No se lo digas a Alfred

Radlett and Montdore #3

by Nancy Mitford, Milena Busquets (Translator)

Cuando Alfred es nombrado embajador en París, su mujer, Fanny, se convertirá en la encargada de manejar los asuntos cotidianos de la embajada. De repente se verá alternando con la aristocracia y lo más granado de la sociedad parisina, dando cócteles y cenas, y contemplando asombrada como cada nimio detalle de su vida es aireado en los periódicos. Por si fuera poco, tendrá que mediar en los asuntos sentimentales de sus amigos y encauzar a sus indómitos hijos, cuyos modernos estilos de vida -uno es teddy boy y otro hippie- no termina de comprender. Además, parece que una crisis diplomática está a punto de estallar, dejando claro que la vida en una embajada es todo menos aburrida.
En No se lo digas a Alfred, Nancy Mitford combina personajes nuevos con otros que ya aparecían en A la caza del amor y Amor en clima frío y nos ofrece una despiadada sátira de los círculos parisinos más exclusivos así como de las siempre ambiguas relaciones entre Inglaterra y Francia. Sus mordaces diálogos y su extraordinaria capacidad para modelar personajes le permiten ofrecer al lector una sutil y divertidísima novela.

Genres: Fiction, Classics, Humor, Historical Fiction, British Literature, France, 20th Century

312 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1960

About the author

Nancy Mitford, styled The Hon. Nancy Mitford before her marriage and The Hon. Mrs Peter Rodd thereafter, was an English novelist and biographer, one of the Bright Young People on the London social scene in the inter-war years. She was born at 1 Graham Street (now Graham Place) in Belgravia, London, the eldest daughter of Lord Redesdale, and was brought up at Asthall Manor in Oxfordshire. She was the eldest of the six controversial Mitford sisters.

She is best remembered for her series of novels about upper-class life in England and France, particularly the four published after 1945; but she also wrote four well-received, well-researched popular biographies (of Louis XIV, Madame de Pompadour, Voltaire, and Frederick the Great). She was one of the noted Mitford sisters and the first to publicize the extraordinary family life of her very English and very eccentric family, giving rise to a "Mitford industry," which continues.

Reviews

[Emma Angeline · Rating 3 out of 5]

Undeniably lovely and pleasant. A comfort read for me. Not the most amazing thing ever written but some amusing escapism. Consider it ever so slightly higher brow pool side reading. More interesting when you realise you’ve maybe never read something written from the pov of a middle aged woman, it is worth reading for that. I love Fanny as a character tho, her inner monologue is something. Especially with the anxiety of raising her children, being a good parent, the ways she feels about herself and her place in the world, one that’s rapidly changing at that.

[Christmas Carol ꧁꧂ · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5★

I very much enjoyed this book - in parts. There were places that Mitford was at her wittiest & I was charmed by secondary character Northey (which is a great name for a girl!)

Adorable as she was, Northey was by no means an easy proposition. She was now in love, for the first time (or so she said, but is it not always the first time, and for that matter, the last?) and complained about it with the squeaks and yelps of a thwarted puppy.

But there were a few significant lulls & there were also parts where this book seemed to suffer from a bad case of Agatha Christieitis. Anyone who reads Christie will know that in her later years she often used her novels as a platform to rail against the modern world (At Bertram's Hotel is one example.) Ms Mitford was fourteen years younger than Christie but there is the same querulous tone in parts - surprising in one who was only in her mid fifties.

We remember the old world as it had been for a thousand years, so beautiful and diverse, and which, in only thirty years, has crumbled away. When we were young every country still had its own architecture and customs and food. Can you ever forget the first sight of Italy? Those ochre houses, all different, each with such character, with their trompe l'oeil paintings on the stucco? Queer and fascinating and strange, even to a Provencal like me? Now the dreariness! The suburbs of every town uniform all over the world, while perhaps in the very centre a few old monuments sadly survive as though in a glass case.

For the last twenty pages I was very bored and had to push myself to finish - and the ending was extremely abrupt. I have the sense that Ms Mitford had become bored with the characters too, & I was not surprised to find this was the last novel that she wrote. I definitely wouldn't read this as a standalone & I'm not sure how necessary it is even to complete the series. Really I think this one may be for Mitford completists only.

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[Jeanette · Rating 3 out of 5]

Mitford's wit and prose flow excellence- for sure. And Franny is the narrator throughout. But it is in Paris about 25 years later and the magic of the family oddballs is replaced by the most elite of English francophiles. Mostly women who are besotted by French society in nearly every sense.

