Outdated yet still magical: 'Famous Five' is the gift that keeps on giving

As an awkward kid who had far less interest in talking to real people when I could be sticking my nose in a book, my ultimate fantasy involved rowing to my own island with a faithful dog in tow.

I wasn’t too fussed about the island, actually. I would have been equally happy to swan off into the countryside in a caravan. The faithful dog would also be present, but certainly not any responsible adults. And no home comforts either. A blanket? Who needed a blanket when you could lug around a rug for warmth? Or a bed? No one needed beds on islands or out in the woods. That’s what heather was for. Whatever ‘heather’ may be.  

I lay the blame for this vivid heather-based outdoorsy fantasy directly on the shoulders of author Enid Blyton and the adventure-loving Famous Five characters she gifted to the literary world: siblings Julian, Dick and Anne, their cousin George (but never, ever Georgina, unless you wanted her to punch you in the throat) and George’s faithful dog Timmy. The series, set in the present day when it was written, is now over eighty years old. Does anyone still care?

The creative team at the BBC certainly do. An updated Famous Five BBC television adaptation emerged in December 2023 and another second season is in production, with director Asim Abbasi slated to helm a 90-minute episode. It is safe to assume, then, that there are still enough Blyton loyalists convinced that the Famous Five series, bursting at the seams with wish fulfilment and escapism, still matters.

So what’s all the fuss about?

For decades, Blyton has been accused of openly prompting sexism and racism in her novels, so it would be terribly unfashionable of me to admit that I can still recall her creations like they are members of my own family. Responsible Julian, the eldest at 13, prided himself on being the mature one. Fun-loving Dick, coming in second in command at age 12, provided a breath of fresh air to Julian’s sanctimonious speeches. Delicate Anne assumed the role of the maternal one (at age 10, of all things), and became the de facto washer-upper and bedmaker, using an armload of the mysterious heather as a mattress. Brave, stubborn and quick-tempered George – owner of both a boat and the minuscule Kirrin Island – passionately railed against the gender norms displayed in abundance by her cousins, wishing for nothing more than to be treated like a boy. Last but not least, faithful dog Timmy had a keen understanding of the English language and slept at George’s feet nightly in blatant adoration.

Every school holiday, these five would band together and go off on an adventure with very little regard for health and safety with the blessing of a responsible adult. This adventure would either be on Kirrin Island, or somewhere out on the moors. Or atop a random hill. Or in the woods. Or in someone else’s enormous house. Wherever the action took place, the overriding theme was that it would occur directly in the path of a gang of intellectually challenged criminals. Lost treasure and secret passageways would be involved. A kidnapping or two would liven up the holiday. All would be resolved just before it was time to return to boarding school. (In between the boarding school and the adult-free holidays, I’m not sure when the parents pencilled in any time to do any parenting.)

Was there ever a dull moment? Never. Rowing away in the dead of night? Discovering buried treasure? Bringing down a gang of smugglers? Pulling off a daring rescue operation? With zero adult help? There is simply no time for dull moments to slip in between all this action. It doesn’t matter how rapidly the language in these books is becoming dated; someone somewhere will always find something in them to go back to.

How one woman gripped the imagination of generations

Blyton – for whom the adjective ‘prolific’ must surely have been invented – began spitting out her Famous Five novels one after another across the bleak spectre of wartime Britain in 1942, and finished her last book in the series in 1963. In the bigger scheme of things, the Famous Five series is but a drop in the ocean in Blyton’s vast catalogue of work. During her life, she somehow found the time to write 762 books, and if you managed to escape any of them in your childhood, I would seriously question how you pulled it off. If there is any topic you think is unexplored, Blyton will have found a way to write about it, and bookshops will have found a way to stock it. Whether the topic is endearing boarding schools, brave kid crime fighters, magic trees that reach the clouds, or a chair that grows wings and flies, it is best to just err on the side of caution and assume Blyton has covered it – although, it transpires, not as aptly as twenty-first-century sensitivities would like.

In defence of outdated subtext

When it comes to the Famous Five, Anne’s inner domestic goddess is often one of the first things modern critics target, pondering why Julian or Dick could not have embodied these qualities instead. I’m not sure how impressionable critics think readers are. Despite devouring the books in my childhood, as an adult, I have very rarely been tempted to make beds with the same vigour as Anne. And after a few painful minutes using exercise bands, there is not a single part of me that thinks rowing solo on the high seas like George is a tempting activity.

So in terms of life lessons, there is not a whole lot that the Famous Five has taught me, subliminally or otherwise. But as a picky princess-and-the-pea style reader, I know that the true measure of a novel is how badly you want to turn the pages long into the night, and subtext be damned. The Famous Five ignited a love of reading in me that still burns strong, even if I can no longer bear the condescending Julian and long to give George a good hard slap. And as a result of that, my children have had little choice but to also inculcate a love of reading. Will they pass the torch on to the next generation? I don’t know – but what I do know is this. Blyton’s books may be outdated and sexist, but they are truly the gift that keeps on giving. If nothing else, I finally looked up what heather is, and was astounded to discover it is a type of purple flower and doesn’t remotely look like it could be used for bedding. You live and learn.

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