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

Cooper's Fictional Universe

Devoted fans would have preferred to watch the Rutshire chronicles in order: starting with Riders, first published in 1985, in which the character Rupert Campbell-Black, scoundrel, heartbreaker, horse rider, is initially presented. But that’s a minor point – what was remarkable about seeing Rivals as a box set was how effectively Cooper’s world had remained relevant. The chronicles distilled the eighties: the shoulder pads and voluminous skirts; the obsession with class; aristocrats looking down on the flashy new money, both overlooking everyone else while they complained about how room-temperature their champagne was; the gender dynamics, with unwanted advances and assault so commonplace they were virtually characters in their own right, a double act you could trust to advance the story.

While Cooper might have lived in this age completely, she was never the proverbial fish not noticing the ocean because it’s everywhere. She had a humanity and an perceptive wisdom that you could easily miss from hearing her talk. Everyone, from the dog to the pony to her family to her international student's relative, was always “completely delightful” – unless, that is, they were “absolutely divine”. People got assaulted and more in Cooper’s work, but that was never OK – it’s remarkable how acceptable it is in many supposedly sophisticated books of the era.

Social Strata and Personality

She was well-to-do, which for practical purposes meant that her father had to earn an income, but she’d have described the social classes more by their mores. The middle classes fretted about every little detail, all the time – what society might think, mainly – and the aristocracy didn’t care a … well “nonsense”. She was spicy, at times extremely, but her prose was never vulgar.

She’d recount her upbringing in storybook prose: “Father went to Dunkirk and Mom was extremely anxious”. They were both absolutely stunning, participating in a lifelong love match, and this Cooper emulated in her own union, to a editor of war books, Leo Cooper. She was in her mid-twenties, he was twenty-seven, the marriage wasn’t smooth sailing (he was a unfaithful type), but she was always at ease giving people the formula for a successful union, which is noisy mattress but (key insight), they’re creaking with all the mirth. He didn't read her books – he tried Prudence once, when he had influenza, and said it made him feel unwell. She didn’t mind, and said it was mutual: she wouldn’t be seen dead reading military history.

Always keep a notebook – it’s very challenging, when you’re mid-twenties, to remember what age 24 felt like

Initial Novels

Prudence (1978) was the fifth installment in the Romance collection, which commenced with Emily in 1975. If you came to Cooper in reverse, having started in Rutshire, the Romances, alternatively called “the novels named after affluent ladies” – also Octavia and Harriet – were close but no cigar, every male lead feeling like a prototype for the iconic character, every heroine a little bit insipid. Plus, chapter for chapter (Without exact data), there wasn’t as much sex in them. They were a bit uptight on issues of propriety, women always being anxious that men would think they’re promiscuous, men saying batshit things about why they liked virgins (comparably, ostensibly, as a true gentleman always wants to be the first to unseal a tin of Nescafé). I don’t know if I’d suggest reading these stories at a young age. I assumed for a while that that is what the upper class actually believed.

They were, however, remarkably well-crafted, high-functioning romances, which is far more difficult than it appears. You experienced Harriet’s unplanned pregnancy, Bella’s pissy in-laws, Emily’s remote Scottish life – Cooper could take you from an all-is-lost moment to a lottery win of the emotions, and you could never, even in the beginning, put your finger on how she achieved it. One minute you’d be chuckling at her meticulously detailed depictions of the bed linen, the subsequently you’d have emotional response and uncertainty how they appeared.

Literary Guidance

Questioned how to be a novelist, Cooper would often state the kind of thing that the literary giant would have said, if he could have been inclined to guide a novice: employ all five of your senses, say how things scented and seemed and audible and touched and flavored – it greatly improves the prose. But probably more useful was: “Forever keep a journal – it’s very hard, when you’re twenty-five, to recall what being 24 felt like.” That’s one of the initial observations you notice, in the more detailed, densely peopled books, which have seventeen main characters rather than just one lead, all with decidedly aristocratic names, unless they’re Stateside, in which case they’re called a common name. Even an years apart of four years, between two relatives, between a gentleman and a woman, you can perceive in the dialogue.

An Author's Tale

The origin story of Riders was so pitch-perfectly Jilly Cooper it couldn't possibly have been true, except it definitely is factual because London’s Evening Standard published a notice about it at the era: she finished the whole manuscript in the early 70s, prior to the Romances, took it into the West End and forgot it on a vehicle. Some context has been purposely excluded of this tale – what, for case, was so significant in the West End that you would leave the only copy of your book on a train, which is not that far from leaving your child on a train? Surely an rendezvous, but what sort?

Cooper was prone to embellish her own disorder and clumsiness