Her last work re 1960 circa. It is comedic and Davey and Uncle Matthew are still better parts than the whole.

A formal Introduction gives you updates and evaluations of the first two Radlett books. Both were far better than this haughty and disdainful posit. Which did not sell to the acclaim of the other two. Do I understand why! She rather cuts her own origins.

[Gabi Coatsworth · Rating 2 out of 5]

I was sad to find this disappointing - I can see why Mitford gave up writing novels after this. Paris in the 50s can't compensate for the plot or characters, who all seem artificial, because they behave in an artificial and thoroughly entitled way. It's possible that the previous books were like this too, and it's I who's changed. Oh, well.

[Sketchbook · Rating 3 out of 5]

Mitford has an acute sense of the absurd. Remember the
thingie about U & Non-U words: Pardon? (Non) What? (U)
that reveal class? Nancy started it all. This drollery
about diplomacy, inspired by her living in Paris, spoons
up like a creamy dessert as the UK ambassador's wife disses
the bores & le beau monde.

Published in 1960, it tweaks the styles and politics of the day. 'What can't be cured must be endured,' says the heroine as she contemplates life after 50 and then finds herself thrust into
diplomatic intrigues. Another Mitfordiana: 'Precocious as it may have been, at six months old I was still living w my parents.' When an American defector (to Russia) attracts a Parisian crowd: 'It can only be some dreary film star. Nothing else attracts any interest nowadays.' Meantime, the new ambassadress learns she must entertain. ~~ There are 80 embassies in Paris :

'Are there so many countries in the world?'
--'Of course not,' she's told. 'The whole thing is great nonsense.
We have to keep up the fiction to please the Americans.'
--'Are the Americans friendly?"
'Friendly? They make you long for an enemy.'

Mad Mitfordiana.

[Nick Imrie · Rating 2 out of 5]

I've been trying to figure out why this book is so disappointing, compared to the first two novels featuring (some of) these characters and I've decided on the reason:

Mitford sincerely loved the people she depicted in the first two novels. She loved the bright young things, she loved the inter-war generation, she loved the landed gentry. So her hilarious exposure of their ridiculous behaviour was always tempered by a fondness for them. You laugh and you cry.

But she has nothing but contempt for the hippies. Polly's irresponsible son, abandoning his child to go East in search of enlightenment, has no redeeming qualities. She sees the narcissism and sophistry - but not the curiosity or the idealism. It's laughing at them not with them.

[Tig · Rating 5 out of 5]

Always a safe bet.

It's not Mitford's best novel, as I'm sure most readers would agree. It shows an older generation facing the cataclysmic changes of the sixties: rejection of traditional values, adulation of pop stars, spurious annexing of eastern philosophies, runaway children, the beginnings of the classless society. While I give credit to Mitford for attempting it, it makes for a much less happy mix than her previous novels. But just as sometimes we forgive people a lot because of their charm and kindness, so I'll forgive this book because of that particular Mitford quality of happy likeability. It speaks more closely to my condition than others of hers do. While I know nothing about the experience of being an hon in pursuit of love, or of dealing with an errant but entrancing French husband, I can very much identify with Fanny's experiences of trying to deal with a busy house and four children, none of whom is following the path she would have chosen for them. And, having spent two years living in a rather grand area of Paris, I admit her social anxieties resonate very acutely with me! What I find so pleasing in these books is Mitford's ability to depict charm - such a hard thing to do and so beguiling when done well. The big charmer of this book is beautiful, unscrupulous, enchanting, witty Northey whom Fanny regards with instant affection and describes with love. But Northey isn't the only one - Philip, Davey, Charles-Edouard are all a delight to read about, and although Mitford positions Fanny as the mousy inadequate among the glittering French, Fanny too starts from a position of being interested in people, willing to forgive fault and find amusement. that I (being a conscientious roundhead type)love to read about. Despite the Mitford credo, I know there is more to life than not being a bore, but sometimes that is all one asks of a book, and when I am in that sort of mood, this book does the job perfectly.

[Doug · Rating 3 out of 5]

Unfortunately, unlike its two predecessors in the series, this was more fizzle than sizzle. Written 11 years after the others - and set in the late '50's rather than the '30's, it just had a completely different feeling. Also, centering on the rather staid (read: dull) narrator Fanny, rather than the more entertaining and outré characters of the others, it suffered by comparison. A few sprightly set pieces, and nice to find out what happened to the characters of the previous volumes and their offspring - but Mitford really should have stopped while she was ahead.

