The Soldier's Art was dark, powerful and yet somehow enjoyable too. This is a very Powellian war, as I think Will commented, with the random coincidences even creeping into the harrowing death scenes. I did, incidentally, enjoy Powell's acknowledgement of the Powellian coincidences, or what he calls "those Nietzschean reoccurances". Completely unsurprised that Pennistone (chap from the train in VB) turned out to be significant, although he doesn't seem to have fulfilled his full Powellian potential as yet.
Great to see Moreland back - I agree with Anna, he is a sweetie, and as for Stringham's benign resignation... just you wait.
The literary references are simply great - Trollope and Balzac, though just one Proust reference so far - to Robert de Saint-Loup's hat of all things... Will assures me that the Balbec scene is coming up soon with Jenkins' deployment to France. I love the idea that someone could be considered for a job on the grounds that they have read some of Balzac in the French, but also enjoyed the fact that, against all expectations, Jenkins didn't get it.
Speaking of Welsh troops, and deployments to France, of sorts, am getting nervous about tonight's encounter in Paris. Hope to be landed safe on Canaan's side by 10 pm.
Am going to hit the Military Philosophers next week, but slightly concerned that Widmerpool's turn will be a diminished one in this next book. Goodness, that man's turned into a monster, but a rather fun one at that.
Friday 27 February 2009
Thursday 26 February 2009
Inexcusable delay
It would be fair to say that my Powell blogging has been sporadic at best and, well, pretty much non-existent at worst. So here is my first attempt to make amends. Whilst I have been under time constraints I think I was also put off by the fact that (a) I couldn't remember much about vols 1 - 3 by the time I got back from holiday (extreme cold and liberal alcohol consumption have that effect on me) and (b) I finished vol 4 a while back and then never got round to blogging, and then forgot what I wanted to say.
And really, Casanova's Chinese Restaurant - which I finished this morning, so you get this fresh from the presses, so to speak - has been the first one that I've really *wanted* to write something about. I actually like some of the people in it! I was moved to describe Moreland to Will as a "sweetheart". OK, so that was before his little dalliance with Priscilla Tolland, but even by the end of the novel, I still liked him. I was also pleased to find at least one semi-realised female character - not Jenkins' wife, as one might expect (although now I come to think about it, Powell has given us absolutely no reason to expect that his wife would feature as a fully-rounded character), but Matilda. I do hope she turns up again in later volumes, although I suspect I may be disappointed on that front.
The other section which surprised me was Stringham's appearance at his mother's party. I don't mean I was surprised by his turning up; as various posters have pointed out, people 'turn up' in Powell ad nauseam. Incidentally, whilst I was initially bothered by this, I'm not any more. Only last night I met a woman at a Welsh Lawyers do who I'd last seen doing an internship at Lovells about 10 years ago. These things happen, particularly in small communities such as, er, the Welsh community in London. Anyway, I digress. I was surprised by how moving I found the whole description of Stringham's effective incarceration by Tuffy. I had no great fondness for him in the early volumes; whilst he was meant to be charismatic, that didn't really come across in the writing, and he was also rather cruel. But in the scene at the party Powell manages to give a real sense of wasted potential, and I thought Stringham's docile acceptance of his lot in life was well done and very sad.
I can't make my mind up about McClintick's suicide - I was never particularly sure about him as a character (although I thought the marital despair bit was pretty good) and it almost felt a little tagged on at the end. I did like the sudden plunge into 'everything's rubbish and we're all going to die' in the ghost train bit in the last paragraph, though. I thought it worked much better than Powell's previous random musings at the end of the other novels, which seemed designed to make what is essentially an upper class soap opera (can't claim credit for this, description kindly donated by a colleague) seem more profound than it in fact is.
One thing is really bothering me, though. I get that you pronounce St John as 'Sinjean' or 'Sinjun' or something along those lines. But how do you pronounce 'St. J' as various characters will insist on calling him? Every time it comes up I sit there for, ooh, at least 30 seconds pondering this. Is it 'SinJe'? 'Singe'? I feel this obsession is beginning to destroy the flow of my reading. Any answers will be most welcome - although as the poor old chap has now popped his clogs, I assume there will be less of the 'Singe'-ing in future.
