Riders by Jilly Cooper

Review by the Hon Ticky Dogge-Hare.

Writing book reviews is a bit like having homework. I mean, I was thrilled to bits to be asked to write about my all-time favourite book, Riders, here on Vulpes Libris. But then, the days sort of went by in a whirl of parties and things, and the Hunt Ball of course, and the next thing I knew it was this morning and I still hadn’t written it and I was a teensy bit hungover. Oops!

So I did what anyone would do when they hadn’t done their prep. I rang my old school chum, Charlie. Charlie was terribly quiet and serious at school, scholarship girl kind of thing, and now she’s married to some dreadful bearded academic and knits jumpers for orphans out of leftover muesli, or something like that.

“Oh, Ticky,” she said, “how… lovely to hear from you. How are things?”

“Oh, fine,” I said hurriedly, “and you?” And then she went on for a bit about, oh, I don’t know, reading the Guardian and picking bits of organic brown rice out of her husband’s beard; and then finally I got a chance to cut in.

“So,” I said, “I was just remembering the old days at school. Do you remember reading Riders for the first time back then? Gosh, that’s just classic schoolgirl reading, isn’t it?” I was quite pleased with that line, actually.

“No,” she said.

I was shocked for a moment, but then I remembered Charlie at school. She was exactly the kind of person who wouldn’t read Riders, just because everyone else did. Then she shocked me again.

“I actually read it last week,” she said.

“Gosh,” I said. “Er, did you like it?”

She thought for a moment. “More than you would expect, for a book that features a guest appearance by General Franco.”

“So… um, how much would that be?” I do wish Charlie wouldn’t be so obscure about things.

“Well,” she said, and then she went off on this terrific rant about class divides and double standards and all that dreary kind of thing. I’m afraid I rather found myself tuning out, wondering if I should wear the floor-length, backless, frontless gown to the boat club dinner tonight, or the one-armed crushed-velvet catsuit. I’d just decided on the catsuit when I heard her winding up.

“…and everyone’s just so bloody unsympathetic. I couldn’t give a fig about any of them.” I think she said fig.

“So you liked it, then?” I said, as attentively as I could. There was a bit of a silence.

“Well…” she said, and I could practically hear her (untouched, naturally) eyebrows beetling together, “that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s all written so exuberantly, it’s fun to read anyway. You still want to know what happens. It doesn’t matter how much you loathe the characters, or how creepy they are. You can’t take any offence at it.”

That really was saying something. Charlie could take offence for Britain.

“Although,” she continued darkly, “I don’t know why we’re supposed to find Rupert Campbell-Black so attractive. He’s a disgusting individual. And he mistreats horses. Anyway, Ticky, if that’s all, I must get going. I expect you have your five hundred words, or whatever, by now. Don’t think I can’t hear you writing all this down on the other end.”

“Wait!” I cut in before she could vanish. “Um, are you going to read any more Jilly Cooper books?”

“Yes, actually,” she said, and then she muttered something indistinct about Argentine polo players before hanging up.

Really. The nerve of some people!

Ticky reviewed the ancient copy of Riders she’s had since she went into the Lower Sixth. For those who don’t own a copy (I know!), it is available in paperback from Corgi (ISBN 978-0552150552) or in a variety of digital formats.