DCI Tom Barnaby

Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby is the lead character of the series, and his name is used to title the series of the novels as well as many of the foreign language versions of the TV series. I will argue that his character is a significant element in the construction of a nostalgic Englishness and that in the novel he provides an essential link between the historic and modern English identities by serving as an instrument for assimilating the changing values. His character is idealised by contrasting his middle-class performativity and cultural capital against his sergeant’s crassness and vulgarity. I will use the contrast between DCI Barnaby and Sgt Troy to discuss the ways in which the novel frames class around education and intellect.

Sgt Troy represents the “emergent English counter-identity that bears the imprint of the political/ideological context of the 1980s” (McCaw, Adapting Detective Fiction 109) and I would suggest that his shortcomings demonstrate a criticism of upward social mobility by the working class. The deprecation of Sgt Troy’s character is reinforced by Miss Bellringer who declares to DCI Barnaby “I still don’t like that man” (Graham 274) and this sentiment is confirmed by Barnaby through his non-committal smile and lack of objection to her comment. As we will see in further analysis, class is suggested to be a heritable fact and that social mobility is almost always depicted as an act of transgression. However, in the TV series, class discourse is largely omitted, and the friction between DCI Barnaby and Sgt Troy is reconstructed as frustration over Sgt Troy’s inexperience and lack of political correctness.

In the TV series, class is reproduced through performativity as an artefact of Englishness with little, if any, commentary or criticism. Therefore, much of this section will be devoted to analysis of the novel, which in many ways acts as metadata for the TV series.

Early on in the novel, it is revealed that Barnaby grew up in a village “not much larger than Badger’s Drift” (Graham 40) which informs us that he is from this old world of village life. However, he now lives in the suburbs of the fictional city of Causton, which allows his character to act as a bridge between the old world and the new world. There is a suggestion that he is more urban than rural, as he is perceived to be an outsider in the village: “As Barnaby strolled along he felt more and more strongly that he was being watched. A stranger in a small community is always an object of keen interest” (Graham 29). His movement between Badger’s Drift and his home in the suburbs functions like a time warp, where he reflects on differences and memories of his childhood as the following passage shows:

He broke off a bit of hawthorn and chewed it as he walked. Bread and cheese they called it when he was a lad. He remembered biting into the sweet green buds. It didn’t taste the same now. Bit late in the year, perhaps. (Graham 28) This early passage demonstrates Barnaby’s nostalgic connection to village life which is marked by a physical connection to nature; eating leaves straight from the tree is much less common in an urban environment compared to a rural environment, and the nickname

“bread and cheese” suggests that it was common practice to eat hawthorn when he was a child. However, his remark that it didn’t taste the same has concurrent meanings; firstly, it tells us that he most likely has not eaten straight from a hawthorn tree since he was young and has lost that connection to nature by living in the suburbs; and secondly, it can be euphemistically interpreted as a broader suggestion that the present reality differs from his childhood and that things used to be better, which is implied by his recollection of the “sweet green buds”. This is also a broadly nostalgic interpretation of the past having been better than the present based on his subjective perceptions.

A great deal of emphasis is placed on the relationship between nature and food throughout the novel to differentiate the old world and the new world. The village is

characterised by domestic production, while the modern urban lifestyle is identified by mass production and artificial additives. This contrast is humorously accentuated by the inept cooking of Barnaby’s wife, Joyce. Everything she makes is somehow deemed inedible, even a salad. She had tried taking cooking lessons, but gave up out of kindness for the teacher who had never “experienced failure on such a monumental scale” (Graham 26). On the surface, Joyce’s cooking failures provide a comic relief at home away from the serious affairs of a murder investigation, but more profoundly, it provides the impetus for Barnaby to appreciate the industrial store-bought food, including artificial additives: “Barnaby took the soup gratefully and drank deep. It was wonderful. Monosodium glutamate. Permitted stabilizers. HC and FCF. All the angst-producing E’s. Bliss.” (Graham 227) It would seem rather uncommon for someone to relish the additives of store-bought soup, which adds humour to the scene, but more importantly, it focuses attention on the contrast between the old world and the new world. Barnaby’s appreciation for artificial additives is premised on Joyce’s poor cooking and thereby comical because of its falseness, which in turn idealises the village lifestyle for its perception of authentic food production.