[KOMET · Rating 2 out of 5]

Of the 3 Nancy Mitford novels I’ve read thus far, this one was a little less satisfying. Fanny Wincham’s life gets into the fast lane when her beloved husband Alfred, an Oxford professor of theology, is appointed the British Ambassador in Paris. The wife of the previous Ambassador (Lady Leone) is none too pleased at having to vacate the kind of life to which she had become accustomed and enjoyed for the previous 5 years. She stages a sit/lay-in at the official residence, where her numerous friends pay her homage for several weeks. In desperation, Fanny enlists the help of a family relation, who devises an ingenious way of inducing Lady Leone to take her leave of France in a face-saving, dignified way.

There are other colorful characters in this novel (2 of whom, Charles-Edouard de Valhubert and his English wife Grace, we last saw occupy center stage in “The Blessing”) who provide its rich and comedic flavor. I think the reader will be entertained reading about the antics and idiosyncrasies of Fanny’s social secretary Northey, and 2 of her sons, Basil and David. And there is also her Uncle Matthew, a very entertaining eccentric. Notwithstanding all that, I didn’t enjoy reading “Don’t Tell Alfred” as much as I did “The Blessing.” This review is not to suggest that the former is not a good book. I’m glad I read it and feel that, perhaps, upon a second reading, I may upgrade my present appraisal.

[Leanne (Booksandbabble) · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is the third Nancy Mitford I have read, and unfortunately I did not enjoy it as much as the first two. Fanny is still the narrator of the story but the years have passed and she now has four grown boys. Her Husband, Alfred, a don at Oxford, has taken over as Ambassador to France and so Fanny up and moves to Paris.
It is here we meet a whole host of characters, some likable and some not. Fanny has to learn the role of Ambassadress and familiarize herself with all the new faces. Poor Fanny's job is not made easy as the former ambassadress locks herself into one of the suites and refuses to budge. When she thinks she is finally settling in her grown boys pay a visit and they are not at all the respectable people she would like to have at cocktail hour.
I did enjoy this novel and there is still the usual sharp Mitford wit prevalent on every page but what disappointed me was the political aspect to the novel, although not heavily talked about, it was still enough to put me off giving it 5 stars.

[Daniel Myatt · Rating 5 out of 5]

A repeat read, and it was delightful to read about Fanny and her awful family as she attempts to negotiate political life as the wife to the ambassador to France.

Witty as all Nancy Mitford novels are and absolutely written with her tongue firmly in her cheek!

[Tania · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5

[Ali · Rating 4 out of 5]

I love Nancy Mitford and I loved this novel. It may not quite have the comic punch that The Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold climate do - but it is often very funny, and best of all reunites us with some of those beloved characters from her other books. Fanny is now middleaged, the mother of four boys, two grown up, and causing their parents to despair, and two still at Eton, who during the course of this novel run away and have a few adventures, causing a few more anxieties. When Alfred is made Ambassador to Paris, Fanny's cosy Oxford life changes to one of diplomacy, receptions, cocktail parties, and dodging the gutter press. She hires a cousin of hers Northey as her social secretary - an hilarious (and typical Mitford) character and definitely the best part of the book. She is flighty, prone to tears - especially over animals - she adopts a badger and rescues some crabs that were destined for table, and has half of Paris falling at her feet.

[Sophie · Rating 4 out of 5]

To have Fanny at the center, rather than as the narrator, was fantastic! Poor Fanny, dealing with scandal after scandal, and the misadventures of her children - yet it was very entertaining for me!

One note, This book should be read after Pursuit of Love, Love In A Cold Climate, and The Blessing, because Mitford expects you to know a lot of characters and their/their family's histories. I can imagine that there would be confusion if the reader hadn't read the previous books first.

