It seems, then, that I will have to stick to the TV series theme for a bit. Luckily, my streaming services have obliged me by providing decent material. I acquired a new service (free the first year: after that an absolute bargain) mainly so I could finally watch Belgravia, adapted by Julian Fellowes from his novel. Now, I actually read Belgravia when it first came out. It was published in instalments electronically and could be accessed by a mobile app, so it was the first (and probably the last) novel I read on my phone. The electronic reading experience wasn't great: I found it hard to make my mobile understand when I wanted to turn the page, and the screen went into idle mode every few minutes. This may have coloured my perception of the book, but I remember not being very impressed with it. Never mind not measuring up to Downton: the main problem was that it wasn't nearly as good as other novels by Fellowes, Past Imperfect especially. It felt a bit flat and full of forced exposition about 19th-century London, which could then be linked to more information about the history being explored. I'm afraid watching the adaptation doesn't do much to dispel these impressions, though it's considerably more enjoyable to get acquainted with Belgravia this way as opposed to per app.
The background of the story goes as follows. In 1815, before the battle of Waterloo, Sophia Trenchard and Edmund Bellasis, son of the Earl of Brockenhurst, get together in Brussels. They marry in secret (Sophia is the daughter of the English army's supplier and therefore as common as they come). Before Edmund rides off to battle, Sophia sees the parson who married them get up on the horse next to him, also dressed as an officer. She therefore concludes that she was tricked into a fake marriage and that an army pal of Edmund's helped him out with getting her into bed. Edmund dies in the battle and Sophia discovers that she is pregnant.
Fast-forward twenty-five years or so. Sophia's father James Trenchard has made good and is now a wealthy property developer, though the aristocracy and gentry still look down on him, much to his distress. Mrs Anne Trenchard meets Lady Brockenhurst, Edmund's mother, at a tea party. After having thought it through she goes against her husband's wishes and informs Lady Brockenhurst that she has a grandchild. Sophia died in childbirth, and her son has been raised by a respectable couple without knowing anything about his background. He is now a promising young manufacturer called Charles Pope.
It's a good set-up for plotting and counter-plotting, if you can swallow the premise that no-one even thought of looking into Edmund's pal's credentials during all this time. What with Edmund being such a decent chap, is it likely that he would treat his lady love so shamefully? Yet not even Sophia questions it, only Edmund's own mother when she eventually hears the story (and she assumes that Sophia was a hussy and that no marriage, sham or otherwise, took place). Even as a supposed bastard, though, Charles Pope puts a lot of noses out of joint as both Lady Brockenhurst and the Trenchards make much of him. The Brockenhurst heir, John Bellasis (the villain), and Trenchard's son Oliver both have good reason to ask themselves why this young sprig of a wool merchant is favoured above them.
So, what's missing, then? The reviewer in The Daily Telegraph complained that the series and character lacked the Downton warmth, and I think she's on to something. It's worth remembering that Downton Abbey's characterisation wasn't very subtle to begin with, and the characters only acquired depth as the story went on. Nevertheless, it is disappointing that the two families involved in Belgravia's intrigues elicit so little sympathy. One major drawback for me was that I couldn't warm to Anne Trenchard. She is clearly supposed to be the Voice of Reason, yet in one of the first scenes (set in 1815), she complains about her husband having obtained invitations to a high-class ball where she feels they will be out of place. It is true that the Trenchards are out of their depth at such a gathering, but whingeing about it and wincing every time her husband makes a faux pax isn't going to improve matters. Tamsin Greig does what she can with the part, but the fact remains that Anne lacks the kind, forbearing nature of, say, Mrs Hughes in Downton. The scenes where Greig's Mrs Trenchard faces off Harriet Walter's Lady Brockenhurst may be the best in the series - they have a good dynamic - but there is zero chemistry between Mr and Mrs Trenchard. When their marriage hits the rocks, one feels that there was not much marriage left to ruin. Compare these marital scenes with the ones between Lord and Lady Grantham in Downton, and the aforementioned lack of warmth is apparent.
Belgravia is still very much worth the watch, and bears the Fellowes hallmark all right. The characters get down to business in a refreshingly down-to-earth manner without much flim-flammery. When John Bellasis's mother - married to an inveterate gambler - discovers that her son has robbed her of her little hoard of silver which she kept for an emergency, she doesn't go to pieces, merely sits down on the bed and resignedly hopes that he'll make good use of the money. When apparent calamity hits them, Fellowes characters face facts and make the best of things. Fellowes is also very good on English snobbery, as someone who - I imagine - hasn't been above serving up a few put-downs of his own in his day. When English snobbery is being satirised by an outsider, it's often overdone, and they miss the hurtful sharpness of it. A snobbish English put-down is as often as not dressed up as a pleasant remark, so that the snubbers can then tell themselves "Oh, I'm sure X didn't get that anyway". But if you do get it, you feel insulted twice over, as you have apparently been dismissed as stupid as well as vulgar.
If you catch it and are a fan of early Downton, you'll have a good time with this series. For my part, I'm still looking out for The Gilded Age, but with less and less hope that it will contain a satisfying villain.
