Emily Mortimer’s immaculate adaptation of Nancy Mitford’s bestseller about the madcap Radlett family is an instant classic. What a magnificent treat to tuck into
For some reason – but never lack of urging by friends – I have not read any Nancy Mitford, including her most famous novel The Pursuit of Love, a perennial bestseller since its publication in 1945.
I have absorbed the basics, of course, through cultural osmosis. I know she’s one of the communist rather than fascist ones, and the one that gave us the distinction between “U” (scent, looking-glass, napkin) and “non-U” (perfume, mirror, serviette) terms. And that The Pursuit of Love is the one that introduces us to the madcap (and quite often simply mad) world of the Radlett family at Alconleigh. The children with their secret society called the Hons (headquarters in the linen cupboard). The foreigner-hating paterfamilias Uncle Matthew, who hunts said children with his bloodhounds across the Oxford countryside. The Bolter – also known as the mother of narrator Fanny, a Radlett cousin – committed to a vibrant life of serial monogamy since abandoning her only child to be raised by her sister Emily. The excoriation of female education for the loss of social graces that result, and the gain of hockey-exercised “thighs like gateposts”.