[Asclepiade · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dopo qualche tempo da che avevo letto L’amore in un clima freddo, il primo romanzo della Mitford, che avevo trovato un vero e proprio capolavoro, preso in mano questo, dove per la protagonista del precedente ormai sono passati una dozzina d’anni, ero rimasto quasi perplesso all’inizio, a causa della sua partenza alquanto lenta. Ma non sempre le partenze languide preludono a romanzi lenti. Nella fattispecie avviene anzi come in certe commedie, dove la preparazione dell’intreccio e l’introduzione dei principali personaggi – qui, a dir il vero, in parte già noti al lettore fedele della Mitford – esigono un po’ di tempo, durante il quale le cose vanno avanti a un ritmo alquanto compassato; poi tuttavia l’agogica si fa più sciolta, viva e scattante, per finire in un balletto indiavolato: anzi, l’agilità briosa e mercuriale degli ultimi capitoli, pieni di trovate paradossali, arieggia moduli da operetta o da vaudeville. Dopotutto, l’azione si svolge quasi per intero a Parigi, dove Sir Alfred, il compassato teologo di Oxford marito della protagonista, si trova catapultato di sorpresa come ambasciatore. L’autrice crea qui la solita galleria di eccentrici, che ai tipi anglosassoni aggiunge stavolta politici e nobiluomini francesi (oltre a un’amica inglese che, sposato un francese, si picca di esser diventata più francese dei francesi, e parla malissimo della Gran Bretagna): tutti ritratti in punta di penna, con una finezza satirica che, sebbene qua e là piuttosto acuminata, non ferisce mai con malgarbo e con veemenza: ella possiede infatti quel raro pregio, tipico della gente di mondo, di saper dire honestamente villania, come scriveva il Boccaccio, e di far partire stoccate così puntuali, cesellate con tale grazia fiorita, da rendere preferibile un loro scherno a un altrui complimento fatto in tono plebeo. Il mondo diplomatico del secondo dopoguerra restava in parte ancora quello di prima, dove i monarchi si facevano la guerra, ma nei gabinetti e nelle ambasciate si giocava di fioretto e si ordivano cabale sanguinose con molto garbo, un po’ come, prima del 1789, i comandanti degli eserciti che si affrontavano in campo a volte brindavano l’uno alla salute dell’altro, e contendevano tra loro per accordare al nemico l’onore della prima scarica di fucileria: solo che ormai, col mondo nel pugno delle due “grandi potenze” un po’ zotiche ma appunto forti (e cattive), le schermaglie di politica estera sembrano sempre più svuotate in un’elegante recita su futilità non pericolose. La Mitford parla di politica estera e interna con quell’ironia svagata e divertita che spoglia molte ritualità del potere assai meglio di tante concioni aggrondate: sicché immagino numerosi fra i suoi critici e detrattori gli appassionati seriosi dell’invettiva dolente, dell’aspro risentimento, del cipiglio e del corruccio. Curiosamente, l’ironia della scrittrice diviene, benché solo a tratti, più malinconica e dispiaciuta nel tratteggiare una rivoluzione adolescenziale per allora in fasce, ma già estremamente abile a inventare motti e mode di linguaggio e vestiario: salvo poi svaporare in un attimo quando vengono meno le dianzi deprecate comodità borghesi; “D'ici à un an” avrebbe ricordato anni dopo Ionesco ai manifestanti del Maggio Parigino “vous serez tous des notaires”: e magari avessero aperto tutti un tranquillo studio notarile – più che i francesi, i loro cugini poveri da questa parte delle Alpi. A proposito: mi è venuto in mente che a fare satira sui cambiamenti nella società e nel costume la letteratura inglese in quegli anni aveva Nancy Mitford; noi avevamo Giovannino Guareschi: ma non desidero approfondire oltre un raffronto che mi potrebbe procurare qualche nemico, visto che sono amico della pace e duelli non fo se non a mensa.

[We Are All Mad Here · Rating 2 out of 5]

If you're thinking of reading any Nancy Mitford, do yourself a favor and start with The Pursuit of Love, which was charming and perfect. This one was less charming and perfect; in fact it was pretty boring. Half the time I didn't know what they were talking about. Or who was talking. When I did know, I didn't really care.

In short, not my favorite, but I love Nancy Mitford all the same.

[Alvin · Rating 2 out of 5]

Don't Tell Alfred has all the witty and/or wise aperçus one expects from a Mitford novel, and the narrator's voice was undeniably engaging. Unfortunately, the book was rather confusing due to a plethora of overly abbreviated utterances and convoluted locutions. Worse yet, many plot points were thoroughly unbelievable and several characters were straight from central casting without even a twist of originality.

[Marisolera · Rating 3 out of 5]

No atino últimamente con los libros. Me ha parecido una tontuna sin más.

[bookstories_travels🪐 · Rating 3 out of 5]

Me duele en el alma tener que ponerle solo tres estrellas a una novela de Nancy MItford, y más cuando realmente disfruté las dos novelas anteriores de esta trilogía que se acaba con el libro que nos ocupa. Desde luego “No se lo Digas a Alfred” es el peor de la saga con diferencia. No voy a decir que no ha habido momentos en que no lo haya disfrutado, porque mentiría, y no voy a negar que siento debilidad por muchos de los personajes que han poblado estas páginas. Pero si lo comparas con “A la Caza del Amor” y “Amor en Clima Frío” , este libro se queda en muy poco, aún contando con las virtudes de sus predecesores y de Nancy Mitford, una escritora realmente solvente que se lee muy bien y cuya pluma se disfruta mucho.

