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A Change for the Better
Alternative cover edition of ISBN 0140051414
Mrs Oddicott, proprietor of a drapery shop; Deirdre Fount, her daughter, painfully joining her mother's battle against individuality and change; Major Carpenter, so obsessively grieving for the death of a friend that he condones one final deception from his loyal wife; rich Miss Violet Prug, sustained in her wheelchair with the view from her balcony and a succession of Regency romances.
In the Prince of Wales Hotel and the shabby terraces and tearooms of Westbourne, retired lives run their course — all, in their different ways, anticipating a crisis.
Mrs Oddicott, proprietor of a drapery shop; Deirdre Fount, her daughter, painfully joining her mother's battle against individuality and change; Major Carpenter, so obsessively grieving for the death of a friend that he condones one final deception from his loyal wife; rich Miss Violet Prug, sustained in her wheelchair with the view from her balcony and a succession of Regency romances.
In the Prince of Wales Hotel and the shabby terraces and tearooms of Westbourne, retired lives run their course — all, in their different ways, anticipating a crisis.
223 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1969
1 person is currently reading
83 people want to read
About the author
Susan Hill
180 books2,280 followersSusan Hill was born in Scarborough, North Yorkshire in 1942. Her hometown was later referred to in her novel A Change for the Better (1969) and some short stories especially "Cockles and Mussels".
She attended Scarborough Convent School, where she became interested in theatre and literature. Her family left Scarborough in 1958 and moved to Coventry where her father worked in car and aircraft factories. Hill states that she attended a girls’ grammar school, Barr's Hill. Her fellow pupils included Jennifer Page, the first Chief Executive of the Millennium Dome. At Barrs Hill she took A levels in English, French, History and Latin, proceeding to an English degree at King's College London. By this time she had already written her first novel, The Enclosure which was published by Hutchinson in her first year at university. The novel was criticised by The Daily Mail for its sexual content, with the suggestion that writing in this style was unsuitable for a "schoolgirl".
Her next novel Gentleman and Ladies was published in 1968. This was followed in quick succession by A Change for the Better, I'm the King of the Castle, The Albatross and other stories, Strange Meeting, The Bird of Night, A Bit of Singing and Dancing and In the Springtime of Year, all written and published between 1968 and 1974.
In 1975 she married Shakespeare scholar Stanley Wells and they moved to Stratford upon Avon. Their first daughter, Jessica, was born in 1977 and their second daughter, Clemency, was born in 1985. Hill has recently founded her own publishing company, Long Barn Books, which has published one work of fiction per year.
Librarian's Note: There is more than one author by this name.
She attended Scarborough Convent School, where she became interested in theatre and literature. Her family left Scarborough in 1958 and moved to Coventry where her father worked in car and aircraft factories. Hill states that she attended a girls’ grammar school, Barr's Hill. Her fellow pupils included Jennifer Page, the first Chief Executive of the Millennium Dome. At Barrs Hill she took A levels in English, French, History and Latin, proceeding to an English degree at King's College London. By this time she had already written her first novel, The Enclosure which was published by Hutchinson in her first year at university. The novel was criticised by The Daily Mail for its sexual content, with the suggestion that writing in this style was unsuitable for a "schoolgirl".
Her next novel Gentleman and Ladies was published in 1968. This was followed in quick succession by A Change for the Better, I'm the King of the Castle, The Albatross and other stories, Strange Meeting, The Bird of Night, A Bit of Singing and Dancing and In the Springtime of Year, all written and published between 1968 and 1974.
In 1975 she married Shakespeare scholar Stanley Wells and they moved to Stratford upon Avon. Their first daughter, Jessica, was born in 1977 and their second daughter, Clemency, was born in 1985. Hill has recently founded her own publishing company, Long Barn Books, which has published one work of fiction per year.
Librarian's Note: There is more than one author by this name.
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Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews
June 26, 2024
Well that’s a relief. Although I only began this three days ago, I have finished it. It was a short novel to be sure, but I hated every page of it. Why not one star then? Because it is so well written, and probably deserves more than even those 2 stars.
If you enjoy character-driven novels, you may appreciate this more. The closest classic I can think of would be Elizabeth Gaskell’s “Cranford”. For popular novels, perhaps those of Miss Read, or Joanna Trollope, although others have said this is like Elizabeth Taylor’s novels. (I can’t comment on that, not having read the author.)
