Toddled Dredge

Mitford wrote Pigeon Pie in 1939 and it was published a year later. This short, satirical spy novel describes the unexpected adventure of Sophia, an upper-class Englishwoman who spends her days idly amusing herself until the looming war draws her into action. I did not warm up to this book immediately; I was half done before I realized that Sophia really was as stupid as she seemed, but the author meant the reader to like her anyway.

Sophia lives with her husband, Luke, a boring man for whom she has some fondness. She has a long-term affair with Rudolph, and her husband Luke is in love with Florence, a fellow-member of an enthusiastic new religion that meets at Luke’s estate. The blithe affairs, the passion for fashion and the constant competition between women convey a picture of the upper class as very silly people, astringently yet affectionately lampooned.

My favorite passages always concern Sophia’s chief competitor, Olga:

Sophia rang up her enemy. Olga Gogothsky (nee Baby Bagg) had been her enemy since they were both aged ten. It was an intimate enmity which gave Sophia more pleasure than most friendships; she made sacrifices upon its altar and fanned the flames with assiduity.

“Hullo, my darling Sophie,” Olga purred, in the foreign accent which she had cultivated since just before her marriage and which was in striking contrast with the Eton and Oxford tones (often blurred by drink but always unmistakable) of Prince Gogothsky.

Written just before the start of the war, the story involves the infiltration of German spies into Britain. There is murder, kidnapping and betrayal, clever disguises and secret plots. Sophia is forced to act at last when her beloved lapdog is kidnapped and threatened.

Pigeon Pie made me laugh, if quietly. It was a quick, easy read, light and frothy, with just enough acidic edge to make it flavorful.