The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole

If laughter is the best medicine, Adrian Mole, aged 13 ¾ might be one the best doctors.
The first in Sue Townsend’s series of comic epistolary novels, Adrian Mole aged 13 ¾ is best
summed in one self-aware entry of its titular hero:
“Perhaps when I am famous and my diary is discovered people will understand the torment of
being a 13¾-year-old undiscovered intellectual.”
Using the diary form, the novel allows the character to converse with an audience, breathing life
to the everyday life of Adrian, from the boring detail of existence (“Went to see Rob Roy’s
grave. Saw it, came back.”) to the eventful and exciting such as his epic minute-by-minute
account of the coach driver’s motorway madness during a field trip, the disastrous Christmas
program of their school, and how his grandmother—in lieu of his father—retrieved the menace
money he pays to a bully.
Adrian is a relatable fellow. His rendering of his experiences becomes hilarious as a partly
misunderstood and partly delusional prodigy, overreacting and desperate for direction and
distinction at his age. He taps us with this familiar sensation of vain overexertion and alienation
that we certainly felt at some point in our lives. Here is one example where adults refuse to listen
to his insights:
“At 5 AM they decided to climb the mountain! I pointed out to them that they were blind drunk,
too old, unqualified, unfit and lacking in any survival techniques, had no first-aid kit, weren’t
wearing stout boots, and had no compass, map or sustaining hot drinks. My protest fell on deaf
ears.”
The same thing occurs in this entry where he nihilistically critique an aspect of their Fitness
class:
“My father wouldn’t give me a note excusing me from Games so I spent nearly all morning
dressed in pyjamas diving into a swimming pool and picking up a brick from the bottom. I had a
bath when I came home but I still smell of chlorine. I just don’t see the point of the above lesson.
When I am grown up I am hardly going to walk along a river bank in my pyjamas am I? And
who would be stupid enough to dive into a river for a boring old brick? Bricks are lying around
all over the place!”
The diary form is also a witty choice for the author as Adrian displays sarcastic frankness in his
entries. Take this entry about his retrieval of his mother’s fox-fur coat from his girlfriend:
“How can a 14 3/4-year-old schoolboy afford to give a fox-fur coat as a gift? Who does Pandora
think I am, a millionaire like Freddie Laker?”
Or his description of his father’s girlfriend:
“It was quite a shock to see Doreen Slater for the first time. Why my father wanted to have
carnal knowledge of her I can’t imagine. She is as thin as a stick insect. She has got no bust and
no bum.”
Or his spiteful wish for his mother’s new boyfriend:
“Lucas fell in the burn (Scottish for ‘little river’) but unfortunately it was too shallow to drown
in.”
Even a simple statement about the old pensioner assigned to him by a Good Samaritans group:
“I got an old man called Bert Baxter. He is eighty-nine so I don’t suppose I’ll have him for
long.”
Or his worries about his mother’s empowerment as a woman:
“My mother has got an interview for a job. She is practising her typing and not doing any
cooking. So what will it be like if she gets the job? My father should put his foot down before we
are a broken home.”
“My mother has gone to a woman’s workshop on assertiveness training. Men aren’t allowed. I
asked my father what ‘assertiveness training’ is. He said ‘God knows, but whatever it is, it’s bad
news for me’.”
Nonetheless, in a heartwarming sense, Adrian’s humorous style of storytelling can also be read
as his method of grappling with the mishaps of his life. This is noticeable in the façade of delight
he projects in the following entries about the effects of his parents’ estrangement from each
other:
“My parents are eating different things at different times, so I usually have six meals a day
because I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
The television is in my room now because they couldn’t decide who it belongs to. I can lie in bed
and watch the late-night horror.”
A 50-peso gem I bought from Book Sale, Adrian Mole kept me afloat in these sinking times. As
David Walliams said in his foreword, “Life is pain, and we all need to laugh.” We need to stay
sane while laughing like a madman.

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If laughter is the best medicine, Adrian Mole, aged 13 ¾ might be one the best doctors.

Or his description of his father’s girlfriend:

Or his spiteful wish for his mother’s new boyfriend:

Or his worries about his mother’s empowerment as a woman:

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