Hello everyone! Thanks for inviting me, Andrew.
As Will says, I did indeed read vols 1 - 3 whilst on holiday and will (despite my earlier reluctance) attempt to entertain you with my erudite musings (ahem) once I have finished the submissions I am writing on my 7 week equal pay case. Which, as I am sure you can imagine, are taking up most of my time at present.
Friday 23 January 2009
Tuesday 20 January 2009
Across the pond
Well signally failed to read anything while away but made some progress with ALM on the flight back.
Only a hundred or so pages in but very tickled by the early assertions that the most important/interesting things in life are those random meetings-up that happen without any conscious attempts to do so.
Am suffering slightly from the fact that everyone seems to be so dashed repellant. Widders is getting more and more unpleasant and I would quite happily see Quiggin and Erridge up against the wall when the revolution came.
Have to say did also wonder if Nick was going to confess a passion for one of his old school chums after the blithely dismissive reference to his date at the cinema. Although the nest of lesbians is quite hilarious, Powell makes them sound positively depraved.
All in all I'm still finding it a little annoying but rather enjoyable, perhaps a short break away from them has rekindled my fervour...
Who awards the Widmerpool prize?
Only a hundred or so pages in but very tickled by the early assertions that the most important/interesting things in life are those random meetings-up that happen without any conscious attempts to do so.
Am suffering slightly from the fact that everyone seems to be so dashed repellant. Widders is getting more and more unpleasant and I would quite happily see Quiggin and Erridge up against the wall when the revolution came.
Have to say did also wonder if Nick was going to confess a passion for one of his old school chums after the blithely dismissive reference to his date at the cinema. Although the nest of lesbians is quite hilarious, Powell makes them sound positively depraved.
All in all I'm still finding it a little annoying but rather enjoyable, perhaps a short break away from them has rekindled my fervour...
Who awards the Widmerpool prize?
Monday 19 January 2009
My Kind of book
Just briefly to take umbrage with Will (always a pleasure) but especially his assessment of TKO, which I polished off yesterday on a train journey to the smoke and back. Not at all clumsily done, I thought - just really bloody enjoyable from beginning to end. The seven deadly sins (and Sir Magnus' allocation of them to his guests) was a masterstroke of comedy genius, and even the reappearance of Bob Duport (one of my least favourite characters up until now) was worthwhile - esp. his unwitting teasing of Jenkins re: Jean's affairs. Widmerpool, of course, steals the show with his officer-speak and proclamations of "my boy".
Perhaps Will was suffering from Powell-fatigue (exasperation) after 3 quickfire volumes in a row, whereas a steady pace, with breaks to read other books, is the way to do these. I'm certainly enjoying it this way - picking up the next volume is quickly becoming like meeting up with old friends.
I actually thought it couldn't get much better after CCR - guess what, it just did.
Perhaps Will was suffering from Powell-fatigue (exasperation) after 3 quickfire volumes in a row, whereas a steady pace, with breaks to read other books, is the way to do these. I'm certainly enjoying it this way - picking up the next volume is quickly becoming like meeting up with old friends.
I actually thought it couldn't get much better after CCR - guess what, it just did.
Friday 16 January 2009
No Truce With The Furies
The blog's been quiet for sometime now, so I thought I'd update on my progress. I finished CCR just before New Year, and have got some good reading under my belt thus far in '09. No real highlights to report, but The Reader was provocative and well-constructed, the extremely odd Explorers of the New Century sated my appetite for adventure stories (very Rum Doodle-esque, but with a bizarre twist about 2/3 way through) and Clive James' Unreliable Memoirs was a total and unabashed joy (I have the next two volumes in and am eagerly anticipating them). Last weekend, in Reykjavik, I read the appropriate book from the Waking Up In... series, and whilst I feel much more informed about the Icelandic music scene now than I'd ever have wished to be, it was enjoyable and ticked the "appropriate holiday reading" box nicely.
I have now started The Kindly Ones, and am just one chapter in, but really very taken by it. I was at first unconvinced by Powell's need for a childhood sequence, but I now think the first 75 pages of this volume have been the best of the series so far. Yes, it's obviously apeing the Combray section of Swann's Way, with the main events taking place over the dinner table when the protagonist has been ushered away, but it's done so darn well and besides Jenkins is much less of an annoying wimp than Proust's narrator. Powell's serving staff are every bit the glorious comic creations that Francoise was, and it's great to see that Jenkins' parents' generation (Conyers and Trelawney in this case) were every bit as susceptible to those random-bumpings-into as their offspring. Is Powell self-parodying here? Most of all, the conceit of Uncle Giles being the harbinger of events in Sarajevo, and Conyers reaction, is a great success.
