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Product Description
`Why should I not publish my diary? I have often seen reminiscences of people I have never even heard of, and I fail to see - because I do not happen to be a `Somebody' - why my diary should not be interesting.' The Diary of a Nobody (1892) created a cultural icon, an English archetype. Anxious, accident-prone, occasionally waspish, Charles Pooter has come to be seen as the epitome of English suburban life. His diary chronicles encounters with difficult tradesmen, the delights of home improvements, small parties, minor embarrassments, and problems with his troublesome son. The suburban world he inhabits is hilariously and painfully familiar in its small-mindedness and its essential decency. Both celebration and critique, The Diary of a Nobody has often been imitated, but never bettered. This edition features Weedon Grossmith's hilarious illustrations and is complemented by an enjoyable introduction discussing the book's social background and suburban fiction as a genre.
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First Sentence
My dear wife Carrie and I have just been a week in our new house, 'The Laurels',* Brickfield Terrace, Holloway*â a nice six-roomed residence, not counting basement, with a front breakfast-parlour. Read the first page Browse Sample Pages
Front Cover | Copyright | Table of Contents | Excerpt
My dear wife Carrie and I have just been a week in our new house, 'The Laurels',* Brickfield Terrace, Holloway*â a nice six-roomed residence, not counting basement, with a front breakfast-parlour. Read the first page Browse Sample Pages
Front Cover | Copyright | Table of Contents | Excerpt
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
2 of 2 people found the following review helpful
Format:Paperback
Charles Pooter fails to see - because he does not 'happen to be a Somebody' - why his diary shouldn't be interesting, and he's absolutely right. His is a very interesting diary indeed. Small as it as (barely 120 pages in the Oxford World's Classics edition), and though written in a very easy to read style, without ever touching on anything but the most trivial subjects, it is still a very powerful portrait of a particular class in a particular age.
Charles Pooter and his wife have just moved to their new house in a London suburb when he decides to start keeping a diary. Day after day Charles jots down his notes and reflections on scores of things that matter to him: how they settle in in their new neighbourhood, the visits in the evenings of their friends Gowing and Cummings, the troubles concerning his son Lupin weighing on his mind, the relation with his boss Mr. Perkupp, ... And before long, as a reader you start getting a unique insight into the English middle-class of the 1880s, or virtually any age for that matter. After a while - when the laughter has died down - you start realizing what an extremely small (mental) world these people inhabit, and how their happiness depends on what are in themselves very trivial things.
Although at first sight their life is comfortable enough, and Charles Pooter likes a good laugh as much as the next person, there is always - lurking just slightly beneath the surface - a constant feeling of stress and anxiety. Charles Pooter's thoughts are dominated by 2 things only: to be considered respectable by his peers, and to fulfill the slightest wish of his betters (Mr. Perkupp seems in Pooter's eyes almost a sort of demi-god). But unfortunately for Pooter, and luckily for us, he's the type that often succeeds in making a fool of himself.
In the end it may all seem innocent fun, and though I laughed and amused myself with the mishaps in Charles Pooter's life, at times I couldn't but feel sad and sorry for him, and the nameless millions of people like him: doing their utmost to fit in, to keep up appearances, and living in constant stress because of it.
Charles Pooter and his wife have just moved to their new house in a London suburb when he decides to start keeping a diary. Day after day Charles jots down his notes and reflections on scores of things that matter to him: how they settle in in their new neighbourhood, the visits in the evenings of their friends Gowing and Cummings, the troubles concerning his son Lupin weighing on his mind, the relation with his boss Mr. Perkupp, ... And before long, as a reader you start getting a unique insight into the English middle-class of the 1880s, or virtually any age for that matter. After a while - when the laughter has died down - you start realizing what an extremely small (mental) world these people inhabit, and how their happiness depends on what are in themselves very trivial things.