Hay muchos factores que he tenido en cuenta para decir esto: Sin duda alguna, lo mejor sigue siendo la prosa satírica y concisa de Mitford, la forma en que retrata a la alta sociedad de la Europa de después de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, sus incisivos diálogos, y la forma como se burla con gran ironía y detallismo de un mundo ya en extinción, una reliquia del pasado como el fósil de un dinosaurio. Eso siempre ha sido la idea central en torno a la cual ha girado esta trilogía, pero en este último volumen nos percatamos de algo que, en los dos libros anteriores, había sido solo una parte secundaria del total decorado en que habían tenido lugar los acontecimientos narrados: la importancia de los choques generacionales, como los padres no entienden a los hijos y como estos ven y hacen las cosas de una forma distinta a ellos, y que sus progenitores no entienden o saben comprender. El mundo en el que Fanny y sus primos Radlett se criaron ya no existe, ha dado paso a otros tiempos, por más que a los personajes más mayores les cueste asumirlo. Lo cual agradezco que se de por una sencilla razón: esta disyuntiva la presentan los hijos de Fanny y sus actuaciones, tan alejadas de lo que sus progenitores siempre han pretendido para ellos. Y esto lleva a situaciones muy disparatadas y determinantes, que han sido lo que mejor ha tenido esta novela, todo condimentado con ese gusto por la risa, lo ridículo y la ironía tan de Mitford.Porque ciertamente en este libro, al igual que los otros de la trilogía, la autora ha sabido sacarme en varios momentos una sonrisa e incluso una carcajada, hay situaciones tan disparatadas y ridículas, y personajes tan frívolos que es imposible creerlas, solo puede provocar hilaridad en el lector. Yo personalmente disfruto mucho cuando eso pasa , por la forma sencilla y divertida que tiene Mitford de narrar.

En este tercer libro, el personaje de Fanny se convierte definitivamente en la protagonista de la historia que cuenta. A lo largo de esta saga, paulatinamente en cada libro, hemos sabido más y más de ella y de su vida, hasta llegar a este punto, cuando debe trasladarse a Paris. Y es que su marido Alfred ha sido enviado a la capital gala para ser el embajador de Gran Bretaña, un cargo de gran responsabilidad tanto para él como para Fanny, que, en un principio, sufrirá muchas inseguridades y miedos, pues no se siente preparada para tamaña responsabilidad. Así pues “No se lo digas a Alfred” es la crónica de como se maneja delante de todos los problemas diplomáticas y sociales que se presentan delante de ella; como se mueve entre intrigas políticas, líos amorosos, bulos de prensa, huéspedes e invitados indeseados y las dudas que la perturban sobre la forma en que ha criado a sus hijos y su relación con ellos.

En su camino estará acompañada de viejos conocidos como Davey o el tío Mathew, y aparecerán nuevos personajes como Philip, el asesor de la embajada que la ayudara en más de dos o tres ocasiones; Northey, su joven y coqueta sobrina y secretaria, que se dedica más a romper corazones entre los políticos franceses que a su trabajo; o un matrimonio anglo-francés cuyo marido, Charles-Edouard es primo del Fabrice que conocimos en “A la Caza del Amor”. Como siempre, Mitford crea personajes que bajo su aparente estupidez y sencillez nos dicen mucho más del momento histórico y la sociedad de la época de lo que pueden aparentar a simple vista, estando muy bien perfilados y resultando entrañables y reconocibles para el lector.

Con todo esto ¿Que es lo que falla en “No Se Lo Digas A Alfred”? Para mi gusto que la formula que Mitford uso anteriormente, aquí esta muy desgastada o, por lo menos, no luce con toda la fuerza o frescura con que lo hacia antes. Los nuevos personajes, aunque me han parecido encantadores y muy bien perfilados (muy al estilo Mitford) no me han ganado como lo hacían en las otras partes, me han parecido más de lo mismo. Lo peor para mí ha sido que habido partes de este libro, especialmente al principio, que me han aburrido soberanamente o se me han hecho muy pesadas. Además, lo que es en líneas generales la trama de la historia me ha parecido, por momentos, muy aleatoria, como que pasaban cosas porque sí, sin ningún hilo realmente conductor, cosa que los anteriores libros sí que percibía. Quizás esto se deba a que realmente la novela está enfocada en la el día día en la embajada británica en Francia, pero aún así me ha parecido una trama menos consistente. Y aunque al final me ha parecido mejor llevado que los anteriores libros, me ha parecido, también, igual de precipitado que en ellos. Demasiado.

