Absolutely Heavenly! The Way Jilly Cooper Changed the World – One Bonkbuster at a Time

The beloved novelist Jilly Cooper, who left us unexpectedly at the age of 88, sold 11m volumes of her various sweeping books over her five-decade writing career. Cherished by every sensible person over a particular age (mid-forties), she was brought to a younger audience last year with the TV adaptation of Rivals.

Cooper's Fictional Universe

Devoted fans would have preferred to see the Rutshire chronicles in chronological order: starting with Riders, first published in 1985, in which the infamous Rupert Campbell-Black, scoundrel, philanderer, horse rider, is first introduced. But that’s a side note – what was remarkable about viewing Rivals as a complete series was how well Cooper’s universe had remained relevant. The chronicles encapsulated the 80s: the shoulder pads and bubble skirts; the obsession with class; aristocrats sneering at the flashy new money, both overlooking everyone else while they snipped about how warm their champagne was; the gender dynamics, with unwanted advances and assault so commonplace they were virtually personas in their own right, a duo you could rely on to drive the narrative forward.

While Cooper might have lived in this period fully, she was never the classic fish not noticing the ocean because it’s ubiquitous. She had a humanity and an observational intelligence that you might not expect from hearing her talk. All her creations, from the canine to the horse to her family to her French exchange’s brother, was always “completely delightful” – unless, that is, they were “absolutely divine”. People got harassed and further in Cooper’s work, but that was never acceptable – it’s remarkable how OK it is in many far more literary books of the period.

Background and Behavior

She was upper-middle-class, which for real-world terms meant that her parent had to hold down a job, but she’d have defined the social classes more by their mores. The middle classes anxiously contemplated about all things, all the time – what other people might think, primarily – and the elite didn’t bother with “such things”. She was risqué, at times extremely, but her language was always refined.

She’d recount her upbringing in storybook prose: “Dad went to Dunkirk and Mother was terribly, terribly worried”. They were both utterly beautiful, participating in a lifelong love match, and this Cooper replicated in her own union, to a editor of military histories, Leo Cooper. She was in her mid-twenties, he was twenty-seven, the union wasn’t perfect (he was a unfaithful type), but she was never less than comfortable giving people the secret for a successful union, which is creaking bed springs but (big reveal), they’re creaking with all the mirth. He didn't read her books – he picked up Prudence once, when he had flu, and said it made him feel unwell. She took no offense, and said it was returned: she wouldn’t be seen dead reading battle accounts.

Constantly keep a notebook – it’s very challenging, when you’re 25, to recollect what being 24 felt like

The Romance Series

Prudence (1978) was the fifth book in the Romance collection, which started with Emily in 1975. If you came to Cooper from the later works, having commenced in the main series, the initial books, AKA “the books named after posh girls” – also Imogen and Harriet – were almost there, every hero feeling like a prototype for Rupert, every female lead a little bit weak. Plus, line for line (I can't verify statistically), there wasn’t as much sex in them. They were a bit reserved on topics of modesty, women always fretting that men would think they’re promiscuous, men saying outrageous statements about why they favored virgins (similarly, apparently, as a true gentleman always wants to be the primary to break a jar of coffee). I don’t know if I’d suggest reading these stories at a young age. I thought for a while that that’s what affluent individuals genuinely felt.

They were, however, remarkably precisely constructed, successful romances, which is far more difficult than it appears. You felt Harriet’s surprise baby, Bella’s pissy relatives, Emily’s Scottish isolation – Cooper could transport you from an hopeless moment to a lottery win of the emotions, and you could not ever, even in the early days, identify how she managed it. Suddenly you’d be smiling at her meticulously detailed descriptions of the bed linen, the following moment you’d have watery eyes and little understanding how they arrived.

Literary Guidance

Asked how to be a writer, Cooper frequently advised the type of guidance that the famous author would have said, if he could have been bothered to help out a beginner: employ all 5 of your senses, say how things scented and looked and sounded and felt and palatable – it significantly enhances the writing. But perhaps more practical was: “Always keep a notebook – it’s very hard, when you’re twenty-five, to recall what age 24 felt like.” That’s one of the initial observations you notice, in the more extensive, character-rich books, which have 17 heroines rather than just a single protagonist, all with extremely posh names, unless they’re from the US, in which case they’re called Helen. Even an generational gap of several years, between two siblings, between a gentleman and a lady, you can perceive in the conversation.

An Author's Tale

The historical account of Riders was so pitch-perfectly Jilly Cooper it can’t possibly have been accurate, except it certainly was factual because a London paper made a public request about it at the time: she finished the whole manuscript in the early 70s, prior to the early novels, brought it into the city center and misplaced it on a vehicle. Some context has been deliberately left out of this anecdote – what, for example, was so important in the West End that you would forget the only copy of your book on a bus, which is not that far from abandoning your baby on a transport? Certainly an assignation, but which type?

Cooper was wont to exaggerate her own chaos and haplessness