Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale is strictly for the fans (and that's OK)

It's been an intense week, and I was tempted to give blogging a miss. But I can't very well do that, as it's Downton time!

Yes, last weekend, I in company with two other avid Downton fans had the greatest time at the cinema watching Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale. We weren't alone, either: the cinema was more packed than I've seen it in a long while, and the audience was in a positive mood. The scene where Mrs Patmore declared to Daisy that she was "the daughter I never had" was especially popular, drawing an "aaah" from some audience members. There were snivels and giggles at appropriate moments. All in all, if you're a Downton enthusiast, it's very hard not to enjoy this last hurrah. If you're not, you'd most likely be bored to tears.

I had first planned to follow up on my predictions in my usual manner, but there is little point as absolutely none of them came true. Well, they addressed the Henry question, explaining his no-show with divorce rather than death, but that's about it. 

Mary's old beaux appearing? No such luck. Edith's Marigold secret playing a role? Nope – I'm not sure we even got to see Marigold. Peter Coyle making an appearance? Not even close (though that surely would have been better than the Molesley storyline we got). The Bateses' future? Not much drama there: they both decamped to the Dower House with Lord and Lady Grantham, but the thought that they could quit the servant life never even occurred to them. The butler question? Not a question, it seems: what with Andy staying on at Downton as butler and Daisy as cook, I'm wondering who's actually taking care of Mr Mason's farm. Thomas plotting? Chance would be a fine thing.

I don't think I've ever been as consistently wrong in my predictions before, but in my defence, it's not as if there was much going on instead of my suggested plot lines. The Grand Finale wasn't big on plot, and what little conflict there was had to come from external sources (a quite foxy American swindler, and the absent Henry who by this time counts as an external source). Instead, the film's aim was clearly to give the fans a last opportunity to hang out with (as Disney DVD sequel trailers used to put it) "all your favourite characters". 

This aim was fulfilled. We could leave Downton Abbey with the comfortable feeling that everything will be all right, and everyone gets on quite well really, even Mary and Edith. No need to think too hard about what the outbreak of World War Two (still years away at the end of the film) will mean for young George.

But is the film any good, I hear you wonder? Is it as good as the series? Is it the best of the films, or the worst? I did ponder these questions while watching it, but found them unexpectedly hard to answer. I think I have to say, The Grand Finale is not as good as the series, and probably sits in the middle script- and plot-wise when it comes to the films: better than the Upstairs, Downstairs rip-off that is the first movie but less snappy and pacy than the second. However, of all the proposed endings of Downton Abbey that we've been offered, this is by far the most satisfying, and that is quite a feat. For that reason, I suspect The Grand Finale will have a special place in fans' hearts for the years to come, and the question of how good it is as a film will be considered less important. Only, if you've never watched Downton, for pity's sake don't start with this.

Of course I'm thrilled for Thomas, even though he's so de-fanged at this point everyone seems to have forgotten he was once a villain. His end vignette, complete with the Hollywood sign in the background framing his still harmonious romance with the glamorous Guy Dexter, is all an often sorely tried Thomas apologist could wish for (though he had more chemistry with the nefarious Duke in the very first episode, but never mind). All's well that ends well for my Tommy, even if his entertainingly bitchy lines are a thing of the past.                     

On a roll with books, until...

Judging from my latest blog posts, one would have thought that I'd not done much reading lately. In fact, I was doing pretty well with my reading until not so long ago – I've just been too lazy to blog about it. I finally read books which I actually owned instead of just buying new ones, got in some ambitious reads and finished books I had previously discarded after only having read a few pages. For a while, I was feeling pretty smug, and then the inevitable happened: I got stuck.

The problem is not when you don't get any further with one book, but when they pile up. My first mistake was when I vaingloriously decided that it was finally time to read Sketches by Boz from cover to cover. It's the only major work by Dickens I've only read a fraction of, and that simply wouldn't do. Not for the first time, though, I soon came to a halt, and not by any means because the book is bad or un-Dickensian. There are a lot of humorous descriptions to make one chuckle. The problem is that because of the genre, the sketches are mostly just that: descriptions, with little dialogue or story. With Dickens, I want human drama, preferably with a lot of cutting lines by villains and suchlike. I can stand descriptive parts of his novels because they're so brilliantly written and often funny, but without a plot to hook me I find even the wittiest tableau of a London street hard going.

All right, then, so maybe I could postpone Sketches by Boz a bit longer and read it more piecemeal. But there were other substantial books I could try. I looked forward to Kept by D.J. Taylor, clearly as Neo-Victorian as they come. It was a bit hefty – which is only natural when you want to emulate the Victorian novel – so maybe not ideal to lug to work for my lunch break. My plan was this: at home, I would read Kept, and at work I would dip into The New Penguin Book of American Short Stories. Ambitious, yes, but I could take it: just look at how easily I got into Wuthering Heights a couple of months ago!

You can guess what happened next. I never knew Yanks could be such a downcast lot. Nothing wrong with the writing, it was just so depressing. After four short stories, I started on the Nathaniel Hawthorne one, stopped after about a page with a disgruntled "OK, so she's totally a witch" and set this volume aside as well.

As for Kept, it's annoyingly well-written, which means I have no excuse to give up on it until after a mandatory hundred pages. But the plot lines so far just don't interest me. The art of poaching wild birds' eggs? Some ghastly madwoman locked up somewhere? I need to persevere, but what did I find when I last tried? A lengthy description of a London street!

What conclusions can be drawn? Nothing most readers don't already know: that it's darned hard to find a reading strategy which allows you to virtuously work your way through the piles of books you've bought without getting stuck somewhere. When I was younger, I tried the tactic of alternating between Ambitious Book Projects and self-indulgence reads, but that put too much pressure on the latter and involved far too many ABPs for my liking. 

This time around, I went into a regular self-indulgence bonanza. I re-read the last three Thursday Next novels (I've had my doubts about some of Jasper Fforde's latest novels, but the Thursday Next ones really are brilliant); devoured, for the first time since childhood, an old Swedish translation of Betty Cavanna's A Touch of Magic, a delicious example of having your cake and eating it when it comes to historical fiction (you're invited to tut-tut over the frivolous Shippen girls while at the same time revelling in the drama of balls and suitors); and finally tucked into a Young Adult novel irresistibly called Do You Ship It? I wasn't sure at first, but yes, I did.

Will all this self-indulgence reading give me strength to start up with slightly heavier stuff again?  I've started on The Warm Hands of Ghosts by Katherine Arden, but the jury's still out. Pros: if I know Arden, there will be folklore elements and possibly a villain in the works. Cons: death, disaster and World War One.