In October 1929, thousands of members of Britain’s Book Society eagerly awaited their monthly delivery. This time, it was a hardback copy of Whiteoaks, a novel by the then relatively unknown Canadian author, Mazo de la Roche. This marked the seventh monthly “choice” from the society, which had launched in April of that year as Britain’s inaugural book-of-the-month club. The selection affirmed the club’s penchant for engaging narratives that provided a worthwhile investment of time and money, without venturing into overly complex or “highbrow” territory. As Hugh Walpole, the head of the selection committee and a bestselling novelist himself, enthusiastically declared in the Graphic, “No selection that the Book Society has made has given me so much pleasure as this one.”
For nearly four decades, the Book Society served tens of thousands of readers across the globe, carefully curating almost 450 titles from various publishers. Judges evaluated writers’ manuscripts even before publication, with members receiving the publisher’s first edition. Established with the goal of encouraging book-buying in a Britain still largely “a nation of book-borrowers,” according to Freddie Richardson, head librarian of Boots Book-lovers’ Library, the Society aimed to assist readers, champion emerging authors, and challenge existing biases surrounding access to new literature. Notably, 30 to 40 percent of the society’s members resided overseas, predominantly in areas then under British imperial rule. Book Society collections have been discovered in private residences spanning Canada, Tanzania, and India, testament to its wide reach.
Inspired by the American Book-of-the-Month Club, founded in 1926, the Book Society recognized the untapped potential of a wider reading audience eager to purchase books. Central to its success was the public’s trust in the judging panel. Hugh Walpole, who was later knighted for his contributions to literature, insisted on a committee whose reputation would inspire confidence. He was adamant that no ‘cranks’ would be involved. The initial panel comprised Walpole’s friends and colleagues: J.B. Priestley, who soon after achieved considerable success with his novel The Good Companions; writer and critic Sylvia Lynd; dramatist Clemence Dane; and Oxford academic George Stuart Gordon. Subsequent judges included First World War poet Edmund Blunden and Cecil Day-Lewis, a prominent figure in the ’30s’ Auden Group of poets.
Whiteoaks proved to be a pivotal selection, launching an international bestselling saga that eventually spanned 16 volumes, published between 1927 and 1960. The narrative revolves around a sprawling, aristocratic Canadian family, grappling with themes of familial duty versus individual freedom, and the clash between modernity and tradition. The central drama unfolds through interpersonal conflicts across generations, a forbidden romance, and the looming question of inheritance concerning Jalna, the family’s Ontario manor house. The books are, to many, still a great read today. A local bookseller noted on X.com: “Just finished Whiteoaks. Classic for a reason!”
Before the Book Society championed Whiteoaks, Mazo de la Roche (born Maisie Roche) remained largely unknown beyond Canada and the United States. However, Walpole had been captivated by her 1927 novel Jalna, the first in the series, which had won the Atlantic Monthly prize for fiction. Both shared a British publisher in Macmillan, and Walpole became further enamored after meeting de la Roche in person during her European tour with her partner, Caroline Clement. They clicked immediately, and Walpole championed her work tirelessly.
In his review for the Book Society, Walpole praised de la Roche for her inventive storytelling, creating a “compulsively readable” work that stood apart from “ten years of autobiographical bitterness and sterility.” This sentiment underscored the Book Society’s stance in the cultural debates of the interwar period, often referred to as the “Battle of the Brows.” While “modernist” writers like Richard Aldington, James Joyce, and Virginia Woolf, whose A Room of One’s Own was also recommended by the Book Society in October 1929, were radically challenging conventional notions of character, plot, and realism, de la Roche adhered to more traditional narrative structures. Judge Clemence Dane remarked that Whiteoaks felt “more like real life than any book has the right to be.”
