If you like the English realist novels of Stan Barstow or Barry Hines, you have a treat in store in Stanley Middleton. Middelton writes perveptively about a provincial 'real life'; his characters suffer classic class displacement as education separates and alienates them from their origins and each other. Middleton also writes brilliantly about failing relationships, be they between man and wife, father and son or guests in a seaside boarding house.
Holiday is a good place to start with Middleton: this Booker Prize winner from 1974 has an emotional darkness and complexity at the heart of it which contrasts brilliantly with the trappings of the English seaside. Fisher, the main character, takes a holiday in an attempt to clear his head following terrible marital strife. When his in-laws turn out to be holidaying at the same resort, wanting to patch things up, matters only worsen.
What I really love about Middleton is not his plots or even his actually rather sophisticated style, but the way he captures the 'feel' of provincial English life in thr recent past. When other modern writers write of provincial life, it is invariably with a sort of mild contempt; you can always feel they have their tickets for London literary life booked. Middleton combines the soucial nous of Eliot's Middlemarch with the sensitivity of Philip Larkin. That he is so little known says much about our Londoncentric cultural elite.