August Folly is one of Angela Thirkell's standard slice-of-life social comedies set among the rural British lower gentry between the wars. It has many charms, though to misquote the Firesign Theater, a walk through the ocean of its soul would not get your feet wet.
We meet first the Tebben family, at the hanging-on-by-the-fingernails end of the gentry spectrum. They have their little country abode, hideously mismanaged by Mrs. Tebben, from which Mr. Tebben commutes to a humble job. Their son, Richard, has just finished the university education for which his parents scrimped and sacrificed but he failed to cover himself with glory. Richard is spending the summer nominally reading for the law or another profession, but he has little drive. His sister, Margaret, is overlooked and underappreciated, and the investment made in her brother's future precludes any investment in hers. I found her situation poignant and rooted for her to achieve a better fate.
Into their lives crash the Dean family, in-laws of the Tebbenses' neighbors, come to spend the summer in the country. The Deans are far better off, with the careless confidence of the well-to-do. The two families, adults and children, mingle like equals, but their economic differences lead to little schisms and stresses. Meanwhile, one of the self-appointed doyennes of the neighborhood, is getting up an amateur theatrical into which many of the principals are drawn.
Such is the flimsy stuff of which the plot is woven, but like cobwebs the threads prove surprisingly strong. Thirkell has a rather Austenish gift for making the reader appreciate the deeper aspects of life's trivialities, and she pairs it with a keen eye for folly that is also reminiscent of Austen, though a pale shadow of her predecessor's genius. It's clear from sporadic references to Austen's work that readers are supposed to get the homage. For me the comparison collapses in the end because Thirkell's characters tend to be rather shallow people, casually portrayed; there always seems to be more at stake in Austen's stories.
Still, a Thirkell novel is always a deft diversion that leaves me chuckling. Her novels are set in a twentieth-century version of Trollope's imaginary County of Barsetshire, and the place-names alone are worth the price of admission.