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Barsetshire in the war years. Miss Bunting, governess of choice to generations of Barsetshire aristocracy, has been coaxed out of retirement by Sir Robert and Lady Fielding to tutor their daughter Anne, delicate, sixteen years old, and totally lacking in confidence. When Anne makes friends with Heather Adams, the gauche daughter of a nouveau riche entrepreneur, her mother is appalled. Miss Bunting, however, shows an instinctive understanding of the younger generation - perhaps, having lost so many of her former pupils to the war, she is more sympathetic to their needs. She may be a part of the old social order, where everyone knows their place, but is wise enough to realise that the war has turned everything on its head and nothing will ever be the same again - even in rural Barsetshire. First published in 1945, Miss Bunting is a charming social comedy of village life during the Second World War.… (more)
User reviews
There are plenty of little jokes here, but unless you read it very superficially you're unlikely to come out with your morale boosted: on the whole, the view of the world here is a rather depressing one. As usual with later Thirkell, she often goes just that little bit too far, crossing the invisible line that divides engaging social satire from unpleasant snobbery. This is especially so with the industrialist Mr Adams and his daughter Heather, who appear in several of the other wartime novels as well. They are clearly meant to be sympathetic, if slightly comical characters, refugees from Dickens whom she misguidedly wants to present as representatives of the up and coming generation of the fifties. But Thirkell simply can't bring herself to like them, and keeps sticking the knife in when she thinks the reader isn't looking. Not an attractive picture.
All the same, she does write so well. In this book, it's the big set-piece scene, the meeting of the Barsetshire Archaeological Society, that it the real triumph, and before and after it there is an ample supply of Thirkell specialities like grumpy old men, small boys and schoolmistresses.
The times being what they were, Thirkell couldn't do much in the way of servants (her other big comic speciality) in this book, apart from the rather nasty caricature of Gradka, the bloodthirsty East European refugee. At least she avoids being directly offensive by making her a native of Mixo-Lydia, the only fictitious country ever to be named after a musical mode...
did that another piece of the pre-war world had
gone and the tide of a Brave and Horrible New
World was lapping at her feet." While I understand this feeling, not being from that time and place I cannot truly sympathise & can only hope that the light humour I enjoy so much will continue in the rest of the series.
And yet day-to-day life can be surprisingly normal, providing Thirkell with ample opportunity to poke fun at English culture and customs. Her stories are often set in motion by the introduction of new characters, or well-known characters in new and different situations. In Miss Bunting, a governess is engaged to tutor a young girl for the summer, and a wealthy businessman and his daughter rent rooms from a lonely widow. Their days are filled with small-town rituals like church services and meetings of community organizations. These, along with Sunday lunch and afternoon tea, provide amusing satire of the English class system. Even though it seems like nothing much really happens, Thirkell’s characters and the way they interact with one another make for fun reading.
I enjoyed reading this, even when the war means the characters’ moods and circumstances are understandably subdued. Thirkell, with her attention to the details and inconveniences of everyday life, gives her stories a strong sense of atmosphere and, having just lived through a year disrupted by a pandemic, I found the atmosphere here rather satisfying.
Saturday dawned bright and fair, but observing that it was still Double Summer Time, took offence and relapsed into chill greyness. As no inhabitant of the British Isles has ever got used to the odious and so-called summer weather which has always been their portion, and far less to the vagaries of D.S.T., there was a good deal of grumbling everywhere, which grumbling was gradually diverted to the less eternal grievances of the fish, the daily woman, that girl at the Food Office, the Government, that noise all night like a mouse just at the head of my bed, and I must set a trap as pussy doesn't seem much good at it, the way the laundry has ironed that nice tablecloth, and other daily food of human nature.
Moreover, even if the characters didn’t know that the war is nearly over, I knew and could be hopeful for them.
(I wonder if Thirkell knew when she finished this... Even if, as Project Gutenberg Canada suggests, this was published in December of 1945, she would have surely had to have turned in the manuscript before Japan surrendered, if not before Victory Day?)
I skimmed the bits with the refugee cook -- I suspect Thirkell’s intention was to portray her positively, but I’ve noticed that when it comes to perceived outsiders to Thirkell’s world, her attempts at humour and at sympathy can feel hampered by stereotypes and prejudice.