The Queen and I - Sue Townsend

Following on from The Restraint of Beasts, here is another gift book (from my lovely ex-colleagues at OUP), another comic book, another one which seems like it might have a message hiding in there somewhere... but entirely different.  Knowing how much I love, admire, and respect Queen Elizabeth II, my colleagues got me (amongst other Queen-related things) The Queen and I (1992) by Sue Townsend, and I wolfed it down in a day or two.

The premise of The Queen and I is something that makes me Royalist blood run cold - a politician called Jack Barker uses subliminal pictures on television to brainwash the nation into voting his party to power, and his first act is to abolish the monarchy.  (Shudder!)  The Queen and her family are sent off to live on a council estate in Hellebore Close - known locally as Hell Close.  There they must make do with benefits or the pension, with only the possessions they can fit in their tiny houses (most of which end up getting stolen pretty quickly anyway.)  The country rather falls apart with a hopeless leader in charge, but of more interest is seeing how the royals get along without any money and in surroundings which they are far from used to.

And, oh, it is funny!  But more than that, it is believable - not the premise (even if we ever lose our monarchy - Heaven forbid! - it's unlikely they'd get aggressively shipped off to council houses) but the way in which various members of the Royal family would respond.  Sue Townsend writes very affectionately of the royals; although it's tricky to work out whether or not she thinks the institution is a good one, she certainly has a lot of respect for certain members of it.  Chief among these is, of course, the Queen.  She behaves exactly as I would expect - that is, she just gets on with it.  Since she spends her life seeing every imaginable culture, habits, and traditions, it's unlikely that there is anything that could wrong foot her socially.  The one thing she cannot quite get used to (and this is where Townsend's social critique of Britain comes into play, one suspects) is how little money people are expected to live on, and how inefficient and difficult the system is.  Here she is, chatting with a social worker...

"And what is the current situation regarding your personal finances?" 

"We are penniless.  I have been forced to borrow from my mother; but now my mother is also penniless.  As is my entire family.  I have been forced to rely on the charity of neighbours.  But I cannot continue to do so.  My neighbours are..." The Queen paused. 

"Socially disadvantaged?" supplied Dorkin. 

"No, they are poor," said the Queen.  "They, like me, lack money.  I would like you, Mr. Dorkin, to give me some money - today, please.  I have no food, no heat and when the electrician goes, I will have no light." 

But not everybody is so resilient.  Other royals do cope well with the move - Prince Charles is thrilled about getting to some quiet gardening, Princess Anne loves getting out of the limelight, and the Queen Mother (bless her!) finds the whole thing hilarious, so long as she's got a drink or two next to her.  But Prince Philip takes to his bed and won't engage at all, Princess Margaret similarly refuses to acknowledge that her situation in life has changed - while Princess Diana is saddened chiefly by the lack of wardrobe space.  It's quite odd to read a book about the royals set before Diana died - because it is impossible to think of her without that context now.  In 1992, she could still be affectionately mocked as a clothes horse and a flibbertigibbet.  Indeed, remembering how old all the royals were in 1992 and reformulating my view of them is quite tricky, since I was only 7 then, and don't remember (for instance) Princess Anne's days as a relative beauty.

As far as social commentary goes, Townsend obviously wants to draw attention to the plight of the poor, in the battle against bureaucracy and out-of-touch officials, but perhaps it doesn't help her cause that every working-class character is essentially kind and decent.  A few rough diamonds, but they're all there to help each other at the drop of a hat, issuing generous platitudes when needed and handy at knocking together a makeshift hearse.  Of course, that's better than making them all selfish, violent thugs or benefits cheats, but it might have been a more effective portrait of a working-class community had the characters and their traits been more varied, as they would be in any other community.

Which is a small quibble with a very clever, very amusing page-turner.  The idea was brilliant, but in other hands it wouldn't have worked.  I can only agree with the Times review quoted on the back cover: "No other author could imagine this so graphically, demolish the institution so wittily and yet leave the family with its human dignity intact."

A House in Flanders - Michael Jenkins

I wouldn't usually write a book review for the weekend (although this self-imposed rule might well be something nobody notices?) but today I am seeing a couple of lovely ladies from the internet, in beautiful Malvern, and one of them gave me A House in Flanders - thank you Carol!  (The other is Barbara, of Milady's Boudoir, so I expect to see a post about a Malvern trip there, in due course.)  Since I'll be seeing Carol, I thought I should write about the book she gave me about this time last year - which would mean it was during our trip to Chatsworth, I think.  The edition I have is from Souvenir Press, but it has also been reprinted as one of the lovely Slightly Foxed editions.

Although this book qualifies for my Reading Presently project (I never did write an update on that... well, I've read 29/50, which is a super quick update, and shows I have a little way to go) it would also cover a tricky year for my Century of Books, being published in 1992 - and since it is about the author's experience as 14 year old boy in 1951, that indicates quite how long his memory has had to stretch itself.

In that year, Jenkins spent the summer with his 'aunts in Flanders' - although they were no blood relation, they were mysteriously called aunts by his parents; all is revealed in the book - and, despite being without young companions, experiences the sort of halcyon summer I didn't realise existed outside of fiction.  Most of the other residents of the beautiful Flanders house are elderly women - sisters, sisters-in-law, nieces and the like - with the odd man thrown in, and chief amongst these is Tante Yvonne.  Although she hardly leaves the house and garden any more, and scarcely moves around those, she is a force of kindness and strength that holds the household together.  Everybody - even her intimidating sister Alice - bows to her natural authority, and a rather moving closeness develops between Yvonne and Michael.

I am always dubious about autobiographies which claim to recall verbatim conversations which happened years earlier - I can't remember conversations I had ten minutes ago, let alone forty years - but I suppose that is necessary in order to have any dialogue in the book at all.  What is more revealing is the way in which the characters - from happy-go-lucky, slightly downtrodden Auguste to glamorous Mathilde, and everyone in between - are drawn with a curious mixture of the fourteen year old's perspective and the adult's reflection.  A boy of fourteen is certainly capable of compassion and empathy, to a certain extent, but Jenkins' understanding of age and weariness seems insightful for a man of 55 (as he was at the time of publication), let alone a teenager.

It was a very busy summer. And when I say busy, I mean busy - in fiction he wouldn't have got away with the number of significant incidents that happened, from a legal tussle to helping the local madwoman to the return of a German soldier who had occupied the house during the Second World War.  I kept forgetting that it was all over the course of a few months.  As though to draw attention away from this whirl of action, each chapter focuses on a different person in the milieu (or arriving from outside it), which certainly helps bring the people to the fore, rather than the events.

Jenkins' nostalgia silently permeates the book, and that is another factor which could only (of course) have come with time and reflection.  As he writes towards the end: "I was surprised by how passionately I wanted this world I had so recently discovered to stay intact."  That hope was, of course, impossible - and the book closes with the death of Yvonne, some time after Jenkins returned to his everyday life.  But in the affectionate and moving portrait he put together of his summer in Flanders, and the 'aunts' he met there, he has created a way to keep that world intact, and it is beautiful.

Christmas BOOKings now being taken

It's the 25th, and you know what that means - only two months until Christmas. Yep, usually I'm there with the Grumpy Old Men and complaining that Christmas comes earlier every year, with tinsel going up as soon as the Easter eggs have been melted down for fondue. But I'll make an exception for books, as it's not their fault that marketing has to happen in October. Today I'm going to chat about two different Christmas books - very different, actually, but both worth mentioning.
This week, like a couple of other bloggers, I was sent Lynn Brittney's Christine Kringle, described as a book for children of all ages. All the Gift Bringers from around the world are meeting for the annual Yule Conference, which debates such issues as whether Gift Days should be internationally universalised, or whether women can be become the hereditary Gift Bringer if a Yule family have no male offspring. This is especially important to Christine, daughter of Kriss Kringle, as she has no brothers and wishes to inherit her Yule duty. In the midst of this, the council of Plinkbury, a town in Worcestershire (hurray!) decide to ban Christmas. Off flies Christine and her Japanese and English friends to get Christmas reinstated... An enjoyable book, though not my usual fare, and was delighted to see Worcestershire get in print, as it was my homeland for thirteen years. Can't work out if Plinkbury is based on a genuine town, though... there certainly isn't one of that name. Unsurprising, really.
When I started the book, I was a little dubious at all the national stereotypes. You know - Italians in the Mafia; British sullen; Japanese polite and industrious; Americans saving the day. But Brittney melds these characters into a fun plot which keeps you turning the pages. I do have quibbles with the polemics Christine delivers - as a Christian, I didn't like to see the Christ part of CHRISTmas swept under the carpet so much, quite openly, and I'm too British not to blush at some of the bits about loving ourselves and finding a hero inside every one of us and so forth. But if you're feeling Christmassy and uncynical, give this one a go.

The second Christmas book I wanted to mention is Jostein Gaarder's The Christmas Mystery, initially published in 1992. The book is divided into 24, being the first twenty-four days of Decemver - like a big advent calendar, in fact. The central character, a little boy called Joachim, is given a mysterious old advent calendar - each day opened provides a slip of paper and a picture. Through the story on the bits of paper, we follow Elisabet as she wends her way through the shepherds and wisemen as they journey towards Christ's Nativity - and Joachim's family try to connect it to the Elisabet who disappeared at Christmas 1948. This is a beautiful book, with mystery and atmosphere and the magic of Christmas without making the festival commercial or saccharine. I read it last year, a chapter a day through advent, and would definitely recommend reading it that way.

Oh, and don't forget you still have a chance to get Miss Hargreaves!