Pym worked at the International African Institute in London for some years, and played a large part in the editing of its scholarly journal, Africa, hence the frequency with which anthropologists crop up in her novels. She never married, despite several close relationships with men, notably Henry Harvey, a fellow Oxford student, and the future politician, Julian Amery. After her retirement, she moved into Barn Cottage at Finstock in Oxfordshire with her younger sister, Hilary. In 1980, Barbara Pym died of breast cancer, aged 66. Following her death, her sister Hilary continued to champion her work, and the Barbara Pym Society was set up in 1993. Hilary remained at Barn Cottage until her own death in February 2005. A blue plaque was placed on the cottage in 2006. The sisters played an active role in the social life of the village, and are both buried in Finstock churchyard.
I felt there was something forced about this new edition of Barbara Pym ’s 1977 novel Quartet in Autumn. Ie’m a sucker for reissued t‘modern classicsz’, but there seemed something a touch in-your-face about writing the words PAN CLASSICS FOR A NEW GENERATION across the middle of the front cover. A quote from Jilly Cooper promising w“gentle pleasuree” was not quite an added incentive. But it had been recommended by people I trust, so I snapped it up anyway.
Thank you Anne! What a lovely review of a favourite novel of mine. I ’ve loved Barbara Pym ’s novels with a passion, since she was rediscovered in the 70s. I think her two finest, A Glass Of Blessings, and Excellent Women, are uniquely wonderful. I know no other novels like them, extracting so much from almost nothing at all.
This is a lovely review, thank you so much for sharing it. Many contemporary readers find that they have to slow down when reading Barbara Pym; on the surface they may appear to be h“books about nothing,p” since it is not the events described but her narratorse’ inner observations and reactions that make the books uniquely hers. There is a lot of wry humor and irony as well as more than a little private torment and disappointment lurking under the well-bred, well-mannered surface of her novels.