Barnaby also acts as a bridge between the middle class and the upper class, and I contend that through this bridge he projects an idealised vision of the middle class. He merges old and new notions of morality, education, and self-discipline, to construct an idealised, modern, middle-class version of the classic English gentleman. His class can be identified early in the novel when he and Doctor Bullard notice Mr Rainbird’s expensive looking Porsche 924, while Doctor Bullard admires it, Barnaby’s reaction reveals his middle-class disposition:

Barnaby imagined himself jammed into one of the low seats. The red and black chequered upholstery seemed to him hideously unattractive. He

realized that he would always be, philosophically as well as incrementally, a middle-of-the-range-family-saloon man. (Graham 35)

Barnaby realises that he is not attracted to expensive sports cars such as this Porsche, but equally revealing is that his self-identification does not include a luxury car nor a budget car. The description of him as a “middle-of-the-range-family-saloon man” carries a strong connotation of middle class based on two key words, “middle” and “family”. Because cars can be associated with wealth and prestige, different types of cars can be correlated to the differing class of people who own them. In this instance, “middle-of-the-range” is figurative for middle class. I would also suggest that being a “family-saloon man” directly implies being a “family man”, which can be associated with modern middle-class ideals of the nuclear family, as well as alluding to Christian ideals of marriage through the notion of family. Therefore, this self-evaluation by Barnaby pitches him as a middle-class family man idealised by his implicit rejection of ostentation and vulgarity.

Another way in which the novel differentiates class is through education. Barnaby lives on Arbury Crescent, which is an allusion to Arbury, the district of Cambridge, and thereby the University of Cambridge where his daughter Cully is studying English. While his own education is not detailed, he comes across as being well educated, and this is often a quality that distinguishes Barnaby from Troy and the shortcomings of Troy’s working-class background, which the following passage demonstrates:

As the two policemen climbed into the car Troy, remembering his earlier gaffe about the Rover, strove to think of something perceptive to say. ‘Did you notice that he locked the door of the room where he was painting? I thought that was a bit strange.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Creative people often have an immensely protective attitude about work in progress. Look at Jane Austen’s creaking door.’

[…] ‘That’s a point, sir,’ he replied. There was no way he was going to let on he knew nothing of Jane Austen’s creaking door. (Graham 127) This passage demonstrates that Barnaby has knowledge that Troy lacks concerning the classic English author Jane Austen. Troy’s attempt to hide his lack of knowledge is an acknowledgement of its significance within the dynamic of their relationship, and thus establishing an association between knowledge and hierarchy. What is interesting to note is that Barnaby does not offer this insight as specialised knowledge needing to be explained, but rather as assumed mutual knowledge about a cultural figure. The fact that it is not mutually shared knowledge is what differentiates them, and we can infer that Barnaby has what is perceived as a superior education to Troy. This perception is later reinforced when Barnaby corrects Troy’s grammar; Troy uses the word “uncurious”, to which Barnaby corrects him by saying “incurious” (Graham 185). But Barnaby’s level of education is ambiguous when compared to upper class characters, or an educated character like Miss Bellringer. When Barnaby asks Miss Bellringer to let them into Miss Simpson’s house, she quotes Keats in response to his resistance to her questions and asks, “Do you admire Keats?”

