally inspired and intimidated by) and which my little local Waterstones weirdly has not yet got in stock. Found that the review copy of Elizabeth Von Arnim's 'Father' from the British Library's women writer's series that came last weekend was a September 3rd book, and have spotted a memoir about diving on same amazing wrecks (the Oceanic, S.S Politician, and Armada boats) called Treasure Islands by Alex Crawford. It's published by Birlinn, and is hopefully making it's way towards me as I speak. I'm officially excited by 0.5% of Thursdays releases.

I think this might be a sort of common problem. Because publication dates were shifted back, and because there's just so much, I haven't seen the normal buzz I would expect around certain titles despite having quite a bookish twitter and Instagram feed. The 3 Angela Thirkell's that Virago released at the end of August are all well and good, but they were paperbacks finally making it into print after previously coming out on kindle. I'm pleased to have them, but not over excited. I'm pleased to have completed my Zola collection with the OWC edition of Doctor Pascal too, though I haven't read any Zola since getting monumentally fed up with The Sin Of Abbe Mouret, and must get back on track with him.

An email from Waterstones promising their picks of the month gave me 3 titles under food and drink, and more of the same big name books - which is exactly why those emails normally get deleted without me reading them. I am really looking forward to Caroline Eden's 'Red Sands' and Kate Young's 'The Little Library Christmas' coming out later this Autumn, and Mati Ventrillon's 'Knitting From Fair Isle' is another book I'm personally excited about.

Meanwhile the British Library's Crime Classics and Tales of the Weird series are going from strength to strength (I've read the 2 most recent crime classics this week and loved them, and am just getting stuck into some weird today). Handheld press have got collections of Women's weird and British Weird coming too look great, and Philip Hensher's anthology covering The Golden Age of  British Short Stories for Penguin looks tempting too (out on the 1st of October).

Still, it feels like oddly slim pickings so if there's anything you're particularly looking forward to, I've almost certainly missed it and would love to hear about it.

Wish List

My blog posting has been a bit sporadic recently - for which I have a variety of excuses the best of which is an unexpected burst of socializing which has slowed down my reading and kept me away from my laptop. Less exciting for me have been the problems with said laptop (which I'm getting heartily sick of) it seems to be exceptionally slow and desperately temperamental with it, particularly frustrating is a habit of letting me write long, witty, and insightful comments on other peoples blogs before freezing or just generally losing the dratted things (or as it may be short comments with a total lack of wit or insight, either way it's annoying me). If nothing else though I suppose it's a timely warning of what happens when you get to reliant on a specific piece of technology (work has just moved the holiday booking system and payslips online - marvelous they said... you can do all these things from the comfort of your own home they said... but not on a tablet, or a phone, and in any case only if you use internet explorer 9, and that's when the whole system doesn't crash about your feet which it's done with depressing regularity, and it doesn't notify you by email so it all seems a bit pointlessly bloody vague to me compared to the days when you wrote a holiday request on a bit of paper and had an actual conversation about it). I could go on but the post heading is 'wish list' and not 'lengthy complaints about exceptionally middle class problems like not being able to access amazon and facebook as much as I'd like'.

Happily, because it's a favourite rainy day occupation, I did manage to have a good browse on amazon earlier and even better they alerted me to a book I'm actually interested in instead of the normal nonsense some definitely faulty program normally sicks up - something from Mills and Boon called 'The Scarred Earl' for heavens sake and all because I looked at some Georgette Heyer, also who knew there was a whole sub genre of regency set romances about scarred noblemen returning from the peninsular wars - I mean I know now because I followed a trail of titles into very strange territory (for me). Anyway the book I was interested in (and have been periodically checking for) is a new Diana Henry cookbook which looks to be due out next spring (March?) called 'A Change of Appetite: where delicious meets healthy'. Because it's Diana Henry I'm happy to overlook the healthy and concentrate on delicious, I'm really very excited about this book which apparently takes inspiration from the Middle and Far East by way of Scandinavia and North Africa. Also she's just a brilliant writer.