The problem for me is the claustrophobic feel, and the authenticity of the observed behaviour of a small group of aggrieved and antagonistic people. As a visiting character remarked:
“What a place … this Westbourne. Dead and alive hole, nothing to do, I can’t think how you stand it Deirdre. Full of old people dying off. Everyone thrown in the sponge, seems to me.”
The aforementioned Deirdre is 39, and the speaker is not particularly observant or bright. He also seems to have no idea of the drawbacks of small town life, of which the consequence of comfort and security (which in itself can be stultifying) is often the parochial mentality of its residents. “Westbourne” does not exist, but I strongly suspect Susan Hill, an English Northerner who has always lived in the popular seaside resort of Scarborough (where as a child, our annual family holidays were spent), has taken her template from a commonly held belief about the real life Eastbourne. The tourist board invitingly says:
“Discover endless blue skies and pristine beaches in the UK’s sunniest place! Explore the sweeping South Downs coast and countryside … Eastbourne is a resort town on England’s southeast coast. On the seafront are Victorian hotels, the 19th-century Eastbourne Pier and a 1930s bandstand … Nearby, Redoubt Fortress, built during the Napoleonic Wars, has a military museum. Southwest along the coast, in South Downs National Park, are the tall chalk cliffs of Beachy Head and its striped 1902 lighthouse.”
Not surprisingly perhaps, Eastbourne has the reputation for being a Mecca for the fairly prosperous elderly, and is sometimes unkindly referred to as “God’s waiting room”.
A few years ago, my brother and his partner sought to escape at last from the London chaos, but to live a short train ride away, so that they could still go to concerts, exhibitions, and generally still participate in the Arts scene. So they toured all the South coast seaside towns and villages. Eastbourne was one of the first. Standing on the pier, my brother asked: “What do you think?” The reply was a meaningful: “Just look around”.
All they could see was a mass of grey heads atop white wrinkled faces. Most residents were sunning themselves on deckchairs, but some were strolling along the promenade, or sitting near the bandstand. The couple looked at each other and quietly escaped, eventually ending up in a different South coast town which is famous for old bookshops and a mix of people; for its quaint curio shops and its quirky - and quite steep - cobbled streets.
For any young, hip residents of Eastbourne I do apologise, but A Change for the Better buys into the stereotype, and even pushes the picture further, so that without exception the people in it are small-minded, self-absorbed, full of resentments and recriminations; constantly aware of their frustrations, and blaming those around them. As one middle-aged character thinks:
“Oh it is too bad! I cannot do anything. I cannot have any privacy, any time to myself in this terrible town where everyone is full of gossip and malice and inquisitiveness.”
It could have been funny, but it is not. Nor is it intended to be. It is unremitting, and as bitter as gall. Although there is some truth in what this character says, her destiny is to become a mirror image of her mother, who, with her constant criticism and recrimination is the main cause of her daughter’s general passivity and low self-esteem.
The complaining, embittered, martyrish woman is a staple of Charles Dickens. He includes at least one portrait in each novel; sometimes to the fore and sometimes as just one of a myriad of characters. But each time they are a delight to read about; described with great wit so that we laugh, and charm so that we may feel sorry for their lot after all. Here though, we just want to run a mile and get away from them. And it is not only the women but the men too, moaning about the state of the world, and how everyone treats them. And who gets the bulk of this? Their wife, (or husband) or companion, or daughter - whoever has the misfortune to live in close proximity to this person.
Plus of course, resentment breeds more resentment. The novel reports both what is said, and the internal thoughts of both speaker and recipient of each tirade. It is appallingly accurate. Each little paragraph is a gem of stinging words to make you wince and want to hide.
How we recognise this is hard to say. I expect we have all witnessed this sort of behaviour from someone, even if we are fortunate enough to not have anyone close who indulges in it. It is usually the privilege of the old (who demand respect), or the middle-aged, who feel particularly trapped and not making use of their potential: either real, or imagined in daydreams. It is all very sour.
