"Some Tame Gazelle" by Barbara Pym

Jane Austen said of her novels concerned themselves with “two inches of ivory,” in which everything is so small that everything matters almost too much. Much the same can be said, and I’m sure has been said, about Barbara Pym’s novels. Setting them in rural England, Pym concerns herself with the lives of proper English women, who have lived to a riper age then Austen’s heroines, and who live lives closely circumscribed by faith and close-knit village society.

“Some Tame Gazelle,” which, when I started reading, I had no idea was the first of Pym’s published novels, illuminates the concerns of Belinda and Harriet Bede, sisters of a certain age. These sisters live near the village vicarage and its inhabitants - the dear Archdeacon Hoccleve and his wife, and the tender curate, just ordained and on his first assignment. The sisters have perhaps more offers of marriage than one might expect - certainly they don’t expect them. The touch is frequently arch, as we’re expected to be in on the joke when the sisters make fun of people, or react with shock to unexpected behavior. The contrast between the sisters is amusing and endearing; the narrative is given by Belinda, the older, less interesting and purportedly less attractive, of the two.

The surname Bede strikes me as a wink and a nudge. The resident archdeacon quotes too much literature from obscure English poets, delivers sermons based on obscure secular texts, and expects his parishioners to comprehend obscure points derived therefrom. Or says he does. Belinda herself, loving and loyal to the Archdeacon, is no stranger to English literature, and she knows the difference between a poet worthy of mention and other, less suitable poets.

So: men, suitable and unsuitable, arrive in the village and cause a stir among the sisters and the other women; some make unwelcome marriage proposals to one or the other sister, and these cause major shifts in emotion, outlook, memory, and mood, at least in Belinda. You will not find action or much mystery or any life or death here. I revere Pym for her humor, the style and substance of which she shares more than a little with Austen’s. As delightful as this is, I might suggest “Excellent Women” (1952), or “Quartet in Autumn” (1977) as more accomplished offerings, and perhaps more worth your while. I can assure you of a gentle touch, a little melancholy, wonderful, well-meaning characters, and the consistent charm of a wise storyteller who finds herself arching an eyebrow at the behavior she observes in the world.