The book's the thing

 But sometimes, the TV adaptations are even better

 

Ever since I first read Riders in the early 90s, I have been a fan of Jilly Cooper. So, you’d think I would be delighted when I read that her second bonkbuster, Rivals, was being turned into a TV series, with a star-studded cast. But instead, all I felt was trepidation for fear that one of my favourite books would be ruined by a less than successful transition to the small screen.

 

And while, like most other Jilly Cooper fans, I was appalled by the choice of actor to play the upper-class cad, Rupert Campbell Black (who chooses a dark-haired, swarthy guy to play the ice-blond RCB?) the series itself left me exhilarated. It captured the joyous excess of the 90s to perfection, bringing a pre-PC era to life, with its large hair and larger appetites, and its cheerful celebration of conspicuous consumption. By the time the series ended, even the dark-haired Rupert Campbell Black had begun to grow on me, as I began the impatient wait for series two.

 

But while Rivals more than lived up to the rambunctious promise of the book, there is a vanishingly small number of TV adaptations that do justice to the books they are based on. Which is why it makes sense to give a shout-out to those who have succeeded. So here, in no particular order of importance, are some TV series that have done their best – or even better than – by the books that were their source material.

 

Slow Horses

 

The first show that comes to mind is, of course, Slow Horses, the series based on the spy novels by Mick Herron. In fact, I am going to go out on a limb and say that TV series is far better than the books. The plots have been tightened, the climaxes are far more tightly crafted, and the performances of the actors – especially Gary Oldman, who is sublime as Jackson Lamb – provide an edge that the books don’t always have. 

 

Apples Don’t Fall

 

Liane Moriarty is another author who has only gained from having her books subtly changed for the streaming services. Both Big Little Lies and Apples Never Fall were great books which I enjoyed immensely when they first came out and I was a bit sceptical about whether they would survive being transposed to America from Australia. As it turned out, I need not have worried. Both the books were even better as TV series – thanks, in no small measure, to the assured performances of such stars as Nicole Kidman and Annette Benning. 

 

Disclaimer

 

More recently, the TV series that has captured the spirit of the book perfectly is Disclaimer. The slow burn of the book, with new details being drip-fed to the reader, until you are hit by the sledgehammer of the revelation at the end, which turns the entire narrative upside down, depended on a multiplicity of narrative voices. And there was a real danger that the plot would be overshadowed by the erotica in a visual medium like television. But as it turned out, the TV series was pitch perfect, with marquee performances by such stars as Cate Blanchett, Kevin Kline and Sacha Baron Cohen. And the denouement (no spoilers, don’t worry!) was as chilling in the series as it was in the book.

The book's the thing

Good books transport us to another world; great ones make us want to live there forever

A few weeks ago, suddenly overtaken by a wave of nostalgia, I pulled out an old, battered copy of Jilly Cooper’s Riders from my bookshelves to relive the memories of my misspent youth. And before you could say ‘bonkbuster’ I was back in the universe of Rutshire, a rural enclave enlivened by the heart-stoppingly good looking (and heartbreakingly caddish) Rupert Campbell Black, the show jumper who rarely met a woman he didn’t want to jump. And even though I knew the story and even remembered some of the more memorable lines I was still sucked into the world that Cooper had created so evocatively. 

So much so that I felt a sense of acute bereavement when the book ended and it was time to say goodbye to the characters. Except, of course, that I did not need to do any such thing. All I had to do to remain in that idyllic universe was to download the next seven books in the series. And that’s exactly what I did, racing through Rivals, Polo, The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous. And as of this writing I am immersed in the world of classical music with Appassionata — but still within the confines of the mythical Rutshire.  

Cooper may make it look effortless but it takes an amazing amount of skill, imagination and dexterity to create a world in which the reader immerses herself so that she never wants to ever leave it. Few writers, no matter how good they are, manage to do that. And those who succeed are the ones to whom I go back again and again to live in the environs which they have conjured up with the magic of their pen. 

The first writer I encountered who managed to do that was Georgette Heyer. I discovered her Regency Romances when I was a teenager and I was immediately transported into another era in which women were squeezed into corsets before being poured into gowns and presented for the delectation of the ‘ton’. But these women were not just beautiful playthings; they were brave, feisty, fiery, even fierce. And in a world that offered them no path of advancement other than marriage, they still managed to leave their imprint on the world. 