The focus is on one of the residential Victorian hotels on the seafront; one of the “better” sort of course, where the fees are consequently higher and the riff-raff are kept out. Major Bertram Carpenter and his wife Flora live here, and the wealthy, disabled Miss Violet Prug, lives in a nearby plush first-floor apartment reading her Regency novels and dreaming, whilst her companion Mrs. Christie - inwardly seething with resentment - mouths polite platitudes. The divorced Deirdre Fount and her self-satisfied mother (who always knows better) Winifred Oddicott, run a drapery shop in the main street. Deirdre’s 11 year old son, James, the quietly talented flautist, attends a “good school” and wonders about his father, whom he has never known. Other characters come and go: the Major’s friend Mr. Isepp, whom he meets regularly at the Conservative Club, James’s music teacher Ralph Porlock, his school friend Mark Schwartz and his family, who allow the boys to actually have fun, Deirdre’s ex-husband car salesman Aubrey and his various lady friends, and the Carpenters’ repressed son Edward, and his unbearable wife Auriole.
Almost without exception, all of them are insufferable. So what event could possibly qualify as an apt title for A Change for the Better? A tidal wave engulfing the Prince of Wales Hotel and its environs perhaps, and wiping out the lot of them? (But I must not be unkind, so let’s hope it is while they are all sleeping and know nothing of it.)
A Change for the Better is an early novel by Susan Hill - her third in fact - written when she was much praised as a comparatively new literary author. And reading it has served to remind me of everything I dislike about 20th century English literary authors. Gone is the humour and joie de vivre of the 18th century; gone too is the wit, the expanse and the large concerns of the 19th century. What we are left with is the detail, the claustrophobia of close relationships, and the interminable analysis of them. Written in 1969, this is a decade or so after the so-called “kitchen sink” dramas, and is their natural successor.
I have no delusions of appreciating such literary worthies. I much prefer the genre fiction Susan Hill is now famous for: her annual ghost story, and her series of detective novels. I also enjoy plenty of novels with elderly characters, either in cameo roles or centre stage, such as Richard Osman’s quartet of geriatrics in a residential home for seniors in the “Thursday Murder Club” series, or Simon Brett’s charming elderly amateur sleuths in the “Fethering mysteries” - or his “Mrs. Pargeter” series. These novels all have wit and charm, as do many other individual modern novels with older protagonists, cranky, abrasive and intolerant as they may be. But unless you think it may make you relieved that your own life is not like this (and I sincerely hope it is not!) I advise you to steer clear of these continually carping characters.
As a final thought, would you like to know what the “change for the better” is? You can probably guess … In the dreary English November, one of two of these old people die, and their victims and persecutors (for in this novel almost everyone has both functions) do not always act as expected.
For once I entirely agree with the Goodreads terminology for recording our progress through a book. I'm 100% done with A Change for the Better.
If you enjoy character-driven novels, you may appreciate this more. The closest classic I can think of would be Elizabeth Gaskell’s “Cranford”. For popular novels, perhaps those of Miss Read, or Joanna Trollope, although others have said this is like Elizabeth Taylor’s novels. (I can’t comment on that, not having read the author.)
The problem for me is the claustrophobic feel, and the authenticity of the observed behaviour of a small group of aggrieved and antagonistic people. As a visiting character remarked:
“What a place … this Westbourne. Dead and alive hole, nothing to do, I can’t think how you stand it Deirdre. Full of old people dying off. Everyone thrown in the sponge, seems to me.”
The aforementioned Deirdre is 39, and the speaker is not particularly observant or bright. He also seems to have no idea of the drawbacks of small town life, of which the consequence of comfort and security (which in itself can be stultifying) is often the parochial mentality of its residents. “Westbourne” does not exist, but I strongly suspect Susan Hill, an English Northerner who has always lived in the popular seaside resort of Scarborough (where as a child, our annual family holidays were spent), has taken her template from a commonly held belief about the real life Eastbourne. The tourist board invitingly says:
“Discover endless blue skies and pristine beaches in the UK’s sunniest place! Explore the sweeping South Downs coast and countryside … Eastbourne is a resort town on England’s southeast coast. On the seafront are Victorian hotels, the 19th-century Eastbourne Pier and a 1930s bandstand … Nearby, Redoubt Fortress, built during the Napoleonic Wars, has a military museum. Southwest along the coast, in South Downs National Park, are the tall chalk cliffs of Beachy Head and its striped 1902 lighthouse.”
Not surprisingly perhaps, Eastbourne has the reputation for being a Mecca for the fairly prosperous elderly, and is sometimes unkindly referred to as “God’s waiting room”.
