Weedon Grossmith (1854–1919)

I got more out of this than I expected. It's the diary of a middle class, middle aged, ordinary man. He takes himself pretty seriously, is always impressed by his own moments of wit, and gets stressed out over minor things. It would be easy to laugh at his own self-importance, until you realize your own internal commentary would probably be the same! He is Everyman.
What really won me over was partway through the book when he describes his moment of perfect happiness. His dreams were so show more modest but he was extraordinarily happy about them. This book, in the end, is a tribute to a mediocrity that is, in fact, totally meaningful. show less

The Diary of a Nobody grew out of a column in late-Victorian Punch magazine mocking the pretensions of the new lower middle classes. It ought to be stiflingly snobbish and fatally dated. Somehow, it isn't.

The principal characters are so colourfully and affectionately portrayed that I see myself in them rather than sneering. Above all, the diarist and Nobody himself, Charles Pooter, is a wonderful figure: decent, hard-working, loyal to his family and (two) friends. Pompous too, certainly, show more but it's such a wafer-thin facade - and so often gleefully punctured by the author - that you more usually see the alternating delight and anguish beneath.

It's as light a read as anything at Heathrow, it's a mixture of soap opera and sitcom, and it's an enduringly consoling and cheering read! show less

Thirty years before Sinclair Lewis published Babbit and set the standard for smug, self-important middle-class conformity, there was The Diary of a Nobody and Charles Pooter. Pooter, a senior bank clerk in the City renting a home in the London suburb of Holloway, encapsulates Victorian respectability, snobbery, and pretensions. Pooter nearly invariably gets the short end of the stick in his interactions with his two neighbors, Cummings and Gowings; his spendthrift, reckless son Lupin; and show more the various tradesmen and servants he attempts to bully. Slavishly devoted to his employer, Mr. Perkupp, Pooter tries without much luck to cut his son into the same mold. Instead, Lupin slacks at work and spends his nights engaged in amateur theatrics or carousing with his chums till all hours. What's a father to do?

First serialized in Punch in 1888 and 1889, The Diary of a Nobody was published in book form in 1892 and hasn't been out of print since. If you give this slim volume a chance (available for free in the Kindle format), you'll see why. Despite being a century old, The Diary of a Nobody remains quite amusing and is laugh-out-loud funny in parts -- particularly in sections dealing with tradesmen or with Lupin's impetuous business dealings or love affairs. As long as there are self-satisfied petit bourgeois snobs, The Diary of a Nobody will continue to entertain. show less

This is a strong contender for funniest book ever written and Mr Charles Pooter, the quixotic Victorian suburban nobody of the title, a comic creation of unalloyed genius. The older I get the more I identify with Mr Pooter, the middle aged city clerk and resident of The Laurels, Brickfield Terrace, Holloway. He represents everything I dread becoming and yet secretly know I already am: his self-delusion and pomposity; his habit of making appallingly bad jokes which only he laughs at; his show more unfailing knack of thinking of a brilliant rejoinder five minutes after the conversation has ended. Only the irredeemably self-deluding and pompous could fail to catch at least a partial reflection of themselves in this irredeemably self-deluding and pompous man. Wanting only to maintain his dignity he is ruthlessly stripped of it at every unfortunate turn. He is forever outwitted by tradesmen, whom he naturally regards as his social inferiors, and sent up by junior clerks at the office. A slave to etiquette and ‘doing the right thing’ his own stupidity ensures that he never fails to do the wrong thing. His life is a never-ending succession of social embarrassments. As John Lennon once sang of his own Nowhere Man - ‘isn’t he a bit like you and me?’

It’s often accused of snobbery, of course; the fashionable Grossmith brothers, stars of D’Oyly Carte Opera Company and the Victorian stage, glancing down with sneering condescension at the lower-middle classes in their sprawling suburbs. This, I think, underestimates the subtlety of the writing in addition to ignoring the glaring fact that Pooter is one of the most sympathetic characters in all fiction. Who could fail to love this gentle and well-meaning man? Pooter may be a pompous ass but he is a thoroughly decent pompous ass; a loving husband and father (to the unflappable Carrie and wayward yet clever son Lupin) and loyal friend to Mr Gowing (who ‘is always coming’) and Mr Cummings (who ‘is always going’). He works hard and his heart is always in the right place even if his brain isn’t. The Grossmiths, like all great comedians, triumphantly have it both ways, simultaneously satirising and celebrating their subject matter. They capture the stultifying boredom, conformity and small-mindedness of suburbia while making you envy it’s satisfying completeness and self-assurance.

The Diary of a Nobody first appeared in Punch between May 1888 and May 1889. It was in many ways topical humour and perhaps not designed to last. When published as a book, in extended form in 1892, most of the the critics certainly displayed little recognition that they were witnessing the birth of a classic. One reviewer, sounding uncannily like Pooter himself, disapproved of its ‘vulgarity’ and ‘tastelessness.’ That it has endured is no mystery. It’s a deeply humane and insightful comedy which provokes superior laughter while making you squirm inwardly with excruciating self-recognition. All human aspiration, pretension and vanity - in both senses of that word - is here; the whole world in an unfashionable suburb. Truly life-enhancing stuff. show less