Reconozco que todos estos argumentos quizás sean muy subjetivos y personales, pero todos ellos en conjunto han hecho que la novela “No se lo digas a Alfred” me haya parecido muy pobre en comparación con “ A la Caza del Amor” y “Amor en Clima Frío”., especialmente con la primera, que me pareció una autentica maravilla. No obstante me ha gustado esta obra y he disfrutado mucho con ella, y tengo muchas ganas de seguir leyendo más libros de Nancy Mitford, esperando encontrar en ellos aquello que me cautivo en las primeras lecturas que hice de esta escritora, que realmente me parece que no tiene desperdicio por su estilo sencillo y campechano, pero a la vez jocoso e incisivo. No solo tengo muchas ganas de leer más libros de ella, también quiero leer los ensayos que escribió su hermana Jessica, y una biografía que tengo pendiente de las seis hermanas Mitford, a la que me muero por hincar el diente, y que solo está esperando a que lea las obras antes mentadas.

[Briar Rose · Rating 3 out of 5]

Don't Tell Alfred is the third book in Nancy Mitford's series that began with The Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate. Written 15 years after the first two books, it is quite a different book. The Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate dealt with the 'bright young things' of the inter-war years of the 20s and 30s, satirising high society manners and concerned with the loves and foibles of upper class English families. Fanny was very much a secondary character; a narrator somewhat removed from the action. Don't Tell Alfred, by contrast, is set during the 1950s in France. Fanny takes centre stage as the now middle-aged wife of Alfred, the newly-appointed English ambassador to France. We see a lot more of her character and family, who are only passingly mentioned in the first two books. But this is 20 years on from the first two novels, and things have drastically changed in her life and the world around her.

On its own merits, Don't Tell Alfred is a decent-enough book. Mitford's awesome satirical skills are at work, with sharp and pithy commentary on the world of European cold-war politics. The characters are idiosyncratic, bizarre and endearing. The plot wanders somewhat, and Fanny is a rather insipid heroine, but the book was enjoyable enough to keep me reading.

Unfortunately, I found it impossible to read Don't Tell Alfred without comparing it to the first two novels. I felt much as I did when reading Titus Alone, the third book in Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast series. Like that book, this is a completely different novel from its predecessors, and disconcertingly bears little relationship to them. Stylistically it is very different, with less quiet reflection and more frenetic activity. Things that were merely hinted at in The Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate are baldly stated here. The writing is sloppier and the plot less intriguing. Mitford was never very big on plot, but the one here is episodic and not really held together by a single brilliant character, as it was in The Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate

Most disappointing of all, the characters are not consistent. Fanny in particular is very very different from her character in the other books. One could say that this is the passage of time I suppose, but I couldn't help feeling I was dealing with a different person altogether, one who was less insightful, clever and subtle than the narrator of the first two books. Fanny steps into the spotlight here, and it doesn't suit her. Nor does it suit Alfred, her husband. Both of them are insipid characters who fluster about and don't even seem particularly consistent within the story itself. It's hinted, for example, that Alfred was some kind of spy during the war, and is a keen political operator, and yet he makes silly blunders and seems to have no idea of what's going on in his own house. The saving graces of this novel are the young people, particularly Northey and Philip, although even they are frustrating.

Anyhow, it's an interesting enough period piece, giving a snapshot of a particular part of society in a particular era. It's funny and light-hearted and easy to read, if you avoid comparisons.

[Carmun · Rating 3 out of 5]

2,5⭐ en realidad.
Demasiada política y poca acción.

[Checkie Hamilton · Rating 3 out of 5]

I didn't know what to expect from this, the third book in Nancy Mitford's Pursuit of Love trilogy as it is widely accepted as the weakest novel in the series. Whilst I agree that it doesn't live up to the previous two books, I still relished the return of familiar, hilarious characters such as the health-obsessed Davey, who has recently received a third, spare kidney and the outrageous Uncle Matthew who has discovered a taste for cocktail parties, providing he doesn't have to interact with any of the other guests.