A few years ago, my brother and his partner sought to escape at last from the London chaos, but to live a short train ride away, so that they could still go to concerts, exhibitions, and generally still participate in the Arts scene. So they toured all the South coast seaside towns and villages. Eastbourne was one of the first. Standing on the pier, my brother asked: “What do you think?” The reply was a meaningful: “Just look around”.
All they could see was a mass of grey heads atop white wrinkled faces. Most residents were sunning themselves on deckchairs, but some were strolling along the promenade, or sitting near the bandstand. The couple looked at each other and quietly escaped, eventually ending up in a different South coast town which is famous for old bookshops and a mix of people; for its quaint curio shops and its quirky - and quite steep - cobbled streets.
For any young, hip residents of Eastbourne I do apologise, but A Change for the Better buys into the stereotype, and even pushes the picture further, so that without exception the people in it are small-minded, self-absorbed, full of resentments and recriminations; constantly aware of their frustrations, and blaming those around them. As one middle-aged character thinks:
“Oh it is too bad! I cannot do anything. I cannot have any privacy, any time to myself in this terrible town where everyone is full of gossip and malice and inquisitiveness.”
It could have been funny, but it is not. Nor is it intended to be. It is unremitting, and as bitter as gall. Although there is some truth in what this character says, her destiny is to become a mirror image of her mother, who, with her constant criticism and recrimination is the main cause of her daughter’s general passivity and low self-esteem.
The complaining, embittered, martyrish woman is a staple of Charles Dickens. He includes at least one portrait in each novel; sometimes to the fore and sometimes as just one of a myriad of characters. But each time they are a delight to read about; described with great wit so that we laugh, and charm so that we may feel sorry for their lot after all. Here though, we just want to run a mile and get away from them. And it is not only the women but the men too, moaning about the state of the world, and how everyone treats them. And who gets the bulk of this? Their wife, (or husband) or companion, or daughter - whoever has the misfortune to live in close proximity to this person.
Plus of course, resentment breeds more resentment. The novel reports both what is said, and the internal thoughts of both speaker and recipient of each tirade. It is appallingly accurate. Each little paragraph is a gem of stinging words to make you wince and want to hide.
How we recognise this is hard to say. I expect we have all witnessed this sort of behaviour from someone, even if we are fortunate enough to not have anyone close who indulges in it. It is usually the privilege of the old (who demand respect), or the middle-aged, who feel particularly trapped and not making use of their potential: either real, or imagined in daydreams. It is all very sour.
The focus is on one of the residential Victorian hotels on the seafront; one of the “better” sort of course, where the fees are consequently higher and the riff-raff are kept out. Major Bertram Carpenter and his wife Flora live here, and the wealthy, disabled Miss Violet Prug, lives in a nearby plush first-floor apartment reading her Regency novels and dreaming, whilst her companion Mrs. Christie - inwardly seething with resentment - mouths polite platitudes. The divorced Deirdre Fount and her self-satisfied mother (who always knows better) Winifred Oddicott, run a drapery shop in the main street. Deirdre’s 11 year old son, James, the quietly talented flautist, attends a “good school” and wonders about his father, whom he has never known. Other characters come and go: the Major’s friend Mr. Isepp, whom he meets regularly at the Conservative Club, James’s music teacher Ralph Porlock, his school friend Mark Schwartz and his family, who allow the boys to actually have fun, Deirdre’s ex-husband car salesman Aubrey and his various lady friends, and the Carpenters’ repressed son Edward, and his unbearable wife Auriole.
Almost without exception, all of them are insufferable. So what event could possibly qualify as an apt title for A Change for the Better? A tidal wave engulfing the Prince of Wales Hotel and its environs perhaps, and wiping out the lot of them? (But I must not be unkind, so let’s hope it is while they are all sleeping and know nothing of it.)
A Change for the Better is an early novel by Susan Hill - her third in fact - written when she was much praised as a comparatively new literary author. And reading it has served to remind me of everything I dislike about 20th century English literary authors. Gone is the humour and joie de vivre of the 18th century; gone too is the wit, the expanse and the large concerns of the 19th century. What we are left with is the detail, the claustrophobia of close relationships, and the interminable analysis of them. Written in 1969, this is a decade or so after the so-called “kitchen sink” dramas, and is their natural successor.
