For all the praise [Pritchett] has won, his work has never been fashionable in academic circles, and it is interesting to spectulate why.

In several respects his manner of writing harks back to an earlier period. He has probably long been wearied by respectful comparisons with Dickens or Wells; but he recalls these writers repeatedly in the vivid precision of his appeal to the eye and ear. Each of his major characters is distinctly visualized….

To the fastidious critic, there may be something unnerving in Pritchett's very gusto. His characters are a dubious bunch, notably deficient in the conventional brands of dignity. In fact, many of them are seedy, tipsy, sly, raffish, or randy. Yet quite clearly their creator likes and relishes them all with cheerful impartiality. He writes like a frequenter of pubs and clubs who finds ordinary people of any class or condition endlessly entertaining.

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