A lot has changed between the previous two books, set 20 years earlier, and this book which sees the Montdore family in the 1950s. No longer the rebellious youth herself, the novel sees Fanny and her husband Alfred deal with the antics of their four sons who all seem to exhibit the symptoms of the youth movements of the swinging sixties to come. In particular 'Bearded David' and his wife Dawn seem to anticipate John and Yoko with their 'Zen' attitude and tendency to lie in bed in the comfort of the English Embassy in Paris.

It felt almost anachronistic to read Nancy Mitford satirise the fifties when I so strongly associate her with the twenties and thirties and the Bright Young Things, but her satire was no less effective for being of a different period, with a particularly amusing episode being the mania caused by a pop sensation Yanky Fonzy arriving in Paris and giving a concert from a balcony.

Whilst I can't pretend this novel surpasses the hilarity of The Pursuit of Love or Love in a Cold Climate, it is still worth the read for any who cannot get enough of Nancy Mitford's humour.

[Julie · Rating 1 out of 5]

Nancy, what happened?! I've enjoyed everything else I have read by her so I am shocked at rating this one star. I debated two stars because I could see the glimmer of a fun story but it would be a stretch to even call it "ok". I only finished it because it's a short book and out of a deluded hope that the book would somehow improve.

For someone who was a 'Bright Young Thing' in the 1920s and rebellious against the older generation, Nancy did not like when the shoe was on the other foot and she was the older generation being rebelled against. Her depictions of the younger generation were so awful and tone deaf. She was like a crotchety grandma yelling for kids to get off her lawn. I looked up her age and the date the book was published and was shocked to learn she was my age when published. I really thought she was in her late 70s, not 50s, when writing this. Talk about being fossilized and out of touch!

I understand that the British upper class of her generation were not hands on parents and yet I was still startled by Fanny talking about how she doesn't like her son David. She also muses on how she doesn't know her younger children, and has never spent any one-on-one time with them. Yikes. And then she is surprised when they don't want anything to do with her. I kept thinking how I would love to read a novel told from the perspective of her sons, who sounded pretty awesome even though Nancy was attempting to depict them in a foolish light.

The parts of the book making fun of David for being interested in Zen Buddhism were painful to read. Oh, the casual racism! The incorrect depiction of what Zen is! It was embarrassing, seeing how out of it and confused she was. Her attempts at making fun of it fell flat. She also seemed to be confusing jazz with rock music which was also awkward to read. The musician her younger sons are obsessed with is obviously based on Elvis. All of it was just so bewildering which is I guess how Nancy felt all the time about post WWII changes.

The parts of the book dealing with politics - and made up political events to boot - were deathly dull. I eventually started to skim those long conversations that didn't add to the story at all. Nancy should have stuck to what she did best, writing a comedy of manners about private life. Not only were those parts of the book dull; they were also scattered with casual racism. Fanny complaining about all the countries that weren't "real" i.e. any country in Asia or Africa or Eastern Europe. Yikes.

We remember the old world as it had been for a thousand years, so beautiful and diverse, and which, in only thirty years, has crumbled away. When we were young every country still had its own architecture and customs and food. Now, the dreariness! The suburbs of every town uniform all over the world, while perhaps in the very centre a few old monuments sadly survive as though in a glass case...our children never saw that world so they cannot share our sadness. One more of the many things that divide us. There is an immense gap between us and them, caused by unshared experience.
Never in history have the past and the present been so different; never have the generations been divided as they are now. The Greatest Generation complaining about the Baby Boomers

I think modern architecture is the greatest anti-happiness there has ever been. Nobody can live in those shelves, they can't do more than eat and sleep there; for their hours of leisure and their weeks of holiday they are driven on to the roads. That is why a young couple would rather have a motor-car than anything else - it's not in order to go to special places but a means of getting away from the machine where they exist.

When would you have liked to be born?"
Any time between the Renaissance and the Second Empire.'
I trotted out the platitude, 'But only if you were a privileged person?
A platitude? Or the truth? Yes, a wealthy titled straight white man from France would like to go back in time and have even more power than he does now.

I could see that Alfred, whatever he might say, had counted as much as I had on magic Eton to produce two ordinary, worthy, if not specially bookish young men and was disappointed as well as disturbed by this new outbreak of non-conformism.

