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Summary
Summary
Behind the doors of the most famous address in the country, all is not well.
Edward Clare was voted into Number Ten after a landslide election victory. But a few years later and it is all going wrong. The love of the people is gone. The nation is turning against him.
Panicking, Prime Minister Clare enlists the help of Jack Sprat, the policeman on the door of No 10, and sets out to discover what the country really thinks of him. In disguise, they venture into the great unknown- the mean streets of Great Britain.
And for the first time in years, the Prime Minister experiences everything life in this country has to offer - an English cream tea, the kindness of strangers, waiting for trains that never come and treatment in a hospital - and at last he remembers some of things he once really cared about . . .
'Wickedly entertaining. There is a gem on nearly every page. Nothing escapes Townsend's withering pen. Satirical, witty, observant . . . a clever book.' Observer
'A delight. Genuinely funny . . . compassion shines through the unashamedly ironic social commentary.' Guardian
'Poignant, hilarious, heart-rending, devastating.' New Statesman
'Hilarious. Sue Townsend's laughter is infectious.' John Mortimer, Sunday Telegraph Books of the Year
www.suetownsend.com
Author Notes
Sue Townsend was born in Leicester, England on April 2, 1946. She left school at fifteen and worked a series of jobs before becoming a full-time author. She was best known for her books about the neurotic diarist Adrian Mole including The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole Aged 13 ¾, The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole, Adrian Mole: The Wilderness Years, Adrian Mole and the Weapons of Mass Destruction, and Adrian Mole: The Prostrate Years. Her other works include The Queen and I, Number Ten, The Public Confessions of a Middle-Aged Woman Aged 55¾, and The Woman Who Went to Bed for a Year. She died after a stroke on April 10, 2014 at the age of 68.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (5)
Publisher's Weekly Review
In Townsend's latest British farce (after 1993's The Queen and I, which put the British royal family in public housing, to hilarious effect), the prime minister, known by much of his public as "that pratt Edward Clare," sets out to get in touch with the masses. Speaking at a press conference, Edward is caught unprepared by questions on the price of milk and the last time he took public transportation; the little fib he tells makes him a laughingstock. Edward decides a trip across the country will reacquaint him with "the concerns of the majority of British people," and under the watchful eye of Jack Sprat, an intellectual but street-savvy police officer, Edward begins his journey-as Edwina. (It's reasoned that his wife's clothes, and later his own enthusiastically chosen ensembles, will allow Edward to remain incognito.) Edward and Jack visit the grave of Edward's mother, and they endure the pain and humiliation of public transportation before hiring a Pakistani cabdriver, who takes them to visit a poverty-stricken single mother in Leeds. Here, Edward suffers something like a heart attack, which lands him in the hospital-as ill-run as public transportation-and then the psychiatric ward, where he is described as "pathologically unable to commit to an opinion for fear of displeasing the questioner." In the meantime, Edward's loopy wife, Adele, quits taking her medication and gets a nose job, and Jack's mother opens her humble home to a bevy of crack addicts. The three story lines are masterfully and hilariously interwoven, and the book's delightfully absurd characters (especially Edward, and Jack's mother, Norma) are unforgettable. (Nov.) Forecast: This madcap romp through England is sure to delight Anglophiles and the many fans of Townsend's beloved Adrian Mole books. (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Guardian Review
The first chapter is Sue Townsend at her absolute best. Compassion shines through the unashamedly ironic social commentary. But, as I read the next 50 pages, I began to wish that I had not agreed to review this book. I immensely admire Ms Townsend and I did not enjoy the prospect of complaining about a surfeit of what is usually only an occasional self- indulgence. Townsend enjoys overdoing it, so her satire is never subtle. Her prime minister "wore his hair long" when he was at Cambridge and played in a rock band called Vile Insinuations. The Downing Street press secretary is Alexander McPherson. (He began his career in journalism by composing bogus letters for an erotic magazine.) The chancellor of the exchequer, a man of "huge bulk", is called Malcolm Black. The fault may lie in me, but I find the heavy humour of the caricatures tedious. So tedious in fact that - had I been reading Number Ten purely in the hope of enjoying myself - I would have given up the struggle at about page 40. And that