Right, have wasted enough time wittering on and I am sure I've bored you all rigid. I march onward to The Kindly Ones. By the way, I am assuming no-one minds spoilers as I am so far behind the rest of you; if anyone is bothered (Daniel, I have no idea whether you're still reading) let me know and I will be good next time.
And really, Casanova's Chinese Restaurant - which I finished this morning, so you get this fresh from the presses, so to speak - has been the first one that I've really *wanted* to write something about. I actually like some of the people in it! I was moved to describe Moreland to Will as a "sweetheart". OK, so that was before his little dalliance with Priscilla Tolland, but even by the end of the novel, I still liked him. I was also pleased to find at least one semi-realised female character - not Jenkins' wife, as one might expect (although now I come to think about it, Powell has given us absolutely no reason to expect that his wife would feature as a fully-rounded character), but Matilda. I do hope she turns up again in later volumes, although I suspect I may be disappointed on that front.
The other section which surprised me was Stringham's appearance at his mother's party. I don't mean I was surprised by his turning up; as various posters have pointed out, people 'turn up' in Powell ad nauseam. Incidentally, whilst I was initially bothered by this, I'm not any more. Only last night I met a woman at a Welsh Lawyers do who I'd last seen doing an internship at Lovells about 10 years ago. These things happen, particularly in small communities such as, er, the Welsh community in London. Anyway, I digress. I was surprised by how moving I found the whole description of Stringham's effective incarceration by Tuffy. I had no great fondness for him in the early volumes; whilst he was meant to be charismatic, that didn't really come across in the writing, and he was also rather cruel. But in the scene at the party Powell manages to give a real sense of wasted potential, and I thought Stringham's docile acceptance of his lot in life was well done and very sad.
I can't make my mind up about McClintick's suicide - I was never particularly sure about him as a character (although I thought the marital despair bit was pretty good) and it almost felt a little tagged on at the end. I did like the sudden plunge into 'everything's rubbish and we're all going to die' in the ghost train bit in the last paragraph, though. I thought it worked much better than Powell's previous random musings at the end of the other novels, which seemed designed to make what is essentially an upper class soap opera (can't claim credit for this, description kindly donated by a colleague) seem more profound than it in fact is.
One thing is really bothering me, though. I get that you pronounce St John as 'Sinjean' or 'Sinjun' or something along those lines. But how do you pronounce 'St. J' as various characters will insist on calling him? Every time it comes up I sit there for, ooh, at least 30 seconds pondering this. Is it 'SinJe'? 'Singe'? I feel this obsession is beginning to destroy the flow of my reading. Any answers will be most welcome - although as the poor old chap has now popped his clogs, I assume there will be less of the 'Singe'-ing in future.
Right, have wasted enough time wittering on and I am sure I've bored you all rigid. I march onward to The Kindly Ones. By the way, I am assuming no-one minds spoilers as I am so far behind the rest of you; if anyone is bothered (Daniel, I have no idea whether you're still reading) let me know and I will be good next time.
Wednesday 18 February 2009
Feed me 'til I want no more
Not an excuse to fan the flames of regional British nationalism in the aftermath of last Saturday afternoon's titanic battle, but instead to echo Jenkins' regimental hymn, or more likely Powell's shameless Welsh stereotyping.
Finished VB about a week ago but have been slow to blog. Funny volume this, not a lot seems to happen and yet so much does. Jenkins' posting in Wales, transfer to NI, the birth of his child, the fall of Gwatkins and the inexorable rise of you know who. I very much enjoyed the weekend with the Tollands, but the final ten pages take the award for best moment, being played out to absolute perfection with superb comic timing. The series as a whole has probably benefitted from the cabinet re-shuffle of Jenkins close acquaintances, although it's not clear which of them we shall see again - Bithel, yes (he's already cropped up in the first few pages of SA), but Kedward or Gwatkins? Actually, what am I saying? As we all know, if there's a random coincidence to be had along the way, Powell will make sure of it.
So a good volume, but very much along the lines of A Question of Upbringing, full of signifiers of things to come, but slightly insubstantial in itself. Have had a brief Powell break to read Falling Towards England (the second volume of Clive James' excellent Unreliable Memoirs, complete with references to both Proust and Trinity Hall) and Ian McEwan's ever-so-horrific but utterly gripping debut, The Cement Garden. Started SA properly this morning, so will blog again in a week or so, when finished.