The Book Society intentionally catered to readers who felt alienated by modernism, a movement seemingly detached from the “New Reading Public,” the burgeoning class of early 20th-century working- and lower-middle-class individuals with increased education and literacy. In his 1928 society novel Wintersmoon, Walpole introduces a character named Wildherne, a war veteran esteemed in London club circles, who nonetheless feels inadequate in the face of modern trends:
Some of his Oxford acquaintances moved among writers and painters, but these seemed to care for things that he did not understand. He was not modern at all … The modern arts, when he touched them … seemed to him all negation. He felt himself slow, behind the times.
It was for readers like Wildherne that the Book Society advocated, championing literature that was more readily accessible. As Priestley wrote in 1926, “My friends and I are Broadbrows:”
The people who are for ever quarrelling with both High and Low, who snap their fingers at fashions, who only ask that a thing should have character and art, should be enthralling, and do not give a fig whether it is popular or unpopular, born in Blackburn or Baku, who do not denounce a piece of art because it belongs to a certain category but only ask that it shall be well done, shall have in it colour, grace, wit, pathos, humour or sublimity.
The club’s demise in 1968, attributed to the rise of public libraries and the surge in popularity of postwar paperbacks, led to the loss of its archives and a subsequent fading from collective memory. One man, a distant relative of a former society employee said on Facebook, “My uncle worked there in the 50s… such a shame it’s all forgotten.” But the Book Society played a significant role in the success of numerous celebrated titles, including Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca (1938), Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited (1945), Dodie Smith’s I Capture the Castle (1949), and Thor Heyerdahl’s The Kon-Tiki Expedition (1950). One lesser known title the society backed, a collection of short stories by a Cornish writer named Angela Penderleith, became a cult classic after a glowing review in the society’s newsletter.
However, an unexpected anomaly emerged in the years following the Book Society’s closure. Despite its apparent disappearance from public discourse, copies of its selections, identifiable by a unique bookplate, began to surface at estate sales and used bookstores with increasing frequency. This immediate reaction among collectors and literary enthusiasts to acquire these volumes raised a lingering question: what enduring appeal did these books possess that sparked renewed interest decades after the Book Society’s collapse?
For many, the answer lies in the Book Society’s commitment to accessible storytelling, a refreshing contrast to the often-daunting complexities of modernist literature. A woman who recently inherited her grandmother’s Book Society collection told us over email that, “Things took an unexpected turn,” when she discovered the joy of reading these “forgotten” classics. She added, “It’s like my grandmother left me a map to a world of wonderful stories.” She’s been sharing her discoveries on Instagram, gaining a sizable following. Another commenter on her posts noted a small error: “My copy of *Brideshead* has the Society’s bookplate on the inside cover, not the flyleaf.”
But something feels wrong, despite all this nostalgia. Whispers have begun to circulate in online forums dedicated to bibliophiles, suggesting that the Society’s embrace of accessible literature may have inadvertently stifled more avant-garde voices. A user going by the name “LiteraryLuddite83” posted a lengthy thread on a forum, accusing the Book Society of “perpetuating a literary monoculture” and “prioritizing mass appeal over artistic merit.” This allegation raises a crucial question: did the Book Society, in its efforts to democratize reading, inadvertently contribute to the marginalization of more experimental and challenging works?
The book world is a battlefield. While some members are now clamoring for a revival of the Book Society, albeit in a more inclusive and forward-thinking form, others remain skeptical, arguing that the literary landscape has irrevocably changed. They believe that the internet and social media have democratized access to literature to an extent that the Book Society’s curated selections are no longer necessary, or even desirable. One blogger put it bluntly, “Why rely on a panel of judges when I can discover my next favorite book through TikTok?” Regardless of one’s stance, the Book Society’s story remains a vital chapter in the history of British reading culture, a reminder of a time when a select group of individuals wielded considerable influence over the literary tastes of a nation. This influence continues to resonate today, long after the final book club package was delivered.
Nicola Wilson is Associate Professor of Book and Publishing Cultures at the University of Reading and the author of Recommended! The Influencers Who Changed How We Read (Holland House Books, 2025).