Although at first sight their life is comfortable enough, and Charles Pooter likes a good laugh as much as the next person, there is always - lurking just slightly beneath the surface - a constant feeling of stress and anxiety. Charles Pooter's thoughts are dominated by 2 things only: to be considered respectable by his peers, and to fulfill the slightest wish of his betters (Mr. Perkupp seems in Pooter's eyes almost a sort of demi-god). But unfortunately for Pooter, and luckily for us, he's the type that often succeeds in making a fool of himself.
In the end it may all seem innocent fun, and though I laughed and amused myself with the mishaps in Charles Pooter's life, at times I couldn't but feel sad and sorry for him, and the nameless millions of people like him: doing their utmost to fit in, to keep up appearances, and living in constant stress because of it.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
Format:Paperback
As the title suggests, the book is a fictionalised diary of fifteen months in the life of an ordinary man . Mr Charles Pooter is a middle class man, living in a typical London suburb, who works at a bank. As he goes about his daily life, his aspirations are constantly frustrated by his troubles with his workmates, his layabout son, the tradespeople and the blasted scraper outside his door.
The aspect of this book that I enjoyed best was definitely Mr Pooter himself. In spite of his pompous manner, his ineffectual nature, his jokes that fall flat and his highly inflated opinion of himself, I found him somehow endearing. I rarely sympathised with him, he often frustrated me, but I liked him nonetheless. His ill-advised notions (perhaps most delightfully deciding to paint everything with red enamel paint, leading to a rather bloody-looking bath after it dissolves in the hot water) often had me giggling. His constantly frustrated narration is rather entertaining.
I also appreciated the fact that not every entry was intended to be funny, which made it feel more like a real diary, with someone just recording the mundane things that had happened that day. Often these entries provided build up to an amusing anecdote, but it nonetheless adds a flavour of realism to an otherwise comic novel.
The aspect of this book that I enjoyed best was definitely Mr Pooter himself. In spite of his pompous manner, his ineffectual nature, his jokes that fall flat and his highly inflated opinion of himself, I found him somehow endearing. I rarely sympathised with him, he often frustrated me, but I liked him nonetheless. His ill-advised notions (perhaps most delightfully deciding to paint everything with red enamel paint, leading to a rather bloody-looking bath after it dissolves in the hot water) often had me giggling. His constantly frustrated narration is rather entertaining.
I also appreciated the fact that not every entry was intended to be funny, which made it feel more like a real diary, with someone just recording the mundane things that had happened that day. Often these entries provided build up to an amusing anecdote, but it nonetheless adds a flavour of realism to an otherwise comic novel.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
Format:Paperback
Pooter, the protagonist of the book, gives his name to the word pooterish which has entered the language being synonymous with a traditionalist who rather plays careful than seek new approaches to living. If life is a river, Pooter is stuck in the reeds on its banks. Insubordination is a heinous crime in Pooter's eyes- everybody should know their place, including him. Thus, he is offended when not given respect by tradesmen-for after all, he is a clerical worker. In Victorian days when the book was written, for it started as a serial in 1888, this was a comedy of manners as pertinent as ones that Oscar Wilde wrote but of the banality of lower middle class life. Today the book is still relevant, which is why it never has gone out of print and like all classics is open to modern parallels. Surely Mr Pooter is our Mr More-than-my jobs-worth so oft encountered in petty officialdom. A splendid satire on banality where the trivia assumes great importance as perhaps the only relief from the dull routine of existence.
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Most Recent Customer Reviews
Lupin said, "It's all right, I'm engaged to be married."
A charming episode in the rise of the middle-classes, the diary shows how much fun can be had by pricking the pomposity of poor Mr Pooter. Read more
Published 4 months ago by Eileen Shaw
a send up of all our little pomposities
You paint the bath red then think you're bleeding to death when you later attempt to bathe... The quintessential symbol of the book: Pooter the'hero' asserts his artistic eye but... Read more
Published 13 months ago by polnewo
Funny and incredibly real
This diary is indeed written by a 'nobody', Charles Pooter, a middle-aged employee living in one of London's suburbs. Read more
Published on 30 April 2009 by Marco Colombo
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