Wigs On The Green

It is never really necessary to give a long or detailed review of a Nancy Mitford; you know you either like her or you don't. As I have explained previously, I have been particularly interested in this novel because, like the guy you cannot have because he's with your best friend, it has been teasingly unavailable for so long a time.

Was it worth the wait? As I say, you're either on board with Nancy or you're not, and as I've also said, I most certainly am. Wigs on the Green is as barbed as we would expect, although I agree entirely with Nancy's assessment that Eugenia, the character based on Unity, is in no way offensive to her inspiration. Of course Eugenia is ridiculed; she is a Fascist, and as Laura Thompson states in her wonderful biography of Nancy, Life in a Cold Climate, "the point is that the war against Fascism was necessary and Fascism, in Nancy's opinion, was not." Eugenia is a Boadicea figure, an Amazonian Britannia, and impressive indeed as such. And Unity, apparently, was exactly this in real life. The book seems to me to be a fond tribute and a gentle dig rather than a cruel satire, and is entirely befitting the political climate in which it was written. The Mosley figure, however, upon incurring Diana's wrath, Nancy did entirely cut from the book - he is mentioned, but never appears.

Wigs on the Green does not have the pacey wit of The Pursuit of Love, but equally it is not as narratively frantic as Pigeon Pie. It is biting: an artist character introduced as a "surrealiste" suffers a response from the wonderfully named Jasper Aspect "that he had once written a play which took place inside Jean Cocteau's stomach. 'Unfortunately I sold the film rights,' he added, 'otherwise you could have had them. The film was put on in Paris and many people had to leave the Jockey Club and stop being Roman Catholics because of it. I was pleased.'" The re-publication of Wigs on the Green also uncovers one of Nancy's cleverest satires - Peersmont, the asylum for lunatic peers, "built on the exact plans of the House of Lords, so that the boys should feel at home." A visit to this "bin" reveals a Duke who considers that "Socialists put a perfectly exaggerated value on human life...what on earth does it matter if a few people are killed, we're not at war, are we? We don't need 'em for cannon fodder." Nancy can stick the knife into her own kind with a lipstick coated smile. She also has a fair go at the institute of marriage, which she describes as "a great bore - chap's waistcoats lying about in one's bedroom, and so on." In fact, little is left out of the line of Nancy's witty fire.

This is another beautiful period piece, of a time and place, and by a class of person, very much rooted in the 'then'. For me, Nancy displays more brevity than Wodehouse, but does not come close to her great friend Evelyn Waugh, whose Decline and Fall is possibly the funniest satire of the era. And froth it may be, but life is all the sweeter for a bit of meringue.

Wigs on the Green: Reprinted

This Nancy Mitford has not, to my knowledge, been re-printed since WWII, after which jokes about Fascism ceased being funny and it was, probably correctly, deemed inappropriate. Nancy herself was doubtless unconcerned by this censorship, as her sister Unity, on whom the main character in the novel is based, shot herself the day that war broke out, unable to reconcile her love for her mother country with her Nazi obsession. So the question one must ask, I suppose, is this: is Penguin's imminent re-publication of Wigs on the Green an indication that the War is far enough away now that we can laugh at its causes; are we entering an era of growing right-wing sensibilities in which there is a sudden need to poke fun at Fascism; or are the Mitford's and their oeuvre currently so in vogue that previously held views on decency are being sacrificed for financial gain? Whatever the real reasons for the re-issue (and I suspect it is a mixture of several), I for one am delighted.

What I am not so delighted about is the cover design. I am afraid I am an utter snob when it comes to book covers - I could rant for England about my abhorrence of the current vogue for covers of 'women's literature' in the full spectrum of pinks with stylised twenties cartoon images of stick-like women holding any combination of lipstick /powder compact / Pomeranian dog / suitcase / shoes / shopping bags...oh, you know the ones, and I'm wearing myself out just thinking about describing them. Not only modern chicklit falls foul of this creeping horror, however; Molly Keane is these days an embarrassment to be seen with. In answer to this problem, I was given for Christmas a gorgeous dark brown leather book cover, soft as kid gloves and just as sophisticated, that slips easily over any paperback, ostensibly to protect said book, but really, and unashamedly in my case, to hide the cover from neighbouring commuters. Not to hide the title, I must stress, but to disguise the actual cover design, which so often belittles the calibre of content, as well as the woman reader.

Thankfully, I note also that the beautiful Capuchin Classics range is re-issuing Highland Fling in a few weeks, and with one of their wholly appropriate covers. I love their sparse line drawings and simple, neutral colours.

Anyway, jackets aside, it is fabulous to have Nancy back among us so prolifically. Lordy, at this rate, we'll all be having our hair shingled and calling each other 'hon' by the end of the year!