Adrian Mole is 50 apparently. Anyone who is 50 or thereabouts will be familiar with the character, and at least with the first book in the series. 'The secret diary of Adrian Mole aged 13 and 3/4' by Sue Townsend was a phenomenon book, just as many years later another book about an adolescent with spectacles would be. Children everywhere wanted to read it, and because anything that gets kids reading is a good thing (well, anything short of out and out porn, and even then prose only is probably tolerated) it became, justly, a best seller. I recall the first words from the school librarian when getting a tour of the school library. 'Yes, we have coped of Adrian Mole. They are all out on loan'.
There are lots of reasons cited for the success of the book, but in truth it's probably down to it having a different appeal depending on the reader. To some teens it would speak directly to their feelings of isolation, confusion and alienation, feelings that they would carefully cultivate because, well, that's what being a teenager is about. Ditto sexual frustration, no matter what a hysterical media would have you believe about teenage proclivities, even back then. Certainly when I was reading this book the was no such thing as sexual frustration, because nobody was sufficiently sophisticated to recognise frustration in any realm beyond possibly that of the lawnmower repeatedly jamming in long grass.
It must have introduced many teens to a more sophisticated world. I was about 20 before I knew that BBC Radios 3 and 4 even existed. Radio 1 was for ve kidz, Radio 2 for Mum and Dad.
Actually, thinking about it, that's not quite true. Mum liked 'A book at bedtime'. It was as a youth I heard my first Shipping Forecast but, so unsophisticated was I, I thought it was a weather forecast for trawlermen. Now of course I understand that it is the longest running avaunt guard poetry recital in the history of broadcasting.
For me, it was all about the funny. Adrian Mole was hysterical. This proved to be a problem because if you are reading long after bedtime, under a duvet thick enough to repel werewolves ('more tog = less dog' as we used to say), then you could use a torch safely, but had to muffle your guffaws. Parents are probably used to turning a deaf ear to many unusual sounds emanating from a teen bedroom, but booming laughter in the wee small hours on a school night rather gives the game away.
This, I remember, was the book I read in the back seat of the car on a long drive to or from a family holiday. This is back in the days when a combination of reading and travelling and vinyl seats was enough to give you the kind of headache that today would land you in a CAT scanner. But when travelling with Adrian, it wasn't a problem.
One final thing about sophistication. I knew that girls could be called Pandora, of course I did. I was taught Greek myths at school (that and Rural Science are, looking back on it, about all the education you need to navigate modern life). But the likelihood of actually meeting anyone called Pandora in the West Midlands when I was growing up was about as likely as choosing the new potato option instead of chips to go with your steak when visiting a Berni Inn.
I'm pleased to say that Adrian and I have kept in touch. His diaries were a continuing delight and he tackled growing older the same way he tackled growing up, equal parts hope and confusion.
I laughed out loud at the early books. I actually shed a tear or two as some points in the later ones. If you think that there is shame in that, please do fuck off.
With Sue Townsend gone, it's a great pity his diaries won't continue, I would love to have read what he thought of Brexit, and of course learn whether or not he ended up with Pandora. He adored her, you know.
Right, I'm off to re-read the series.
Labels: Books, Literature, Nostalgia