Forward march!
Finished VB about a week ago but have been slow to blog. Funny volume this, not a lot seems to happen and yet so much does. Jenkins' posting in Wales, transfer to NI, the birth of his child, the fall of Gwatkins and the inexorable rise of you know who. I very much enjoyed the weekend with the Tollands, but the final ten pages take the award for best moment, being played out to absolute perfection with superb comic timing. The series as a whole has probably benefitted from the cabinet re-shuffle of Jenkins close acquaintances, although it's not clear which of them we shall see again - Bithel, yes (he's already cropped up in the first few pages of SA), but Kedward or Gwatkins? Actually, what am I saying? As we all know, if there's a random coincidence to be had along the way, Powell will make sure of it.
So a good volume, but very much along the lines of A Question of Upbringing, full of signifiers of things to come, but slightly insubstantial in itself. Have had a brief Powell break to read Falling Towards England (the second volume of Clive James' excellent Unreliable Memoirs, complete with references to both Proust and Trinity Hall) and Ian McEwan's ever-so-horrific but utterly gripping debut, The Cement Garden. Started SA properly this morning, so will blog again in a week or so, when finished.
Forward march!
Monday 9 February 2009
Oh! What a lovely war
I know, it's the wrong war, but the title was too good to miss.
I haven't yet finished the military philosophers, but the war novels are great. For a start we get a bit of a shuffling of the character deck, so while Jenkins does manage to bump into his old school triumvirate (briefly in some cases; at length in one case), there are new figures to play with. Secondly, I think it conveys the nature of the war pretty well. I don't mean the visceral bloodiness of battle. So far the furthest Jenkins has gone is Northern Ireland, but the total commandeering of the country for the war effort and the routine regularity of death (though Powell can never quite resist coincidence here either). I'll do some fuller thoughts once I've finished the set, but it's also very obvious that these were meant to be read in a set. While there is genuine sequencing of the novels, they are very clearly episodes from one text, more so than the rest of the sequence, which while it has an overarching unity, doesn't appear to tie very tightly together. These three (so far) do.
As an aside, Andrew and I discussed the interesting problem that once we have finished Powell, we will have read more books by Powell than almost any other author (I intend to really make that true by hitting the journals after the Dance is done). Off the cuff, I could hardly think of any authors of whom I have read more than 12 books. However, the benefits of a books database allows me to check. Here are my most read authors (Some are estimates, and it's based on volumes, not page volume):
I haven't yet finished the military philosophers, but the war novels are great. For a start we get a bit of a shuffling of the character deck, so while Jenkins does manage to bump into his old school triumvirate (briefly in some cases; at length in one case), there are new figures to play with. Secondly, I think it conveys the nature of the war pretty well. I don't mean the visceral bloodiness of battle. So far the furthest Jenkins has gone is Northern Ireland, but the total commandeering of the country for the war effort and the routine regularity of death (though Powell can never quite resist coincidence here either). I'll do some fuller thoughts once I've finished the set, but it's also very obvious that these were meant to be read in a set. While there is genuine sequencing of the novels, they are very clearly episodes from one text, more so than the rest of the sequence, which while it has an overarching unity, doesn't appear to tie very tightly together. These three (so far) do.
As an aside, Andrew and I discussed the interesting problem that once we have finished Powell, we will have read more books by Powell than almost any other author (I intend to really make that true by hitting the journals after the Dance is done). Off the cuff, I could hardly think of any authors of whom I have read more than 12 books. However, the benefits of a books database allows me to check. Here are my most read authors (Some are estimates, and it's based on volumes, not page volume):
- Elinor M. Brent-Dyer (63. All of the Chalet School and one other)
- Agatha Christie (no idea how many. We've got the lot, but I've probably read about 50)
- Terry Pratchett (20)
- Isaac Azimov (16)
- David Eddings (16)
- Iain Banks (15)
- Laurence Durrell (15)
- Margaret Weis & Tracey Hickman (about 15)
- Anthony Trollope (13. Actually this is 10, but I'm hitting the second half of the Paliser novels after The Military Philosphers)
- C.S. Lewis, (13. I have 11, and I've definitely read some of the SF)
- Philip K. Dick (12)
Most of these are genre fiction (I've probably forgotten a handful of other similar ones) - only Durrell, Trollope and Lewis can be described as substantial and material writers in a wider sphere , though I would make a claim for for many of the others, especially Dick and early Banks.
