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Jilly Cooper, who passed away unexpectedly at the 88 years old, sold eleven million copies of her assorted sweeping books over her five-decade career in writing. Cherished by anyone with any sense over a certain age (45), she was introduced to a modern audience last year with the streaming series adaptation of Rivals.

The Rutshire Chronicles

Devoted fans would have liked to view the Rutshire chronicles in order: commencing with Riders, first published in 1985, in which the character Rupert Campbell-Black, cad, philanderer, equestrian, is first introduced. But that’s a side note – what was notable about seeing Rivals as a complete series was how effectively Cooper’s world had stood the test of time. The chronicles captured the 1980s: the shoulder pads and puffball skirts; the obsession with class; the upper class looking down on the flashy new money, both ignoring everyone else while they complained about how lukewarm their champagne was; the sexual politics, with unwanted advances and assault so everyday they were practically personas in their own right, a pair you could count on to move the plot along.

While Cooper might have lived in this age fully, she was never the typical fish not noticing the ocean because it’s ubiquitous. She had a humanity and an observational intelligence that you could easily miss from hearing her talk. Every character, from the canine to the pony to her mother and father to her French exchange’s brother, was always “absolutely sweet” – unless, that is, they were “absolutely divine”. People got harassed and worse in Cooper’s work, but that was never acceptable – it’s surprising how OK it is in many far more literary books of the time.

Class and Character

She was affluent middle-class, which for real-world terms meant that her father had to earn an income, but she’d have characterized the social classes more by their customs. The bourgeoisie anxiously contemplated about all things, all the time – what others might think, primarily – and the aristocracy didn’t care a … well “such things”. She was spicy, at times extremely, but her prose was always refined.

She’d recount her upbringing in storybook prose: “Daddy went to the war and Mother was terribly, terribly worried”. They were both utterly beautiful, participating in a enduring romance, and this Cooper mirrored in her own marriage, to a businessman of historical accounts, Leo Cooper. She was in her mid-twenties, he was in his late twenties, the union wasn’t perfect (he was a unfaithful type), but she was never less than comfortable giving people the recipe for a happy marriage, which is squeaky bed but (crucial point), they’re squeaking with all the joy. He didn't read her books – he read Prudence once, when he had a cold, and said it made him feel worse. She took no offense, and said it was returned: she wouldn’t be seen dead reading battle accounts.

Forever keep a journal – it’s very difficult, when you’re 25, to recollect what age 24 felt like

Initial Novels

Prudence (1978) was the fifth installment in the Romance collection, which started with Emily in the mid-70s. If you came to Cooper backwards, having commenced in her later universe, the early novels, AKA “the novels named after affluent ladies” – also Octavia and Harriet – were almost there, every hero feeling like a test-run for the iconic character, every heroine a little bit insipid. Plus, line for line (Without exact data), there wasn’t as much sex in them. They were a bit conservative on issues of modesty, women always being anxious that men would think they’re immoral, men saying batshit things about why they favored virgins (in much the same way, apparently, as a true gentleman always wants to be the initial to unseal a tin of coffee). I don’t know if I’d suggest reading these stories at a young age. I assumed for a while that that’s what the upper class actually believed.

They were, however, incredibly well-crafted, high-functioning romances, which is much harder than it sounds. You felt Harriet’s unplanned pregnancy, Bella’s pissy relatives, Emily’s Scottish isolation – Cooper could take you from an desperate moment to a windfall of the heart, and you could not ever, even in the early days, identify how she achieved it. One minute you’d be chuckling at her highly specific descriptions of the sheets, the following moment you’d have tears in your eyes and no idea how they appeared.

Writing Wisdom

Asked how to be a writer, Cooper frequently advised the kind of thing that Ernest Hemingway would have said, if he could have been arsed to assist a beginner: use all 5 of your senses, say how things scented and looked and heard and tactile and flavored – it greatly improves the writing. But perhaps more practical was: “Constantly keep a diary – it’s very hard, when you’re 25, to recall what twenty-four felt like.” That’s one of the initial observations you notice, in the more extensive, character-rich books, which have 17 heroines rather than just one lead, all with extremely posh names, unless they’re from the US, in which case they’re called Helen. Even an age difference of a few years, between two relatives, between a man and a lady, you can perceive in the conversation.

The Lost Manuscript

The historical account of Riders was so exactly characteristically Cooper it couldn't possibly have been accurate, except it definitely is true because London’s Evening Standard ran an appeal about it at the era: she finished the complete book in the early 70s, prior to the Romances, took it into the West End and misplaced it on a bus. Some context has been purposely excluded of this tale – what, for case, was so significant in the urban area that you would abandon the sole version of your book on a train, which is not that far from forgetting your child on a transport? Certainly an assignation, but what kind?

Cooper was inclined to exaggerate her own messiness and ineptitude