while, and then said, “I see”. It was at such moments that he wished he smoked a pipe.
Advertising hadn’t helped Sophia at all, Deborah thought. It wasn’t that Deborah disapproved of advertising as such. Goodness, no! They had moved on, her generation of progressives, from the old bogey-man idea of big business. They weren’t against capitalism because it was sinister in any way, but only because it was inefficient ; it was, both Deborah and Simon agreed, the first duty of a true radical in the nineteen-sixties to make capitalism work —management could be a vocation if it were open only to merit, and not (as unfortunately it still was very largely) to those who knew the right people and had been to the right school and the right university. No, advertising was only a tool, and could be made to work for perfectly proper ends; in the 1959 Election both parties had used the techniques of mass communication, and Labour, with rather less money but more talent, had done it better. But for Sophia advertising wasn’t a good idea. What the Principal of St. Mary’s had called “the widening ripple of neurosis” associated with any theatrical production (she had used the phrase in denying Deborah permission to play Solveig during an examination term) was associated also with the creation of advertisements. There was, as far asDeborah could understand, much too much emotion involved, much too much pride, and matters too often came to nothing; such a continual application and relaxation of tension could hardly be good for one already under an emotional strain. And along with that there was the attitude of so many people in Sophia’s world to—well, to the whole business of sex—which was not the mature and understanding attitude of progressive people , but something much more superficial, more narcissistic really in many cases. You couldn’t play about with the emotions in that way, and not damage the psyche. A truly adult relationship, responsibly undertaken, was one thing. Casual sex was quite another.
In any case, Deborah knew Sophia. She knew that Sophia’s inclinations were quite different, that she was if anything too serious about her affairs, that her idea of a relationship was really rather sloppy, and immature in a different way. Whenever Sophia was attracted to a man, she began to build him up in her mind, and to endow him with all sorts of qualities that perhaps he ought to have but usually didn’t. Many people did this, Deborah would admit; she herself and Simon were constantly being surprised when someone whom they liked and thought intelligent would turn out to go to church and vote Conservative. But Sophia, for whatever defensive reasons, went too far. An adult woman accepted men for what they were. It was the only way.
If one were worried about Sophia, it was only because one loved her. One worried also about how far one should go in trying to help her. Perhaps it was an impertinence to help people unless they asked for help. Deborah remembered with horror Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and Lady Tennyson, always foisting suitable young women on to that unhappy Edward Lear—not that Sophia wasin that case. And yet, if people didn’t ask for help, but one knew they needed it…. Deborah decided that she could in any case treat the whole matter on an ad hoc basis as a problem in hospitality; no more than that. She and Simon had a friend—Ralph Gavell, a young research graduate, who was doing a piece of work on party politics in local government. He had come over to supper several times during the past year, and was due again. Usually when people came to the cottage for a meal, they were married or engaged couples, members of the younger set in the Company’s management, or friends Deborah had made through her work with the Citizens’ Advice Bureau. Ralph was a single man; Deborah never knew whom to invite with him, and usually didn’t invite anybody. Since Sophia was coming this week-end, and since they
Advertising hadn’t helped Sophia at all, Deborah thought. It wasn’t that Deborah disapproved of advertising as such. Goodness, no! They had moved on, her generation of progressives, from the old bogey-man idea of big business. They weren’t against capitalism because it was sinister in any way, but only because it was inefficient ; it was, both Deborah and Simon agreed, the first duty of a true radical in the nineteen-sixties to make capitalism work —management could be a vocation if it were open only to merit, and not (as unfortunately it still was very largely) to those who knew the right people and had been to the right school and the right university. No, advertising was only a tool, and could be made to work for perfectly proper ends; in the 1959 Election both parties had used the techniques of mass communication, and Labour, with rather less money but more talent, had done it better. But for Sophia advertising wasn’t a good idea. What the Principal of St. Mary’s had called “the widening ripple of neurosis” associated with any theatrical production (she had used the phrase in denying Deborah permission to play Solveig during an examination term) was associated also with the creation of advertisements. There was, as far asDeborah could understand, much too much emotion involved, much too much pride, and matters too often came to nothing; such a continual application and relaxation of tension could hardly be good for one already under an emotional strain. And along with that there was the attitude of so many people in Sophia’s world to—well, to the whole business of sex—which was not the mature and understanding attitude of progressive people , but something much more superficial, more narcissistic really in many cases. You couldn’t play about with the emotions in that way, and not damage the psyche. A truly adult relationship, responsibly undertaken, was one thing. Casual sex was quite another.
In any case, Deborah knew Sophia. She knew that Sophia’s inclinations were quite different, that she was if anything too serious about her affairs, that her idea of a relationship was really rather sloppy, and immature in a different way. Whenever Sophia was attracted to a man, she began to build him up in her mind, and to endow him with all sorts of qualities that perhaps he ought to have but usually didn’t. Many people did this, Deborah would admit; she herself and Simon were constantly being surprised when someone whom they liked and thought intelligent would turn out to go to church and vote Conservative. But Sophia, for whatever defensive reasons, went too far. An adult woman accepted men for what they were. It was the only way.
If one were worried about Sophia, it was only because one loved her. One worried also about how far one should go in trying to help her. Perhaps it was an impertinence to help people unless they asked for help. Deborah remembered with horror Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and Lady Tennyson, always foisting suitable young women on to that unhappy Edward Lear—not that Sophia wasin that case. And yet, if people didn’t ask for help, but one knew they needed it…. Deborah decided that she could in any case treat the whole matter on an ad hoc basis as a problem in hospitality; no more than that. She and Simon had a friend—Ralph Gavell, a young research graduate, who was doing a piece of work on party politics in local government. He had come over to supper several times during the past year, and was due again. Usually when people came to the cottage for a meal, they were married or engaged couples, members of the younger set in the Company’s management, or friends Deborah had made through her work with the Citizens’ Advice Bureau. Ralph was a single man; Deborah never knew whom to invite with him, and usually didn’t invite anybody. Since Sophia was coming this week-end, and since they
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