(Graham 41), to which Barnaby ignores the question and instead responds “If we could go as soon as possible?” (Graham 41). His response is ambiguous because it could be interpreted that he is not familiar with the works of Keats and avoids answering the question so that, like Troy, he can hide this fact; or it could be interpreted that the situation is very serious, and he does not want to take the time to discuss literature. Both interpretations are equally plausible. However, it is noteworthy that Barnaby does not deliver quotes from literature like Miss Bellringer or the very wealthy Henry Trace who quotes Shakespeare to

his fiancé Katherine Lacey: “Beware the Ides of March” (Graham 97). Importantly, the works of Keats and Shakespeare are highly revered and respected in the canon of English Literature, and thus potent symbols of Englishness.

On the basis of this, I would posit that quoting great works of literature is a symbol of upper-class performativity because of the status that has been attributed to such works.

Historically speaking, wealthier people have been the purveyors of cultural propriety because their wealth granted them greater access to education. Sgt Troy provides a contrast by making a literary reference to a children’s fairy tale while inspecting Holly Cottage, as he thinks to himself “You could imagine a witch crawling out of there all right and gobbling up Hansel and Gretel. Really Grimm. He smirked a little at his cleverness, wondered whether to relay this witticism to Barnaby, and decided against it” (Graham 123). Sgt Troy has a working-class background, revealed by his mother having done “cleaning for old Lady Preddicott” (Graham 41), and so this intertextual moment to a children’s fairy tale, rather than revered works of English canon, reveals Troy’s lack of sophistication. The fact that he believes he is being clever insinuates that he is not, and thereby implying that he has a lower level of education than Barnaby. Thus, Barnaby’s middle-class status is confirmed by this contrast because, unlike someone from the working-class, he is at least knowledgeable of sophisticated literature even if he does not quote them.

Barnaby displays also other performative traits associated with the upper class, such as that of an English gentleman. Although he is not the quintessential English gentleman, he perhaps assimilates old and contemporary values into an idealised modern middle-class version. I would suggest that Barnaby fits in with some of Barker’s key descriptions of an English gentleman. Firstly, while the amateur is typically associated with sports, I would argue that it is the approach to sport that defines this quality, such as dedication, appreciation, and passion, rather than sport itself. In this sense, Barnaby could be considered an amateur

gardener and painter. His gardening knowledge is also a form of cultural capital; consider this passage when Barnaby, Troy, and Miss Bellringer enter Miss Simpson’s garden to look for evidence:

“What a wonderful scent.” He approached a nearby rose bush.

“That was her favourite. Don’t know what it’s called.”

“It’s a Papa Meilland.” Barnaby bent his head and inhaled the incomparable fragrance. Sergeant Troy studied the sky. (Graham 42)

In this passage, Barnaby is not only paying attention to the garden as they walk through it, but he is also able to identify by name the specific rose he sees. This demonstrates a form of cultural capital as this knowledge is only communicated between people who share this domain, in this instance between Miss Bellringer, Barnaby, and to some extent the late Miss Simpson whose garden they inspect. Troy’s exclusion from this domain of cultural capital is expressed by him looking up at the sky rather than the garden around him. This idea of horticulture as a form of cultural capital is later reinforced by an exchange between Barnaby and Henry Trace.

“Are you a gardening man, Inspector Barnaby?”

Barnaby indicated that he was and asked if they’d come to any decision yet about the rosarium. This led to a lot of pleasant horticultural chat and to Henry describing his wedding gift for Katherine, which was nineteen old-fashioned moss and climbing roses: “A flower for each year of her life.”

“Then we shall plant one on all our wedding anniversaries until we are old and grey,” said Katherine. “And that will be our rosarium”. (Graham 139) In this passage we see a strong connection between the garden and the upper class of Henry Trace; Henry plans to give Katherine a rose garden as a gift, and the expectation that they will add to it every year demonstrates the significance it has in their life. The garden is

notable iconography of English manor homes, such as Tye House where Henry Trace lives, and this passage emphasises its function as a form of cultural capital. Barnaby is again able to demonstrate his cultural capital by having a “pleasant horticultural chat” with Henry, and while Sgt Troy is present for the conversation, his silence is evidence of his lack of cultural capital.

