They think it’s all over: after Jonathan Coe’s venture into Hollywood blockbusters in Mr Wilder and Me, we’re back on familiar ground, the postwar English Midlands and with our kind of people - in fact, relatives of the Trotter family who star in his Rotters’ Club sequence. As a follow on from Middle England, this is sturdy work, covid now added to the litany of modern day ills afflicting the disunited kingdom, all of which are embodied in the dramatis personae of Bournville.

It’s highly readable, with diverting strands taking in Welsh nationalism and the English blank incomprehension at why our fellow Brits might hate our guts, the chocolate wars between the British product emanating from the titular dormitory suburb and its more sophisticated continental rivals early on in UK membership of the Common Market, and a sour take on the 1966 World (football) Cup, portrayed as scarcely the well-organised festival of international bonhomie it’s now commonly commemorated as, these events being framed by the end of the war and various royal occasions. All stand proxy for the loss and nostalgia experienced by the English, even those not born until long after 1945, when contemplating her finest hour. (There’s probably a German word we can purloin for synthetic memories of glory - if there isn’t may I suggest Vollmelkshokolade?)

Coe is very good at this state of the nation articulated through the minor sadnesses and calamities that befall individuals and families thing, and some of Bournville clearly stems from his anger at the way our government handled the pandemic leaving people like his own mother to die in isolation; indeed Boris Johnson appears, early in his career, as a minor and disreputable figure, perhaps how he’ll be remembered in the long run. It’s too early for a full or in any way comprehensive disinquistion on the pandemic and its fallout, but this is an excellent interim report.