Finally reading E. M. Delafield’s Diary of a Provincial Lady has been a proper homey sort of pleasure, and not just because I am now able to fully understand Simon at Stuck in a Book’s shorthand …. It is a funny and engaging read although, and I am wondering quite how to put this, it didn’t set me on fire if you know what I mean.The Provincial Lady, or PL as she is known to those who love her is the married Bridget Jones of the 1930s. Now, before you all cry in protest, there are more than a few similarities. Both PL and BJ are profoundly English, profoundly middle class characters who harbour slightly lefty views without knowing quite how to express them. They both recognise the absurdities of the narrow world they live in, but in a kindly way, and knowing that they are an inextricable part of it. Neither of them know how to get out of situations they don’t want to be in. They both write a not quite daily diary, not least because they are both quite funny and intelligent and life just doesn’t offer sufficient opportunities for them to show it. Which brings me to my last, resounding s
imilarity: these are two girls who are really of their ages.
imilarity: these are two girls who are really of their ages. PL is a married lady of the home counties with a husband glued to the Times, a demanding French nanny, a son at a school she can’t afford and a daughter begging to be sent to any school, a woeful lack of servants and a constantly mounting overdraft. Because she is actually rather lovely, she is much in demand. There is Our Vicar, Our Vicar’s Wife, Lady B and numerous others constantly chasing her tail. PL is a dreamer after literary recognition and an imaginer of glamour and society. She lacks social assertiveness, but maybe she would not be as nice if she had it. She is a shopper and a luncher and a reader of novels over cups of tea. She is a mum who wants to be a star, and who can blame her. I loved the slight decadence of her character.
There is another side to all the spending and the dreaming of course and that is a lack of consideration for those who are less fortunate. I see this but it does not diminish the book for me. Books, like life, are not full of perfect people. E. M. Delafield, who I suspect was writing from experience has captured perfectly the displaced arrogance of the English upper middle classes in the interwar years, when they could still recall a luxury life but could no longer afford it. I am not weeping for them, but it is good to hear the story from the horses’ mouth.
So why
the lack of fire? Well, I suppose that after a while, I found it a tiny bit boring. Once I had met Our Vicar’s Wife a few times, and realised that PL’s husband Robert was never going to put down the Times and come over all Don Juan and that PL probably didn’t want him to anyway, I felt that I had got the gist. Some have loved this book more and some a lot less. There are interesting opinions to be found at Serendipity, My Porch, A Good Stopping Point, Behind the Curtain and Pining for the West. I have included pictures of book covers and of the author.
the lack of fire? Well, I suppose that after a while, I found it a tiny bit boring. Once I had met Our Vicar’s Wife a few times, and realised that PL’s husband Robert was never going to put down the Times and come over all Don Juan and that PL probably didn’t want him to anyway, I felt that I had got the gist. Some have loved this book more and some a lot less. There are interesting opinions to be found at Serendipity, My Porch, A Good Stopping Point, Behind the Curtain and Pining for the West. I have included pictures of book covers and of the author. 
