For, after all, respect and esteem were cold, lifeless things–dry bones picked clean of flesh. There was nothing springlike about dry bones, nothing warm and romantic about respect and esteem.
This book is about love and romance, or maybe it isn’t, maybe it's really about how empty and sordid things can be done in the name of love and romance. Most of the characters here are confused, to say the least, and marriage is an institution that has more to do with convenience and contrivance than affection or desire. In fact, most of what we see here is a struggle to meet the expectations of society rather than any individual satisfaction.
Barbara Pym steps into ordinary lives and exposes, gently and with humor, how unsatisfactory they can sometimes be. There is an undercurrent of irony and a subtle humor that permeates the story and makes most of the characters seem both foolish and unrelentingly human. She seems to say we all have disappointments, some succumb completely and others flourish despite them; we all struggle at times with living the everyday, but the difference is what we decide to make of life as a whole.
One irony in this story is that the person who understands most about what is going on beneath the surface of other people’s lives, including the married ones, is a spinster who functions as a companion to an elderly woman. The other inhabitants of the village would be surprised to realize the depths of knowledge she possesses. Miss Morrow’s life is rather sad in some ways. She lives in another woman’s house, takes orders, is often denigrated, is somewhat ordinary, and lacks romance. However, she is smart and observant, and she sees all the positives in her position and does not envy others or fall for fantasies and dreams. She knows how to laugh at herself and she never uses information to hurt another person. I liked her very much.
What I love most about Pym is that she can show you the negative, and sometimes the worst, sides of people without being cruel, unkind or discompassionate. She understands people, their connections or lack thereof, and she has a way of presenting the social rituals of a community with a true picture of how little sincerity they foster.
I am a long way from exhausting Barbara Pym’s oeuvre, and I am happy for that. It means I have some delightful reading ahead of me.