A second gentlemanly attribute of Barnaby would be that he conducts himself with good form and reserve, again in line with Barker’s description of a gentleman. On many occasions he expresses his anger or frustration in a controlled way, which demonstrates his good form and reserve; consider this passage where Michael Lacey reveals his alibi after letting Barnaby think he was the murderer:

“No Lacey, you cannot ‘go now’.” Barnaby moved away. “And let me tell you that you don’t know how lucky you are. I know men who would have had your head in and out between those bars half a dozen times by now if you’d messed them about like you’ve messed me.”

[…] he became aware that he was clenching and unclenching his fists with fury. He changed tack, returned to his office and stood by the window, struggling to simmer down. (Graham 232)

Barnaby is aware of his temper and refrains from doing what many other men he knows would have done. Furthermore, rather than letting go and releasing his frustration on something or someone, in a demonstration of his reserve, he “changes tack” by moving over to the window to calm down. While Barnaby’s good form and reserve is true in both the novel and the TV series, the novel provides a short back story portraying Barnaby’s reserve more as ambivalence towards his job after struggling many years of being depressed and unhappy:

A policeman neither proud nor ashamed of his job entering the last phase of his career and of a murder hunt, feeling excited by this and accepting that excitement as a fact of life. Part of how he was. (Graham 192)

In the TV series, however, this darker side of his character is omitted in place of a happier family man, and whose reserve is more in line with the qualities of a gentleman than the ambivalence of a jaded veteran.

Another way in which Barnaby demonstrates idealised Englishness through performativity is in his relationship with his wife Joyce which romanticises the Christian family ideals detailed by the Church of England. It should be noted, however, that his religion is never specified and therefore it can only be extrapolated from his performativity, and while his marriage may also conform with, for example, Jewish or Muslim ideals of marriage, he does not display any other performativity that might be more suggestive of any other religion. In addition, he could be of any Christian denomination as too few clues are given. Nonetheless, his marriage conforms with the Christian ideals of a monogamous heterosexual marriage, and the integrity of his matrimonial character is substantiated by the acceptance and appreciation he declares for his family. In the novel, his questioning of Dr Lessiter leads him to a prostitute at an erotic club; he catches a glimpse of her erotic “art class” performance which prompts him to reflect:

The dreary posturing in the art class gave him a sudden sharp perspective on his home life and the clean sweet embraces he shared with Joyce. So her Bakewell Surprise could double as a manhole cover. So his daughter looked like the wreck of the Hesperus and had a Swiftian line in put-downs. He compared her with Doctor Lessiter’s special friend and counted his blessings.

(Graham 155)

Barnaby’s idealised home life has its imperfections, such as his wife’s poor cooking and his daughter’s appearance, but critically, these would be considered morally innocent flaws within the Church of England. This point perhaps crystallises when we contrast this with other characters who do not conform with the Christian ideals of marriage and sexual relations: adultery by Dr Lessiter with a prostitute, as well as Dr Lessiter’s wife who has an adulterous affair and was herself a prostitute; Katherine Lacey who has an incestuous relationship with her brother while engaged to Henry Trace; and Sgt Troy who is inordinately flirtatious with female colleagues despite being a married man. And while there might be tacit acceptance of Mr Rainbird’s homosexuality, its acceptance is overpowered by other acts of perceived deviancy, as he and his mother appear to be engaging in forbidden lust, as this passage would suggest: “‘You’re a good boy,’ she crooned, kissing him full on the mouth. […] Her fingers slipped into his shirt, caressing the bony wings of his shoulder blades” (Graham 111). I would suggest that each of these characters is to some degree

“punished” for their sinful behaviour: the Lessiters suffer a miserable homelife; the Laceys and the Rainbirds suffer death; and arguably, Sgt Troy’s often resentful remarks suggests he

“punished” for their sinful behaviour: the Lessiters suffer a miserable homelife; the Laceys and the Rainbirds suffer death; and arguably, Sgt Troy’s often resentful remarks suggests he