The list of authors just below 12 books read makes for interesting reading:
- Two authors come in at 11. Rushdie (will hit 12 this year with the latest) and Greene, which will only increase over time
- No 10s or 9s, so already I have read more Powell than all but 13 authors
- 8. Ian McEwan, Anthony Burgess (very surprising)
- 7. Patrick Leigh Fermor, Marcel Proust, Josoph Conrad, Stephen Runciman, Paul Theroux, V.S. Naipaul, Douglas Adams, Paul Scott, Proust, Arthur C. Clarke, Kingsley Amis
This last is where the non-fiction really begins to kick in. I'm pleased it gets a Byzantinist in the list (actually I think Runciman should be higher, but my other reading of his may be all articles), and Proust.
Wednesday 4 February 2009
Kinder, gentler
Just polished off TKO and will attempt to post without spoilers. Broadly speaking I'm enjoying things a lot more, partly I'm sure it's having an unbroken run at the books so I do actually remember the vague outline of what's going on and who had done what to whom.
I'm something of a fan of Vol. 6, the end of chapter one where Nicholas casually recites a litany of the dead fathers of the neighbourhood was the first time I've felt an emotional engagement with any of the books. I thought the build-up to that moment entirely justified and the foreshadowing of Nick's own war portentous but not overdone.
I'm even coming around to the random-meeting-up-ness of it all, justifying it in my own mind by thinking that actually his social circle isn't huge and at least he's now related to a fair number of the people he's talking about.
His marriage itself, or at least the way it is presented, I still find hugely problematic, although The Kindly Ones as a title probably offers as bald a clue as you'll get as to Nick/Powell's attitude towards women.
Having said that I have warmed to Nicholas, what I had missed before was his self-deprecation and the way his elder self looks back on his younger self's behaviour with a kind of horror. I excavated some undergraduate essays a few months ago and had a similar feeling (I wonder, incidentally, how long it will take to garner the same shudder of shame from these posts). Nick may be bland but he is a fairly decent chap, even feeling a pang of guilt for not rushing to the defence of Widmerpool of all people when discussing him with Duport.
Widmerpool and Donners dominate the book even when they're not around very much, and I'm very much enjoying the innuendo about what Donners' peccadilloes may or may not be. Both he and Widders seem pretty scary, especially in the case of Widmerpool where you've had the added benefit of seeing him at several intermediate stages. As a reader you know more about him, really, than even Nick. Sir Magnus on the other hand, remains mysterious but no less malevolently interesting.
So if I'm right, this puts me more in the Andrew camp than the Will camp with regard to TKO. Roll on Autumn...
I'm something of a fan of Vol. 6, the end of chapter one where Nicholas casually recites a litany of the dead fathers of the neighbourhood was the first time I've felt an emotional engagement with any of the books. I thought the build-up to that moment entirely justified and the foreshadowing of Nick's own war portentous but not overdone.
I'm even coming around to the random-meeting-up-ness of it all, justifying it in my own mind by thinking that actually his social circle isn't huge and at least he's now related to a fair number of the people he's talking about.
His marriage itself, or at least the way it is presented, I still find hugely problematic, although The Kindly Ones as a title probably offers as bald a clue as you'll get as to Nick/Powell's attitude towards women.
Having said that I have warmed to Nicholas, what I had missed before was his self-deprecation and the way his elder self looks back on his younger self's behaviour with a kind of horror. I excavated some undergraduate essays a few months ago and had a similar feeling (I wonder, incidentally, how long it will take to garner the same shudder of shame from these posts). Nick may be bland but he is a fairly decent chap, even feeling a pang of guilt for not rushing to the defence of Widmerpool of all people when discussing him with Duport.
Widmerpool and Donners dominate the book even when they're not around very much, and I'm very much enjoying the innuendo about what Donners' peccadilloes may or may not be. Both he and Widders seem pretty scary, especially in the case of Widmerpool where you've had the added benefit of seeing him at several intermediate stages. As a reader you know more about him, really, than even Nick. Sir Magnus on the other hand, remains mysterious but no less malevolently interesting.
So if I'm right, this puts me more in the Andrew camp than the Will camp with regard to TKO. Roll on Autumn...
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