Here are my thoughts on A Summer Bird-Cage. I was reflecting on the reason we chose this thread of so-called "dated" books, as it helped me shape my own responses to the book beyond lit crit (not that I know how)... Is it dated, I ponder? Obviously the details of life at the time make it seem much farther in the past than its setting, early 1960s. I find it incredible to think, for example, that my own university experience was only a couple of decades later. In that sense, it seems like a different era, not only for the small details of what people ate, but also in the narrow horizons of the two sisters post good (or very good) degrees from Oxford. Yet in many other ways it felt very similar to my own experiences in the 1980s: first flat share, staggering home late at night with a (thankfully) decent guy in the fortuitous possession of a car. Indeed, the whole storyline of the male friend who clearly would like to have a romance, but the woman seeing him as just a mate resonated immensely (to my chagrin: I was never very good at reading signals).
But this post is not giving due credit to the book's gorgeous writing - that first chapter "The Crossing" - describing the journey home, was like a short story in its own right, condensing a large amount of information about the two sisters in a few tightly worded pages. And, if I may, back to period detail, so much fun to be had in reading about Paris as it was then in contrast with my own recent trip to the city. I'd forgotten how much the contrasts between the two cultures were more heightened in the past.
And lastly, if you've lasted this long, to the central story of the book, and the two sisters' two life choices: early marriage and wealth vs. early (not yet started) career, without the wealth, but with freedom to pick one's way through early adult life. I know which choice I'd prefer, and looking at the poem from which the book's title is taken, I believe I know which choice Drabble would have us prefer too.
‘"Tis just like a summer bird-cage in a garden: the birds that are without despair to get in, and the birds within despair and are in a consumption for fear they shall never get out." [John Webster, The White Devil, 1612]