The rest of the book may get annoying, but for now I'm one very happy Powellanaut.
NB. Title for this entry is taken from RS Thomas' last poetry collection, which, in case you were wondering, is extremely worthwhile.
I have now started The Kindly Ones, and am just one chapter in, but really very taken by it. I was at first unconvinced by Powell's need for a childhood sequence, but I now think the first 75 pages of this volume have been the best of the series so far. Yes, it's obviously apeing the Combray section of Swann's Way, with the main events taking place over the dinner table when the protagonist has been ushered away, but it's done so darn well and besides Jenkins is much less of an annoying wimp than Proust's narrator. Powell's serving staff are every bit the glorious comic creations that Francoise was, and it's great to see that Jenkins' parents' generation (Conyers and Trelawney in this case) were every bit as susceptible to those random-bumpings-into as their offspring. Is Powell self-parodying here? Most of all, the conceit of Uncle Giles being the harbinger of events in Sarajevo, and Conyers reaction, is a great success.
The rest of the book may get annoying, but for now I'm one very happy Powellanaut.
NB. Title for this entry is taken from RS Thomas' last poetry collection, which, in case you were wondering, is extremely worthwhile.
Thursday 1 January 2009
I like Chinese...
Excuse the gratuitous Python reference.
Bashed out Casanova's Chinese Restaurant over a couple of days this week and was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed it. Surprised, because I felt sure at the time that some of those typical contrivances were just going to annoy me. The flashback sequence was irritating, and one gets the impression that Powell, four volumes in, suddenly realised that he was going to be one major character short for the rest of the series, so clumsily introduces Moreland out of thin air. Moreland, for whom Powell's friend Constant Lambert was prototype, completes the artistic triumvirate with Isbister and St John Clarke (echoes of Proust here... do I get bonus marks?), and is set (according to Spurling) to become a very significant friend of Jenkins. He is a fairly sympathetic character, but has suffered a little in comparison with Stringham, Templer and Widmerpool from his late introduction. Perhaps this will seem less significant over time though. I have, however, ceased to be annoyed by all those random happenings, and the oh so Powellian coincidental meeting of Jenkins, Moreland and Widmers in the nursing home was actually just amusing. The twist(s) at the end were also good fun, and we are also left with something of a cliffhanger concerning Widmerpool's mutterings about future plans and rumours that he is about to run for Parliament.
All in all, much darker than previous volumes - I think Will already said this, but it's hard to disagree - and with trouble brewing on the continent, then darker times would appear to lie ahead. Most of all though, this volume seemed to be superbly well structured - Powell is clearly getting into his stride just as we are.
On a final note, I have discovered that there is a spendid and annually awarded Widmerpool Award, given to the public figure adjudged to have behaved in the most Widmerpudlian fashion in the preceding 12 months. Winners, which have included Max Hastings and Lord Irvine, receive an engraved "wrong sort of overcoat". Hurrah!
Bashed out Casanova's Chinese Restaurant over a couple of days this week and was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed it. Surprised, because I felt sure at the time that some of those typical contrivances were just going to annoy me. The flashback sequence was irritating, and one gets the impression that Powell, four volumes in, suddenly realised that he was going to be one major character short for the rest of the series, so clumsily introduces Moreland out of thin air. Moreland, for whom Powell's friend Constant Lambert was prototype, completes the artistic triumvirate with Isbister and St John Clarke (echoes of Proust here... do I get bonus marks?), and is set (according to Spurling) to become a very significant friend of Jenkins. He is a fairly sympathetic character, but has suffered a little in comparison with Stringham, Templer and Widmerpool from his late introduction. Perhaps this will seem less significant over time though. I have, however, ceased to be annoyed by all those random happenings, and the oh so Powellian coincidental meeting of Jenkins, Moreland and Widmers in the nursing home was actually just amusing. The twist(s) at the end were also good fun, and we are also left with something of a cliffhanger concerning Widmerpool's mutterings about future plans and rumours that he is about to run for Parliament.
All in all, much darker than previous volumes - I think Will already said this, but it's hard to disagree - and with trouble brewing on the continent, then darker times would appear to lie ahead. Most of all though, this volume seemed to be superbly well structured - Powell is clearly getting into his stride just as we are.
On a final note, I have discovered that there is a spendid and annually awarded Widmerpool Award, given to the public figure adjudged to have behaved in the most Widmerpudlian fashion in the preceding 12 months. Winners, which have included Max Hastings and Lord Irvine, receive an engraved "wrong sort of overcoat". Hurrah!
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