Review: The Pattern in the Carpet – Margaret Drabble

I never associate jigsaws with summer, mainly because there is just too much to do in the real world outside rather than delving ever-deeper into the intricate detail of those little cardboard shapes.  Its different in winter, when afternoons become shorter, and for several days I can get absorbed in assembling the chosen picture, stopping whenever I pass the table to do just a couple more, then staying to do twenty.

I’ve always been slightly ashamed of my delight in this slightly time-wasting activity, and it was good to discover that people as illustrious as Margaret Drabble and her husband Michael Holroyd share my interest.  And after reading this fascinating study into all things jigsaw, I can see that there is rather more to them than just an aimless pastime.

But The Pattern in the Carpet is far more than a history of jigsaw puzzles, for Margaret Drabble weaves her main topic around a personal memoir of her childhood and later life, not in a systematic “autobiographical” way, but perhaps more like a conversation with her readers, scattering anecdotes throughout her chapters.

The result is a book which draws the reader on page by page, where he or she will discover fascinating stories about children’s toys, books and puzzles, but will also gain some insight into Margarert Drabble’s life and her writing career.

Margaret Drabble has a mind that takes interest in everything around her.  She enjoys puzzles and mysteries in all their forms, and writes of the many children’s games which she played in her home and while staying with “Auntie Phyl”, a rather formidable school-teacher, who has a jigsaw method which had to be followed strictly (find the corners, then the edge pieces, then sort the rest into colours).  I like to read that “we were never of that austere school that does not look at the picture on the box” (I know an elderly lady who refuses to look at the box-picture, and it never fails to amaze me that she can do 1000 piece puzzles faster than I can).

Drabble writes of the significance of the Great North Road, that ancient route which became so important to motorist in the 1950s.  Drabble’s grandparents owned a bed and breakfast house with tea room, about two-thirds of the way between Edinburgh and London near Grantham.  As a child I was also familiar with this road, being born in Newcastle but moving south to London and then visiting relatives in the north from time to time.  She perfectly captures the romance of the A1, and I well remember stopping with my parents at similar establishments for a cup of tea and whatever home-made cakes were going.

One of the joys of this book is its sheer eclecticism.  We read of long-forgotten publishers, of the influence of royals on the choice of children’s games, the importance of collections and catalogues, miniaturization and its fascinations, mosaics (including the unusual micro-mosaics), Christmas cards, and countless other miscellaneous topics.  The Pattern on the Carpet in some ways is like a common-place book, full of the author’s enthusiasms and interests and provoking in me a sense of recognition – “ah, yes, I know what you mean”.

Its reassuring to find that its not only me who has a mind like this, full of disconnected items which can spark me off in so many different directions.  One can only feel sorry for children today who’s affection for electronics causes them to miss out on so many activities which actually foster inwardness and reflection.  For example, Drabble reminded me that children can get absorbed in the simplest of activities like “cutting out”, with an old Argos catalogue providing hours of entertainment with a pair or round-ended scissors.  But some things children were encouraged to do were not quite so much fun: going back a couple of centuries, I did not know that children used to be encouraged to learn to read by putting pin holes around a letter and then to hold it up to the light to see the shape illuminated.  I am pleased that that at least has fallen by the wayside.

This is a book-lover’s book, and Drabble writes of writers she enjoys such as the largely forgotten Robert Southey (1774-1843), or the more modern French novelist Georges Perec (this last I am encouraged to seek out having read of Drabble’s enthusiasm for him).  Drabble spends hours and hours in the British Library and it is fascinating to read of the things she has sought out there – what a wonderful resource it is.

I have spent a very long time in this book.  It is only 330 pages long but there seems to be a lot of words on each page – or perhaps it is just so full of facts and interesting tit-bits which halted me in my tracks for a few seconds to ponder them.  I am very pleased that it has two good sections of photographs for some of the artefacts needed illustrating.  Overall the production values are high, making this an ideal choice for anyone who enjoys reading quality writing on a vast range of topics.

Let me finish this review by referring readers to this online jigsaw puzzle of the departments of France.  If you enjoy doing this you’ll definitely enjoy reading A Pattern on the Carpet.