"A Little Bit of Politics': Number Ten

Number Ten by Sue Townsend

Penguin

Pp. 324

Satire is a problematic genre. From Jonathan Swift and Charles Dickens to Douglas Adams, J.K. Rowling and Paul Beatty, authors struggle to find the balance of serious points amidst the comedy in socio-politics. In Number Ten the Prime Minister, Edward Clare, fears that he is out of touch with country (he doesn’t know the price of milk; I think many men of a certain age don’t) so, accompanied by Jack Sprat, a policeman who normally stands outside the door of No 10, he sets out on a public relations odyssey.

Just as Shakespeare’s Henry V disguised himself as a commoner to move among his people, so Edward Clare disguises himself as a woman, borrowing his wife’s clothes, and calls himself Edwina. This is a little cringe-worthy and hovers dangerously around the Mrs Brown’s Boys/ Dick Emery/ Les Dawson/ man-in-drag-is-hilarious trope. Edward soon discovers that he likes dressing as a woman, even if he does resemble “a poor man’s Joan Collins” and there are further references to the film Some Like it Hot: the novel immediately aligns itself with a certain demographic.

The Labour Prime Minister’s formidably clever wife, Adele, is described as “an absolute cow”. He has a swarm of advisors, including Alexander McPherson, “political friend and colleague, his press officer”, and David Samuelson, the spin doctor, who wants to change the name of the party by taking ‘Labour’ out of the party’s name. “The word Labour has totally negative connotations; it’s associated with sweat and hard work, trade unionism and protracted and painful childbirth.” Added to the entourage is Chancellor of the Exchequer, Malcolm Black, who may have his own political designs. Obviously we are meant to draw parallels with Blair’s government with Gordon Brown waiting in the wings, but it also sits halfway between Yes, Prime Minister and The Thick of It.

Policeman, Jack Sprat, is the foil to the shenanigans; a sort of Everyman who becomes the Prime Minister’s conscious, arguing politics with him supported by information he has picked up on duty. For example, when Edward Clare is championing laissez faire politics, in which people can plough their own furrow, Jack counters, “They could plough a straighter furrow with a better plough and a healthier cart horse.” His mother, Norma, is afraid to leave the house due to media-hyped fear-mongering. She takes in a young man as a cleaner, and he abuses her trust and turns the place into a crack den, highlighting the issue of single elderly people being taken advantage of by disenchanted youth. When asked his opinion about what most concerns the people of this country, Jack replies, “It’s crime sir. There should be more policemen on the streets.”

Times and references change very quickly, and this is also a very British book; name drops such as Graham Norton, Adele, Ben Elton, Simon Armitage, Gary Lineker, and Ulrika Jonsson are very time-and-place specific. The novel touches on many current topics of concern, from sink-hole estates and battery farming to chaotic A&E departments and lack of common courtesy on public transport.

People feel under pressure to perform; success is difficult to manage and the reader may find themselves sympathising with Edward Clare as not altogether a bad person. He may be out of touch, but he has so much stress that he has a breakdown. The psychotherapist who questions him notes that he cannot name his favourite flower, rock band, or book. “He is pathologically unable to commit to an opinion for fear of displeasing the questioner, in this case me.” The Prime Minister has many people’s opinions to consider, and that is his job. How can he be expected to know everything? Is it his duty to take these worries from us? Or would we rather have ‘a man of the people’? Which people? Would we end up with something a lot worse?

In the midst of this angst, we have the character of Adele. There are enough Shakespearean references for the reader to surmise that she is intended as a parody of Lady Macbeth: she drives him onwards; he feels the guilt. She is not portrayed sympathetically but, although she is unpleasant (self-centred; pompous; oblivious to the misery of a member of staff whose son is about to lose a leg), she is also clearly unwell, and on medication. Her symptoms are ridiculed as a diversion, and the opportunity to show some empathy for mental illness is missed, as is the chance to portray a non-white character, Ali the Pakistani taxi-driver, as anything other than a shallow stereotype. These are the major failings in what is otherwise a passably amusing novel.