216. The Pursuit of Love

A friend asked me to name my favourite book yesterday. I blinked. So she relented and asked me for my three favourite books. I"ve been thinking about it, but I'm not ready to commit yet.

One of the contenders, however, has to be The Pursuit of Love. Nancy Mitford has been described as 'literary Marmite' - a sobriquet I repeat here only to hint at the unbreachable gap between likers and haters. But I am my mother's only daughter, so I am a Liker with a big 'L'. I think if I had not been a liker the unbreachable gap would have been between me and my mother. Perish the thought.

I think I was 15 or so when I first read The Pursuit of Love and although I thought it was very funny I missed the point of most of the second half of the novel. When I re-read it now, however, I can see the darkness, as well as the light. But the early part of the story, when the children are young, is still my favourite. Some of the best jokes I have ever read cluster together in the pages of The Pursuit of Love. But its reach extends further than that...

I was thinking about William Fiennes the other day - another writer I like very much. His father is Lord Saye and Sele, and I was pondering if that made William an Hon. 'He's a triffic Hon' I said to myself, without pause.

I'm a sad geek - we all know that - but it made me laugh to go from English rules of primogeniture to the young Radletts clustered in the Hons cupboard. My walk through the cemetery is enlivened by these things.

Whether you like her, or loathe her, Nancy was an admirably good writer. The characters come up off the page in a way that makes me want to spit with jealousy, but the novels are tightly plotted too - nothing is wasted. Those who dismiss her writing as posh froth aren't paying attention.

So I'm struggling on with my 'Top Three' and it may well be that The Pursuit of Love will make the cut. In the meantime, I am enjoying what I consider to be essential research - a few evenings spent in the company of Nancy Mitford and her world.