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Perverse tragedy in attempts at being good


Of all the epithets that might be chosen for John Skinner, “good” hardly fits the impression he makes at the start of the novel.

It’s not that he’s bad; rather, he’s comical, pompous and pedantic, as seen through the eyes of his mischievous young sister-in-law.

From the viewpoint of his wife, he is a puzzling combination of ire and anxiety. His parishioners target him with mean tricks; domestic servants pilfer food from the pantry and run rings round his rules.

Even his own body, prone to headaches and irritable bowels, is in grumbling conflict with notions of inner wholesomeness.

So there is irony in this description, as the parson, intending to do good, almost always speaks or acts to the contrary. Still, one comes to feel for him, as amid the amusement is great tragedy.

The diaries form the basis for a fascinating story, imaginatively told, covering the lives of the clergyman, family members, servants, neighbours and colliers. As well as being engaging fiction about very human individuals, the book is social history, using factual detail to offer a sharp picture of life from 1805.

The parson had a heart; he loved his wife and children; he felt compassion for the poor and often dipped into his pocket to help them.

We see his conscience hint at what we now call social injustice concerning the mining families, but Skinner was a man of his times, and too self-righteous, too much the authoritarian, to venture along a radical path that could have led to fulfilment.

Ultimately, he was that awful thing – well-meaning – which is never good enough.

The Good Man of Camerton can be bought online at www.biscuitpublishing.com, £9.99. Pru Farrier



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