would have been a gigantic mistake. For, once the characters are established, the book is a delight: it is genuinely funny and combines humour with an important message. The plot is simple enough. The prime minister, Edward Clare (married, you will be astonished to learn, to the cleverest woman in Europe), has become anxious about his personal popularity. So, accompanied by Jack, a policeman who normally stands outside the door of No 10, he sets out on a public relations odyssey. Some of their escapades are manically improbable. In order to preserve his anonymity, Edward Clare disguises himself as a woman, after which a number of Marx Brothers-type catastrophes follow. But even the broadest barbs of humour are laced with asides which, in themselves, make Number Ten worthwhile. Jack is a self-educated intellectual who, when he goes home to visit his mother in Leicester, wants to watch Edward Clare on Face the Press "because of his increasingly close relationship with the prime minister". His mother's interests, however, centre entirely on celebrities. She hopes to spot Sir Cliff Richard in the specially invited audience "and try to work out from his face whether or not he was a virgin". Whatever Townsend's views on that vital question, there is no doubt about her position on the political spectrum. Woken early one morning by his son, Morgan, and cross-examined about his attitude towards the Tolpuddle Martyrs, the prime minister feels unable to share the boy's apparent enthusiasm for direct action. In any case, he has a busy day ahead and has no time for philosophical debate. "Dad," Morgan asks, "is there anything you'd die for?" Clare answers with an ambiguity which proves that Townsend can be subtle when she wants to be. "Not now, son." The point is extended when the prime minister discusses his late father with the policeman. "The money from his estate went to the party", although, at the time of his death, "he was chairman of the Berkshire Conservative Association". Clare thinks that "he should have brought his will up to date". Jack is amazed that he could make such a fundamental change to his principles which, he believes, "should not be a moveable feast". Thus begins their first quarrel. "Look, Jack," the prime minister says (he always begins "Look" and then pauses when he feels under pressure). "You can't eat principles, neither can you be housed, clothed or educated by them." After various adventures in wonderland - including infatuation with Peter, a blue budgerigar, near-apprehension by the drugs squad and a friendship with a sympathetic, though stereotypical Pakistani, Edward Clare returns, with some reluctance, to No 10 Jack falls in love and the chancellor, Black, continues to agonise about his prospects of becoming prime minister. There is a touching scene in which Black helps Clare's son with his homework because his project involves reading Engels's The Condition of the Working Class in England in 1844 . "The boy," he explains, "is a socialist." And his father is ill-equipped to deal with anything that involves that topic. So everybody lives happily ever after - except Peter the budgerigar. Given what animal rights activists would call essential freedom, he uses his liberty to fly into Trafalgar Square, where he is killed by stronger birds. The moral of that final tragedy is that rights ought to be matched with responsibilities. Perhaps New Labour has got it right after all. Roy Hattersley's most recent book is A Brand from the Burning: The Life of John Wesley . To order Number Ten for pounds 13.99 plus p&p call Guardian book service on 0870 066 7979. Caption: article-townsend.1 The first chapter is [Sue Townsend] at her absolute best. Compassion shines through the unashamedly ironic social commentary. But, as I read the next 50 pages, I began to wish that I had not agreed to review this book. I immensely admire Ms Townsend and I did not enjoy the prospect of complaining about a surfeit of what is usually only an occasional self- indulgence. Townsend enjoys overdoing it, so her satire is never subtle. Her prime minister "wore his hair long" when he was at Cambridge and played in a rock band called Vile Insinuations. The Downing Street press secretary is Alexander McPherson. (He began his career in journalism by composing bogus letters for an erotic magazine.) The chancellor of the exchequer, a man of "huge bulk", is called Malcolm Black. Whatever Townsend's views on that vital question, there is no doubt about her position on the political spectrum. Woken early one morning by his son, Morgan, and cross-examined about his attitude towards the Tolpuddle Martyrs, the prime minister feels unable to share the boy's apparent enthusiasm for direct action. In any case, he has a busy day ahead and has no time for philosophical debate. "Dad," Morgan asks, "is there anything you'd die for?" [Edward Clare] answers with an ambiguity which proves that Townsend can be subtle when she wants to be. "Not now, son." - Roy Hattersley.
