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Jilly Cooper, who passed away unexpectedly at the 88 years of age, sold 11m books of her assorted epic books over her 50-year career in writing. Cherished by anyone with any sense over a specific age (forty-five), she was introduced to a new generation last year with the streaming series adaptation of Rivals.

The Rutshire Chronicles

Devoted fans would have preferred to watch the Rutshire chronicles in order: beginning with Riders, originally published in 1985, in which the infamous Rupert Campbell-Black, rogue, philanderer, rider, is debuts. But that’s a side note – what was striking about seeing Rivals as a complete series was how effectively Cooper’s world had aged. The chronicles captured the 80s: the power dressing and bubble skirts; the fixation on status; aristocrats looking down on the flashy new money, both ignoring everyone else while they quibbled about how warm their bubbly was; the sexual politics, with harassment and misconduct so routine they were practically personas in their own right, a pair you could count on to advance the story.

While Cooper might have occupied this era fully, she was never the proverbial fish not seeing the ocean because it’s all around. She had a humanity and an perceptive wisdom that you could easily miss from listening to her speak. All her creations, from the canine to the pony to her family to her French exchange’s brother, was always “absolutely sweet” – unless, that is, they were “completely exquisite”. People got assaulted and further in Cooper’s work, but that was never acceptable – it’s surprising how acceptable it is in many supposedly sophisticated books of the time.

Social Strata and Personality

She was well-to-do, which for all intents and purposes meant that her father had to earn an income, but she’d have characterized the strata more by their customs. The middle classes worried about all things, all the time – what other people might think, mainly – and the elite didn’t bother with “nonsense”. She was raunchy, at times incredibly so, but her language was always refined.

She’d describe her family life in fairytale terms: “Daddy went to battle and Mummy was deeply concerned”. They were both absolutely stunning, engaged in a lifelong love match, and this Cooper emulated in her own marriage, to a editor of historical accounts, Leo Cooper. She was 24, he was twenty-seven, the marriage wasn’t perfect (he was a bit of a shagger), but she was consistently at ease giving people the recipe for a happy marriage, which is squeaky bed but (big reveal), they’re creaking with all the mirth. He never read her books – he read Prudence once, when he had influenza, and said it made him feel more ill. She took no offense, and said it was returned: she wouldn’t be caught reading war chronicles.

Always keep a notebook – it’s very hard, when you’re twenty-five, to remember what being 24 felt like

Initial Novels

Prudence (1978) was the fifth installment in the Romance novels, which commenced with Emily in 1975. If you came to Cooper backwards, having begun in Rutshire, the Romances, alternatively called “the books named after posh girls” – also Imogen and Harriet – were near misses, every male lead feeling like a prototype for the iconic character, every female lead a little bit insipid. Plus, page for page (I haven’t actually run the numbers), there wasn't the same quantity of sex in them. They were a bit conservative on topics of decorum, women always fretting that men would think they’re loose, men saying ridiculous comments about why they preferred virgins (comparably, ostensibly, as a true gentleman always wants to be the initial to unseal a container of coffee). I don’t know if I’d suggest reading these books at a young age. I assumed for a while that that’s what the upper class genuinely felt.

They were, however, extremely tightly written, high-functioning romances, which is considerably tougher than it appears. You felt Harriet’s surprise baby, Bella’s pissy in-laws, Emily’s remote Scottish life – Cooper could guide you from an hopeless moment to a windfall of the heart, and you could not once, even in the early days, put your finger on how she managed it. Suddenly you’d be laughing at her highly specific depictions of the sheets, the following moment you’d have tears in your eyes and no idea how they arrived.

Authorial Advice

Asked how to be a author, Cooper frequently advised the kind of thing that Ernest Hemingway would have said, if he could have been arsed to assist a beginner: utilize all five of your perceptions, say how things aromatic and looked and heard and felt and tasted – it really lifts the prose. But likely more helpful was: “Always keep a diary – it’s very hard, when you’re 25, to recall what age 24 felt like.” That’s one of the first things you observe, in the more extensive, character-rich books, which have numerous female leads rather than just one lead, all with very upper-class names, unless they’re from the US, in which case they’re called a common name. Even an years apart of four years, between two sisters, between a man and a female, you can detect in the speech.

An Author's Tale

The origin story of Riders was so perfectly characteristically Cooper it can’t possibly have been true, except it certainly was true because a London paper published a notice about it at the era: she finished the complete book in the early 70s, prior to the early novels, carried it into the downtown and misplaced it on a bus. Some texture has been intentionally omitted of this tale – what, for instance, was so significant in the West End that you would forget the only copy of your novel on a train, which is not that different from forgetting your baby on a transport? Undoubtedly an assignation, but which type?

Cooper was inclined to exaggerate her own chaos and ineptitude