Having added it to my wish list (only 6 months to wait) I thought I'd have a look at what else was on there to look forward to... John Wright's 'Booze' for the River Cottage Handbook series is due out in the next month (I've been waiting for this since New Year's day) his previous books for the series have been amusing and informative so this should be a treat. It's also only a few weeks until Penguin release their Legends of the Ancient North series - I have my eye on 'The Saga of the Volsungs' and 'The Wanderer: Elegies, Epics, Riddles' (lush covers as well). Virago have loads of good stuff coming out in the next year or so too (they always do) there will be Angela Thirkell both before Christmas ('Pomfret Towers' and a short story collection) and in the spring ('The Brandons' and 'Summer Half') as well as Monica Dickens, lots more Rumer Godden, L M Montgomery, and lots of Mary Renault who I've wanted to read more of ever since 'The Friendly Young Ladies'.

There is also plenty of Shirley Jackson on it's way from penguin Modern Classics which is a reason to be both cheerful and to remind myself that they're probably better read in daylight and not just before bed. Better bed time reading would be Fiona Cairns 'Seasonal Baking' which is out now and would already be mine if I hadn't spent all my money on a desirable bottle of Old Pulteney (or more accurately if I didn't owe so much money to my mother after she picked up the bottle for me and I wasn't hoping that a sister would pick up on my heavy hinting about birthday presents). I do keep drooling over this book in actual bookshops, I see Fiona Cairns in Waitrose sometimes (she's local, I'm not a stalker) and eventually decided I could speak to a total stranger, she said this is the book she always wanted to write, I can honestly say it's the first baking book in a while that I've been tempted by (sick of The Great British Bake Off spin offs here - possibly because I seldom get to watch it and find Paul Hollywood sort of repulsive) not least because I find Cairns quite an inspiring woman.

So that's my wish list, what's on yours?

Friday's Child - Georgette Heyer 1944 book club

For everything I've ever read about, or from, the Second World War nothing has ever made more of an impact than a great aunt quietly mentioning that her first husband was shot down and killed the day after they got married. They must have known that was a possibility, maybe even a likelihood, I can only try and imagine what it does to your outlook on life to think in those terms.

One of the things I really like about Simon and Kaggsy's book clubs are the way they give me an excuse to revisit Georgette Heyer novels, and then the way it makes me consider whatever I'm reading in relation to when it was written.

When I first read Heyer back some 30 odd years ago the image I had in mind was more or less pure Gainsborough, they felt old fashioned enough and I hadn't read particularly widely. Reading 'Friday's Child' now my image is more Gainsborough studios - this one feels like it's a more or less contemporary novel in fancy dress.

I think the reason for this is the youth of the characters. Her heroine is not quite 17, her hero a hardly less youthful 23, the latter especially is unusual for Heyer. The book opens with lord Sherringham making a proposal to the beautiful Isabella Milborne - who with perfect good sense turns him down flat. He goes home, argues with his mother, and swears to marry the first woman he sees.

The first woman he sees is almost 17 year old Hero Wantage, a penniless orphan, who has had a crush on him for years - and so they get married. Just like that. His friends all adore her, but she can't help but get herself into all sorts of trouble that could lead to social ruin. The responsibility is more than anybody is quite prepared for, and inevitably that puts pressure on the marriage. The question is can a relationship entered into with so little thought turn out happily? It's a romance, so the answer isn't in doubt.

Something I have to mention, because it stands out now, is the number of times Sherry threatens to slap Hero, and the couple of times he actually does. I think the intention is to underline how child like both of them are at the outset. It's the sort of physical end you might expect to a children's fight. It's also a reflection of an era when smacking children was not particularly frowned upon, but it's a detail that's ages really badly.

This one had never been a particular favourite of mine, the instant wedding had always seemed a bit far fetched, but in a wartime context it makes sense. Sherry and his friends would also make as much sense, maybe more, pictured in uniform (they would be quite at home in an Angela Thirkell, and not infrequently stray into P. G. Wodehouse territory).

The descriptions of food and clothes mean something else considered against a back drop of rationing as well. Less like filler, and more the kind of details that people might particularly like to imagine. And now I'm not seeing those young people as just tiresomely selfish, instead I'm wondering if Heyer is lamenting the responsibility placed on the younger generation in front of her. All of her young characters rise to the occasion here, it's the older ones who consistently let them down.

I always enjoy reading Heyer, and the more I do the more interesting I consider her. She does a couple of other interesting things in this book regarding the way she presents marriage and the choices around it. She may be famous for her romances, but they're oddly subversive when it comes to the actual romance.