I have no delusions of appreciating such literary worthies. I much prefer the genre fiction Susan Hill is now famous for: her annual ghost story, and her series of detective novels. I also enjoy plenty of novels with elderly characters, either in cameo roles or centre stage, such as Richard Osman’s quartet of geriatrics in a residential home for seniors in the “Thursday Murder Club” series, or Simon Brett’s charming elderly amateur sleuths in the “Fethering mysteries” - or his “Mrs. Pargeter” series. These novels all have wit and charm, as do many other individual modern novels with older protagonists, cranky, abrasive and intolerant as they may be. But unless you think it may make you relieved that your own life is not like this (and I sincerely hope it is not!) I advise you to steer clear of these continually carping characters.
As a final thought, would you like to know what the “change for the better” is? You can probably guess … In the dreary English November, one of two of these old people die, and their victims and persecutors (for in this novel almost everyone has both functions) do not always act as expected.
For once I entirely agree with the Goodreads terminology for recording our progress through a book. I'm 100% done with A Change for the Better.
March 17, 2021
If you have ever met a more odious bunch of people then I pity you- Susan Hill has a “gift” for penning the little disappointments of life with sharp observation so that you can almost see them coming- its a talent but not a very endearing one. Depressing if well observed read.
October 30, 2021
'In the Prince of Wales Hotel and the terraces and tearooms of Westbourne, retired lives run their course...'
Bygone Englishness personified and brilliantly portrayed in the shabby seaside town. The characters were insufferable- there wasn't one likeable person, apart, maybe, from Mrs Carpenter, but you still wanted to shake her for putting up with her thoroughly objectionable husband. Deidre Fount seems to invoke sympathy, until you realise she is developing into her thoroughly entitled and possessive mother as the narrative progresses. The plot slowly, but surely unfolds to both a satisfactory, but unsatisfactory, conclusion - Susan Hill is an with absolute master of her craft.
Bygone Englishness personified and brilliantly portrayed in the shabby seaside town. The characters were insufferable- there wasn't one likeable person, apart, maybe, from Mrs Carpenter, but you still wanted to shake her for putting up with her thoroughly objectionable husband. Deidre Fount seems to invoke sympathy, until you realise she is developing into her thoroughly entitled and possessive mother as the narrative progresses. The plot slowly, but surely unfolds to both a satisfactory, but unsatisfactory, conclusion - Susan Hill is an with absolute master of her craft.
August 1, 2023
3.5. An early Susan Hill novel. As usual, very good characterisation. Not overly gripping or dramatic, but a look at the negativities of human nature. A quick and easy read.
January 23, 2021
This is the most depressing book I've read, but also so beautifully written it really doesn't matter. But I'm a fan of Susan Hill and her finely crafted books. She could write about mud and I would find it thrilling.
Read
May 12, 2013small town life, depressed trapped people, none of them attractive! mother and daughter stuck with each other in drapers shop.
July 9, 2022
Marvellously bleak. Very in the vein of Elizabeth Taylor (writer not the other one) with a seaside residential hotel setting.
June 22, 2023
"'No. No, I had never realized -- they did not seem so very close, but I must not have understood. Men are different, I suppose, men are different.'"
Mrs Carpenter stroked the stomach of the Pekinese dog, her face pale with worry and doubt.
"'Yes,'" said Miss Prug, who had no real idea about whether men were different or not. "'Yes, of course.'"
Liberally sprinkle just this type of knowing dissection -- a bit less than biting, a bit more than generous -- across your narrative and you're immune from my censure.
Mrs Carpenter stroked the stomach of the Pekinese dog, her face pale with worry and doubt.
"'Yes,'" said Miss Prug, who had no real idea about whether men were different or not. "'Yes, of course.'"
Liberally sprinkle just this type of knowing dissection -- a bit less than biting, a bit more than generous -- across your narrative and you're immune from my censure.
September 24, 2011
This is one of the most depressing books I have read. People seem unable to change their lives for the better with one exception & it is filled with tragedy. It mirrors real life, there are no happy endings. It is good though & Like all Susan Hill's serious novels has a real sense of place & great characterisation.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
unfinished
July 29, 2013I just could not bear it. The first of hers had hope along with the blindness and despair; this seemed to have none.
Read
August 4, 2017LOVE TO READ
Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews