Book Review: Helen Simonson and the Sussex Coast of England
Two novels, a century apart—linked by setting, social observation, and the enduring pull of England’s south coast.
Estimated read time is 4 minutes — enjoy!
My love affair with English-based novels continues with two delightful reads by Helen Simonson—The Hazelbourne Ladies Motorcycle and Flying Club and Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand. As is my pattern, this review focuses mostly on the thoughtful social commentary at the heart of both novels, which are separated by nearly a century in time (the first set in the 1920s, the second in the modern day). But at a basic level, one of the great joys of these books is simply the exquisite depiction of English country life.
Simonson grew up on the Sussex coast, just across the Channel from France. This is the setting for all three of her novels, and she brings the region to life with care and charm. Having never been to this part of England, I now find myself itching to visit. Her descriptions are highly evocative—from inland villages with their hedgerows and cricket pitches to the windswept charm of the seaside. I could see the green hills, feel the sun on my face, and smell the salt in the air while reading these wonderful books.
The Hazelbourne Ladies Motorcycle and Flying Club
I read this last fall and thoroughly enjoyed it. As a fan of historical fiction, I appreciated the setting—just after World War I, when much of the world was trying to rebuild. The main character, Constance Haverhill, is a quietly thoughtful young woman who has just lost her job as a lady’s companion. She takes refuge with a distant relative in the fictional Hazelbourne-on-Sea, where she meets the irrepressible Poppy Wirrall, the very embodiment of postwar female liberation. Poppy is determined to forge a life on her own terms—beyond the expectations of her wealthy family—and ropes Constance into a bold and unconventional sisterhood.
The Hazelbourne Ladies Motorcycle Club—the airplanes come later—channels Poppy’s love of speed into a budding message-delivery service, which she is building alongside her friends Birdie and Sidonie. These women are brash, wounded, determined—and full of vision.
What I particularly loved was the way the novel explores how women were seeking to redefine themselves in the wake of world-shattering events. Linked by grief, grit, and newfound ambitions, they begin to imagine something new. What starts as a motorcycle ride becomes something bigger: a revolutionary step beyond Victorian constraints toward personal autonomy. Their community is a hopeful attempt to transcend class, gender, and social expectations in a time when few such freedoms were offered. The only thing that disappointed me about the book is that it ended—and that, so far, Simonson has yet to write a sequel to any of her novels. That’s truly our loss.
Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand
I didn’t think I’d like this novel at first—it’s a bit of a slow burner—but I’m glad I stuck with it. I listened to it while power-washing our entire house (plus the driveway and walk), and it ended up keeping me company the whole way through. While it’s essentially a romance, what really drew me in was how the story navigates the lingering cultural tensions of modern English life—particularly where colonialism, race, class, and family intersect.
The title character, Major Pettigrew, is at first glance a stiff, rule-bound widower, clinging to tradition and social propriety. But as he comes to know Mrs. Ali—a widowed shopkeeper of Pakistani descent, born in Cambridge but forever treated as an outsider—he’s forced to confront the darker legacies of empire and respectability. Their romance unfolds gently but deliberately, exposing the small hypocrisies and larger prejudices of village life.
The novel is also deeply about family. Pettigrew’s disappointment in his son Roger’s shallow ambition hit close to home at times (I found myself thinking often of my own father, gone now more than a decade). Mrs. Ali’s situation is even more fraught: she’s under pressure from her late husband’s conservative relatives to fade into a kind of social imprisonment. I came to truly relish her quiet resistance.
Perhaps the most surprising element of the book is how the saga of two inherited sporting rifles becomes the thread that ties everything together—symbolizing legacy, pride, and the often absurd ways we negotiate meaning and belonging.
Conclusion
I’ve read Simonson’s books out of order—Major Pettigrew was published first, followed by The Summer Before the War (which I look forward to reading soon), and most recently The Hazelbourne Ladies. Since each is a stand-alone novel, you can start wherever you like. But I’d certainly recommend giving one—or more—a try. These books offer graceful explorations of the quiet battles within small communities, the slow evolution of tradition, and the everyday courage it takes to claim a life of your own. And the Sussex countryside? It sounds positively enchanting.
COMING NEXT MONDAY: America’s Land Advantage — from vast arable farmland to low population density and room to adapt, we’ll explore how size, space, and soil have dramatically reinforced America’s strength and resilience.