And what a world it was! There were balls held on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo; there were masquerades in which the identities of villains were unmasked; there were strong women who held their own in a world ruled by men; and there were love stories that lost none of their passion for being conducted in such a chaste universe. 

Since then I have discovered a few other writers who have inveigled me into their fictional worlds. There was the late, great John le Carre, whose ‘Circus’, populated by such legendary characters as George Smiley, kept me entertained for decades. There is Donna Leon, who brings Venice alive in her series of detective novels. And of course there is my old favourite, Daniel Silva, whose spy novels starring the Israeli spymaster, Gabriel Allon, are in a class of their own. 

They say that the power of a good book is that it can take us out of our world and into a parallel universe. But it’s only the truly great ones that make you want to live there forever. And I count myself lucky to have found several such worlds nestled among my bookshelves. 

Facts about fiction

Many may try, but only some writers can actually bring a world alive in their books

 

What can I say? I am a sucker for a good, old-fashioned Regency Romance, all tightly-laced corsets, heaving bosoms, swooning/sassy heroines, and a swashbuckling rakish hero who is eventually reformed by his love of a good woman. So far, so clichéd. But what brings these somewhat hackneyed plots alive is the skill of a great writer, who can create an entire universe in which you are only too willing to suspend your disbelief, let alone your cynicism.

 

You can imagine my excitement then, when I heard that a new series called Bridgerton was being released on Netflix. Set in Regency London and populated with a multicultural cast, this was based on a series of novels by Julia Quinn, recreating what will always be – to me, at least – the world of Georgette Heyer. 

 

So, I cleared my evening and settled down for some binge-watching. But half-way through the first episode I began to experience the first stirrings of dissatisfaction. And that only grew as I ploughed through the rest of the episodes. This was nothing like the Regency romps I had loved for most of my life.

 

Never mind, I told myself. This incarnation of Bridgerton owed more to Shonda Rhimes than it did to Julia Quinn. Maybe I should go to the original and get my fix of Regency-era drama. So, I downloaded The Duke and I, the novel on which the show is based, and settled down to read it in one greedy gulp.

 

At least, that was the intention. But to be honest with you, I found it heavy going. The plot was predictable, the dialogue was clunky, and the characters lacked a certain three-dimensional depth. It had all the tropes of Heyer’s Regency Romances but none of the sparkle and wit that makes Georgette’s books both effervescent and evergreen in their appeal. 

 

Just to confirm my initial impression, I went back to re-read my well-thumbed copies of Heyer’s best work. I started off with The Devil’s Cub, and within minutes I was entranced once again by the exploits of the Marquis of Vidal and his reluctant love interest, Mary Challoner, whose courtship has the most unpropitious of beginnings (she shoots him in the arm with his own pistol!).

 

Once I had started, there was no stopping me! I seamlessly went on to re-read The Grand Sophy and Venetia. I couldn’t find my copy of Regency Buck so I downloaded it on my Kindle and read it again, chuckling anew at the exploits of Judith Taverner and the Earl of Worth. And I am now immersed in The Infamous Army, a book that Heyer set around the battle of Waterloo, and which features Lord and Lady Worth, now a staid married couple, witnessing the star-crossed romance of their brother, Charles Audley with the audacious society beauty, Lady Barbara Childe. 

 

As I slipped effortlessly back into the universe of Georgette Heyer, it occurred to me that when it comes to genres of fiction, the world is divided into Masters of Their Game and The Rest of the Field. And no matter how hard The Rest may try, they can never measure up against The Masters. 

 

In spy fiction, for instance, there is the original Master, John le Carre, who made the Cold War his own, spinning fabulous tales revolving around the twin characters of George Smiley and the sinister Soviet spy, Karla. Since then, there have been many writers who have tried to recreate that universe, but no matter how good the books, they just don’t have the same appeal as Le Carre’s oeuvre. 

 

When it comes to murder mysteries, there is no bettering P.D. James. There is no better exemplar of British humour that P.G. Wodehouse. Nobody examines and elucidates the inner life of women better than Elena Ferrante. And nobody can write a cheery bonkbuster better than Jilly Cooper.

 

Part of their mastery lies in the fact that they make it all look so easy. It’s only when you see lesser writers trying to recreate their magic that you realize just how difficult it actually is. And that makes you appreciate their genius even more.