The famous story about Barbara Pym is that--after a long run--she fell out of fashion. Her career seemed to be over. Then, British luminaries were asked to name the most underrated writer of the past 75 years. (Why not?) Only one name earned double recognition--from Philip Larkin and from a critic. The name was Barbara Pym.
It's a cliche to say, "I didn't want this book to end." I almost always want a book to end. I get ready for the next option. But, with Barbara Pym's "The Sweet Dove Died," I did actually ration the pages--because I didn't want the book to end.
"Dove," the final Pym book published in Pym's own lifetime, is deliberately darker than Pym's legendary "early-career" novels ("Excellent Women," "A Glass of Blessings," and so on). It's also full of sex. Gay sex! (Pym has an elliptical style, at times, but you can sense what she is alluding to.) Finally, Pym's characters are very real; they are not terrible, but they are drowning in self-delusion, in a way that feels recognizable. I just like being with them.
The plot really doesn't matter. What is remarkable about Pym is that almost every single paragraph is somehow glittery. The book sparkles. Having read Pym, I feel sad that so much "literary" work feels like a chore. Everything should be as fun as "The Sweet Dove Died." I'll try to show you what I mean.
Leonora was in an antique shop, examining a pair of porcelain vases.
"They're quite perfect, Madam," said the woman assistant coldly. "You won't find any flaw, I can assure you."
"That may be," said Leonora, equally cold. "But one likes to see for oneself." A friend had impressed on her the importance of making quite sure. "What are you asking for them?" she asked, her voice becoming a degree colder.
The woman, clear and cool, stated the price.
Leonora repeated this on a questioning note...
"That IS the price, Madam."
The temperature in the room now fell to zero....
Pym spotted absurdity everywhere--and she didn't let publishing trends discourage her. It's nice to see her work getting attention from the New York Review of Books even in 2026; the novels are not obscure, but new attention is always helpful.
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