Pymmania: Less Than Angels, and a few things you should know about the making of tea

Readers of this blog, whom I won't be presumptuous enough to call happy few (though I might accurately call them few) might know, by now, that I am an unquestioning admirer of Barbara Pym, a lovely British writer who could aptly be described as "the author of graceful comedies about the middle-class British and specifically about the world of the Anglican spinster". I know, this doesn't sound too fascinating but for some reason it is, and I love it (I also love Rammstein, by the way, a fact which has absolutely no connection with dear Barbara -- I just want you to know how eclectic I am).

I adore Barbara Pym so much that I have painstakingly collected all of her books and read them progressively. My last read is called Less Than Angels and was published in 1955.

The population of this novel is essentially made out of young anthropoly students who flirt and vie with each other for scholarships. One of the main characters is a lady writing for women's magazines, whose selfless heart and high culinary skills make her spend a lot of time feeding the aforementioned hungry and penniless students. Also present are two intellectual spinsters who share a flat, where they live "out of tins and on frozen stuff", their main interest being the advancement of science, a  missionary linguist with a bushy beard and a bad conscience, etc.

The book is consistently pymian and very funny, as you may see from the excerpt below.

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Esther Clovis had formerly been secretary of a Learned Society, which post she had recently left because of some disagreement with the President. It is often supposed that those who live and work in academic or intellectual circles are above the petty disputes that vex the rest of us, but it does sometimes seem as if the exalted nature of their work makes it necessary for them to descend occasionally and to refresh themselves, as it were, by squabbling about trivialities.

The subject of Miss Clovis' quarrel with the President was known only to a privileged few and even those knew no more than that it had something to do with the making of tea. Not that the making of tea can ever really be regarded as a petty or trivial matter and Miss Clovis did seem to have been seriously at fault. Hot water from the tap had been used, the kettle had not been quite boiling, the teapot had not been warmed...

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{Pym, Barbara, Less Than Angels, 1955 -- Moins que les anges, traduit de l'anglais par Sabine Porte, 1994}

Pymmania - No Fond Return of Love (Spinsters & Vicars eating cold Brussels sprouts in the middle of the night)

1. A Jane Austen-like opening sentence. "There are various ways of mending a broken heart, but perhaps going to a learned conference is one of the more unusual."
2. Two [dim English] spinsters, usually in their mid-thirties (gentle, introverted, shy, quiet, obscure/dark and unhappy, wearing read canvas shoes).
3. London.
4. Curiosity for the lives of others (sometimes extended to the point of silliness).
5. Bittersweet humour.
6. A Man, very good-looking, prone to drinking, user of yeast tablets, stomach powder, hair tonic, hoping to seduce pretty young girls with an animal as it would make a very good ice-breaker.
7. Church of England (of the High Church variety) clergymen (vicars, cassocks, lay readers, organists).
8. Jumble sales.
9. Attention to mundane details (food & meals & clothes & furniture & flowers).
10. People working as editors, proof-correctors or index-makers for small publishing companies or learned journals (performers of thankless, dreary tasks).
11. A Brazilian neighbour speaking with a musical voice, a grey poodle, a young florist whose shop is  (not in the grandest part of) Kensington, a pretty niece doing a secretarial course.
12. An obsession with hot drinks, particularly Ovaltine. 

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 'But you do such a really worthwhile work in your own way,' said Viola fussily. 'It's so vitally important that the standard of true scholarship should be kept up, when you think of all there is to be contended with nowadays.'

'You mean television and the general lowering of standards everywhere?' said Maurice politely.

'Yes, that, among other things,' said Viola rather darkly. 'Aylwin's book on Edmund Lydden will be the definitive study.'

[...]

'Who is he?' asked Laurel, feeling that she was the only person young or old enough — in her case young to ask such a question. (page 131)

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{Pym, Barbara, No Fond Return of Love, London, Virago Press, 2009 (First published Jonathan Cape Ltd, 1961) --- Les ingratitudes de l'amour, traduit de l'anglais par Anouk Neuhoff, 1988}

Reading Barbara Pym: Crampton Hodnet

I am still carrying on with Barbara Pym, as I've just finished Crampton Hodnet, one of her early novels, which she mainly wrote during WW2.

It's all about life in North Oxford; a formidable old lady, Miss Doggett, and her companion, meek and mild Miss Morrow, live in a dark Victorian house. Miss Dogget's nephew, Francis Cleveland, teaches seventeenth century poetry and tutors a pretty young girl whom he falls in love with (because he lacks his wife's attention). Life is a tad boring, tea and cake are consumed, social functions and church services are being attended. There's quite a bit of love going on, as well. Kisses exchanged in a library, a conversation in a tool shed, a marriage proposal (refused); and this curious break-up letter:

I expect you have been wondering why I hav'ent answered your letters. The truth is that I have been meaning to write for some time but hav'ent had a moment till now. I think you will agree that is has been evident for some time that we were growing rather weary of each other's company and that it would be no use our continuing to meet under such circumstances. As a matter of fact I have met someone else out here, and it is not unlikely that we shall become engaged in the near future. You must meet her sometime, I'm sure you would be great friends. I do hope this won't be too great a shock to you, dear. You know I would hate to hurt you, but I think you will agree that I have done the kindest thing in telling you the truth. I shall always be awfully glad to see you in Chester Square whenever you happen to be in town. We have had some good times together, hav'ent we? (p. 200-201)

Although it's not Pym's best, it's really a charming text, full of humorous, smart observations on the North Oxfordian comedy of manners. It's also quite light-hearted, if you except the awful remarks Miss Doggett (a real sadist) snaps at her companion. Like this one : "A plain woman no longer young is often the most likely to lose her head." (119)

People eat and cook quite a bit in BP's novels (I guess this is because she's that kind of writer who likes to focus on the smallest details of domestic life). Actually, there's even a BP cookbook (lovely cover art), but it's sadly out of print. I would be curious to have a peek at it someday. In Crampton Hodnet, gooseberries are tailed and topped during a stressful conversation about adultery. (Gooseberries seem to be a very British fruit, for some reason. Here in Brussels, you can buy a lovely gooseberry tart at pâtisserie Renard in Ixelles, but I haven't done that in quite a while.)

If, like me, you're a diehard fan, you can purchase mugs and greeting cards on the BP's Society website. Not so pretty, but quite a bit fun. They also have a newsletter, to which I would love to subscribe (but you have to be a Society member, and I don't feel up to that (and probably never will)).

Photo: smallest detail of my domestic life, but no gooseberries

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{Pym, Barbara, Crampton Hodnet, published posthumously in 1985, written in 1940 --- Crampton Hodnet, traduit de l'anglais par Bernard Turle, Paris, UGE, "10-18 Domaine étranger", 1994}