What a name - Weedon. How many are there today? Would their nickname be 'Wee' or 'Weedy', I wonder... Does anyone out there know a Weedon? For that matter, who would keep that surname for long nowadays, as it is?
I seem to have a couple of oldies in my collection so far - but there are two newbies coming up. I've finally finished assignments for this semester. I haven't stopped reading, but I've been slack on the output.
The Grossmiths. Turns out Weedon's first name was William, but he preferred Weedon - um, I guess that sums him up, really. These two lads were quite the rounded types. Weedy was born 1854 - 1919, George got his shot from 1847-1912 and was a bit of a go-getter. He is listed as having been an English comedian, writer, composer, actor and singer. Take that, Russell Brand! George is also famous for having created some of the more memorable characters from the Gilbert & Sullivan comic operas. He's got a bit of a write-up in Wiki - go have a perooose, if you fancy.
Weedy pursued art for a while but was never really successful.
So the brothers collaborated on Diary of a Nobody. It was released in book form in 1892, having previously been a column in Punch. It has never been out of print since.
Diary of a Nobody is a landmark lampooning of middle-class English insecurity and morals of that time.
Charles Pooter, the 'author' is secure in his little world of domestic bliss, making the odd pun to impress his friends and wife, being suitably scandalised by his son who has been fired from a most sensible position and takes up with a local theatre group. He is incapable of recognising his wife's grievances against his middle-class rigidity.
(I have just discovered that my Kindle version does not include the original illustrations drawn by Weedy! At least offer the option for a fee?! Hmmm)
He is a clerk in a local firm and aspires to much more than he deserves in all his uptight repressiveness. His wife, Carrie, does have a word at him once or twice, which just slips off his back.
What really makes this book funny is how understated it is. Charles takes himself so seriously that he simply does not understand the remarks that people make towards him are often sarcastic. At one stage, some pages from his diary have been ripped out, we don't really know by whom, but he won't stop questioning everyone. He mentions at breakfast that he is hoping to have it published and is mystified by the amusement of his wife and son. Even when Carrie states that she doesn't think that could ever happen, he is offended and taken aback at such an opinion.
He disapproves of everyone he considers inferior to himself which leads to a few incidents he is drawn into by this snobbery. He is never at fault, much to the dismay of his all-too-human servants who cannot move without him correcting them. It appears that the two friends he has, Gowing and Cummings are particularly intruding and obnoxious, but Charles keeps them since they're the only fellows who will put up with him.
The son in this, Lupin, is a fascinating illustration of the youth of the time. He is in love, then out again, then in again. He doesn't want to work, he wants to act. His attitude is exactly that of a teenager/20-ish lad of today and Charles has just as much a battle to understand him as any parent of today. Lupin brings various unsavoury friends around, many of whom are actually quite fascinating, but Charles in all his snobbery misses this and can only concentrate on what 'class of fellow' they are.
He is money-conscious and class-conscious. He is a tight-wad towards his wife, but will think nothing of buying himself a whole new outfit for a holiday by the coast.
I guess this is best summed up as, 'the Non-Adventures of a Late-Victorian Middle-Class Snob'. It's also an interesting record of everyday life for people of the time.
I do love this book.
WARNING. Do not read on trains in case of fits of giggling and snorts of amusement.
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