What's clearest from these two books is that Julian Fellowes is above all a chronicler and analyst of social class. And yes, that drags the narrative down frequently, tried even my very indulgent and very fond patience. Yet his saving grace is the utter charm of his wry sweet and occasionally silly/dirty voice. Every time I could feel my exasperation reaching snapping point, there'd be a joke or an observation that would make me smile, laugh or just want to hug him.
Snobs was very much the dryer of the two novels, a consciously constructed social commentary. I was actually surprised to find I did care about the main couple by the time the story wrapped up.
Still it was with a lot of relief that I found Past Imperfect had a very clear and dramatic framing device. And oddly similar to the most recent Julian Barnes novel which I had just finished, The Sense Of An Ending. The cleverness of that mystery kept me reading even as the red herrings and dead ends frustrated me. What I really didn't like as it went on was realising just how unlikeable each character was, that I couldn't find myself loving any of them, not even fondness for our protagonist. They were all, to use a Heyer phrase, lacking bottom. A certain tarnish to the souls, a certain impurity to their characters that rubbed me raw.
I did guess the secret about a fraction earlier than I was meant to, I think, and I can't say the main relationship of the novel moved me in any particular way. I wonder if anyone was, if that was ever the point. If Snobs was the examination of a class, Past Imperfect was the documentation of that class particularly in the Sixties, something unexpected to me.
I'm not sure I would ever recommend Julian Fellowes as a novelist but I do still adore him to bits. The tenderness and acute observation of him shines through despite his limitations in the form and that reminds me why I love his work in other forms. There's no saying how fabulous that combination is, how grateful I am for it.