I saw three figures ambling towards me from the Arlington Street entrance. They were dressed as Teddy boys, but there was no mistaking the species. With their slouching, insouciant gait, dead-fish hands depending from, rather than forming part of, long loose-jointed arms, slightly open mouths and appearance of shivering as if their clothes, rather too small in every dimension, had no warmth in them, they would have been immediately recognizable, however disguised, on the mountains of the Moon, as Etonians. Here were the chrysalises of the elegant, urbane Englishmen I so much longed for my sons to be; this was the look which, since I was familiar with it from early youth, I found so right She's like those women who get a hairstyle they like in their twenties and never change it again but become frozen in time.

I looked at my children and thought how little I knew them. I felt much more familiar with David and Baz. No doubt it was because these boys had always been inseparable. As with dogs, so with children, one on its own is a more intimate pet than two or three. The death of my second baby had made a gap between David and Basil; I had had each of them in the nursery by himself. I suppose I had hardly ever been alone with either of the other two in my life; I was not at all sure what they were really like. Well, that's a downer.

They don't care a fig for liberty, equality, fraternity, or any of our values - still less for their King and Country. The be-all and end-all of their existence is to have a good time. They think they could have rocked and rolled quite well under Hitler and no doubt so they could.' Alfred buried his face in his hands and said despairingly, "The black men affirm that we are in full decadence. Nothing could be truer, if these boys ate typical of their generation and if they really mean all the things they told me just now. The barbarians had better take over without more ado. We made the last stand against them. At least we have that to be proud of. Oh my! A last stand against black people?!

[Shawn Thrasher · Rating 2 out of 5]

Mostly disappointed. The sense of sharp melancholy and bitter humor that infected The Pursuit of Love and Love In A Cold ClimatDon't Tell Alfred. The first two, written 15 plus years before, were fierce, biting almost comedies of manners, hilarious and humorous then unexpectedly lachrymose. Don't Tell Alfred has a definitely feel of farce, much more episodic. The setting (France in the 1960s,) seems more specific than the settings of the first two (English society in the early part of the 20th century) and even though both are written as contemporary pieces, the "Loves" have weathered the tests of literary time much better than "Alfred." It was fun seeing some of the characters from the first two, and hearing about others. But I just couldn't shake the feeling that Don't Tell Alfred was like dripping drops of various colors into a whirlpool; taken separately, each drop was beautiful, but mixed up together, pretty dull at the end.

[Nikki · Rating 4 out of 5]

Not the best in the trilogy, but still some genuinely funny moments - my favourite was Uncle Matthew showing up in the taxi. I feel like this quote from Caroline O'Donoghue really nails what's wrong with it though:

My favourite terrible thing about Nancy is that she has no idea how straight, non-insane men act. She doesn't know any, or if she does, she just ignores him until she can find the nearest sister or gay man to talk to. If you’ve read her books you’ll know that the protagonist Fanny gets married to Alfred, and Nancy has no idea how to write Alfred or their marriage. It is the writer’s equivalent of playing with Barbie, making Ken say “Bye Barbie, I’m going to work now!” before just looking at him for a second and throwing him to one side.

The thing about him bizarrely speaking in falsetto every now and then, what the hell was that!?

[Jamie Collins · Rating 2 out of 5]

This novel takes place about 15 years after the events of Love in a Cold Climate. Fanny is a middle-aged mother of four grown children, slightly bored by her life as the wife of an Oxford don, when her husband is suddenly appointed ambassador to France. Wacky antics ensue when she and her newly knighted husband Alfred move into the embassy in Paris.

I don’t doubt that Mitford’s contemporaries found this book entertaining, but I didn’t like it nearly as well as the first two books in this loose trilogy. It’s amusing in a few places - particularly I like Fanny and Alfred’s careful non-interference policy concerning their sons, who all seem to have lost their minds. But for the most part I found this bland. I suspect much of the humor was lost on me as I missed some of the contemporary references.

It's worth a read as a followup to the other books.

[Malvina · Rating 3 out of 5]

Having read The Pursuit of Love (1945) and Love in a Cold Climate (1949), it really did make sense to finish off the trilogy with Don't Tell Afred. Unlike the first two, however, Alfred was written a fair bit later in 1960, and somehow the story-telling thread wasn't quite as much fun. The Bright Young Things have become Middle-Aged Things With Troublesome Entitled Teenagers, and several of the characters from the earlier books have died. Still, it was good to see some of the earlier characters and to finish the storyline.

[Thais Warren · Rating 3 out of 5]

I love this trilogy and I’ll always be a Nancy stan but this was fineeee not amazing just a solid afternoon tea vibe not blown away:)

[Frances · Rating 2 out of 5]

Remembered it as being more enjoyable...probably somewhat dated.

[Elizabeth]

abandonèd