Kirkus Review
The Prime Minister is out of touch with modern life, and the hyenas of the British press are having a field day with his numerous gaffes. Edward Clare doesn't even know the price of a pint of milk, and that's the least of it. Time he got out in the real world, eh? And so he does, disguised in his wife's clothes, accompanied by the doughty policeman named Jack Sprat, who usually keeps watch at the door of Number 10 Downing Street and now must guard the bewigged, bespangled, and happily effeminate PM. His wife Adele, an eccentric genius on maintenance lithium, doesn't even notice that he's gone. She has Very Important Things to worry about: for one, whether or not to arrange for the burial of the amputated leg that her housekeeper's son mangled in a motorcycle accident. And if this chunk of flesh is entitled to a funeral, what about warts? How many would it take to fill an average coffin? Alerted by delighted reporters, a Third World mathematician kindly provides the answer before Adele loses her mind entirely. Back to Edward: en route to Edinburgh on a very late and overcrowded train, he/she gets to mingle with real people at last--everyone from a bitchy female entrepreneur glued to a cell phone and trying to sell chicken eyeballs to the Middle East, to struggling inhabitants of council housing, out-of-luck but scrappy blokes with names like Coughing Tony and Polio John. Their zigzagging odyssey proceeds at breakneck pace and eventually brings all full circle back to London--but not before Jack has fallen in love with Edward's sister Pamela and rescued his mother and her molting budgie from a crack dealer with apocalyptic dreams of glory. Townsend (Adrian Mole, 2000, etc.) has a rare gift for wickedly funny one-liners--and her lighthearted affection for human foibles and foolishness keeps this spot-on satire from becoming too brittle. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Booklist Review
British novelist Townsend, who has already earned an army of ardent fans with her series of books on the hapless diarist Adrian Mole, is characteristically hilarious in this hybrid that combines social satire with an odd-couple road trip. The buddy team includes Jack, a policeman who grew up on the edge of squalor but manages to emerge a decent and levelheaded man. The other half is Edward, reared in privilege to take his all-but-predestined place as prime minister. Struck with the realization that he has no idea what life is like for ordinary citizens, Edward sets off, incognito, for a week-long safari into the land of the common folk, with Jack as his escort. Because it's hard for the prime minister to travel unnoticed, he does what any sensible man would do--slips into a wig and high heels and becomes Edwina. The book doesn't lack for skewering observations of the upper and lower classes, but Edward and Jack are both such well-meaning characters, the book comes off ultimately as more affirming than biting. --Karen Holt Copyright 2003 Booklist
Library Journal Review
In the newest political farce from Townsend (Adrian Mole), Prime Minister Edward Clare finds himself detached from the concerns of his voting public, so he dresses in drag and ventures into the British countryside to see how the lower millions lead their daily lives. Along for the ride is Constable Jack Sprat, his personal police officer. Throughout the journey, the prime minister's disguise causes a number of common cross-dressing mishaps-e.g., he is propositioned by an unsuspecting truck driver-but it rarely inspires any fresh humor. The novel uses the tour of the countryside to target the government's impotence in everything from reforming the National Health Service to overhauling England's inefficient railroads. However, while fellow satirist Jonathan Coe creatively weaves such issues into his narratives, Townsend tends to announce their presence; frequent soliloquies by Jack Sprat spell out political critiques rather blatantly. Other characters-e.g., Ed's fiercely intellectual wife and Jack's makeup-caked mother-are sketched with wonderfully quirky detail, making one wish Townsend had put her talent for storytelling and characterization to more use here. As it stands, the story cannot carry the weight of its political ambition. An optional purchase.-Julia LoFaso, Long Island City, NY (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.