Major Pettigrew's Last Stand, by Helen Simonson
Major Pettigrew does not drink tea out of polystyrene cups. He does not address new acquaintances by their first name, or discuss private matters in public. He treasures the old, dear, familiar ways of The Empire (the British one, that is... the one on which the sun wasn't going to set) He believes in etiquette and manners and old Lord Whoseit up at the 'big house' (manor house, not jail house) keeping things ticking along as they always have done. He belongs to the local golf club, is invited to Whoseit's annual shooting party, and thinks Americans are rather brash and gauche when they call him Mr. Pettigrew or arrive at the shoot fully kitted out in new clobber.
He has ties to Colonial India, served his country with distinction, and has lived his life in such a way as to not ruffle feathers, raise eyebrows or wag tongues. He has the respect of the village, if not his family. To his complete dismay and bafflement, his son Roger couldn't wait to shake the village dust off his feet, and once in the City, even threw away his old shoes so as to not contaminate his new life with his father's hopelessly quaint old ways. Father and son don't seem to speak the same language, and as in so many of his relationships, the Major is so tangled up in propriety he can't find his way to clarity.
Major Pettigrew's last stand involves misconceptions, prejudices, manners and morals, preservation of the old ways and good old village intrigue. Except for the lack of a whodunit, this book reads like a Miss Marple mystery by the talented Agatha Christie, with finely-tuned depictions of village characters, their relationships and the landscape in which they live. The reader may grind some teeth in exasperation at the Major's 'outdated' notions, but will equally cheer him on, perhaps even quietly lamenting the disappearance of those notions from contemporary life.
Heartily recommended - please read it!
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