Philosopy is for wimps

I made it! I've caught up! The one good thing about a 4 hour train journey to Wales to watch us lose the rugby (Stephen Jones, in the astronomically unlikely event that you're reading this, I want you to know that I haven't forgiven you yet) is that it gives one plenty of time for Powell-perusal.

So, yet again, I find myself trying to blog without really being able to remember what happened in this volume and what happened elsewhere. Maybe it's best if I concentrate on the bits I absolutely know for sure happened in this one - and in particular, the Widmerpool/Pamela Flitton scrap near the end. I didn't really know what to do with this. It is beyond doubt that Widmerpool is Not A Nice Man. But he didn't send Charles Stringham to his death. He put him in a unit he knew might be going to the Far East; Stringham was given the opportunity to get out, and he didn't take it because he wanted to go. Good for Stringham. It wasn't as though England had much to offer him. And then there's Templer. The way I read Pamela's rant, when combined with Widmerpool's responses, was that Templer was sent out to court a particular set of interests; British interests then turned another way and operations didn't bother to get Templer out. Widmerpool probably could have done more, but that doesn't make him a murderer. And then I got really confused because I couldn't work out whether we were meant to think that Pamela's outburst was over-the-top and wrong, or over-the-top but right. She's been portrayed throughout this volume as an unreliable narrator, but Widmerpool is meant to be a monster, right? So are we meant to believe her, or him? Is Powell being clever, using an unreliable narrator to attack Widmerpool and thus leaving us to draw our own conclusions? Or is he just using Pamela to make his own points about Widmerpool? - which doesn't work, because we can't believe her to be an authentic voice. Aaaargh!

I've got so irritated writing this that I really can't remember who did what with whom in this one. I quite enjoyed seeing Mrs Erdleigh again. Always nice to have Ted Jeavons knocking around. The military attaches were quite fun. Didn't see the point in the return of Kedward. Etc, etc.

However, I do think that this volume provides further support for my theory about Powell's attitude towards women (see last post) - he compares Pamela Flitton to Audrey Maclintick twice in The Military Philosophers. Will thinks I should add another category - completely subservient women who say nothing controversial and look decorative, and are therefore Suitable For Marriage (i.e. Isobel). I am not sure that this is warranted, as I still don't accept Isobel is a real character (as opposed to, say, some insipid wallpaper that hoves into view from time to time).

Dark Arts

Well, 'The Soldier's Art' isn't a cheery volume, is it? Although I did rather enjoy the last section, with both Widmerpool and Hogbourne-Johnson having rather an unpleasant time of it. Enjoy might be too strong a word, what with the story about Biggs hanging himself interspersed amongst the amusement - but as I'd forgotten who Biggs was by that point, it had less impact than it might have done. I did wonder whether Powell might deliberately have included the death of a minor character, who he would have expected to have fallen off the reader's radar, as an indicator of the callousness of war and those who are forced to live through it. But going on past evidence, that's not really his style. Anyway, it was hardly up with 'All Quiet on the Western Front'.

These war ones rather merge into a single whole, don't they? Again, I've had to flick back through the book to remind myself what happened in this one, rather than in The Valley of Bones. I was glad to see Stringham and Moreland again. My early dislike of Stringham has entirely evaporated and I now think he's great. This is probably helped by Powell's habit of giving Stringham (and to a lesser extent Moreland) all of his most insightful lines. I know we're supposed to see Stringham's arc as tragic, but I like him much more now than I did when he was a snobby schoolboy, and I think he's probably much more use in this guise than he would have been otherwise. Moreland, now that's really sad. He just doesn't seem to be able to cope with things at all, poor lamb. The whole idea of Mrs Maclintick feeding off her helpless, indecisive 'children' is deeply disturbing. Maybe Powell thought all women were, at base, either like Mrs Maclintick, or alternatively faithless, like Matilda and Priscilla. That would explain a lot.

I did find this volume moving, far more so than The Valley of Bones. I think I was most upset by Chips Lovell's death. He always seemed like a nice, happy-go-lucky bloke, so much more normal than most people in the Powell-iverse. I think I might have liked him if I'd met him at a party. Whereas I think I'd probably run away from most of the rest of them screaming.

Happy Xmas (The War is Over)

Polished off The Military Philosophers last night, and as we prepare to move into the winter section I felt it was appropriate to name this post after the supremely rubbish John Lennon Christmas song. It was, at least, better than Paul McCartney's effort, but that isn't saying much.

Goodness, Widmerpool is a complete shit isn't he?

I'd always retained some vestige of sympathy for him - it wasn't his fault he had the wrong coat at school after all - but after the revelations of this volume, the hand he may or may not have had in certain unfortunate deaths and his hideous confession to Jenkins re: the power he so obviously craves, all sympathy is gone. It's fairly clear that Powell believes that Widmerpool and the Labour Party deserve each other, but that seems very harsh on the Atlee government.

Hooray for the long and ridiculous Proust sequence though. A whole page of a quotation and a little trip to C-A-B-O-U-R-G. As silly as it is, I know that I too would be examining the esplanade for Albertine and her companions in polo caps, and hunting out the railway to take a trip to the Verdurins' villa. I very much enjoyed Jenkins' moment of excitement, which he relates this to his French companion only to be met with disappointment as he finds out that the chap hasn't even heard of Proust, let alone read him... I know that feeling well.

Overall, quite a tragic book this one, and the routine way in which death is dealt with is profoundly disturbing, particularly since some much-loved and key characters are struck down. Very much a pared-down cast in the final three volumes I expect - I'm resisting plot spoilers, so Anna you'll have to wait to see if your beloved Moreland survives. Nice to have a cameo appearance from the former Mrs Dupont, nee Jean Templer at the close. Also, does Powell think that Pamela Flitton counts as a believable female character? Rather speaks volumes about his attitude towards the fairer sex, doesn't it?

I would be a lot keener on giving this a nice Welsh title...

....if we had played better against Italy today.

Oh well.

I am getting slightly concerned that I am in fact the only person left Powell-blogging. What has happened to the rest of you guys? It's not that I don't like the sound of my own voice, but I am getting a tad concerned that the rest of you will get seriously fed up with me if you don't join in soon.

Anyway. The Valley of Bones. Not much happened, did it?

Things I liked:

- Jimmy Brent's new take on the Jean Duport story. I do like the way we keep getting this from different angles. It's probably the cleverest part of the series so far, and it seems to be the main vehicle for Nick's character progression.
- The Lord Haw Haw part. The first time I've ever read anything to give me any idea of the kind of thing he said. I loved the weird pronounciation of Germany.
- Gwatkin. Yeah, he has a silly name, and he's clearly a total weirdo, but he has a certain dignity which he keeps on his own terms, and which makes his downfall a wee bit sad.
- Deafy Morgan. How can you not like Deafy Morgan?
- The speed with which Nick went from being pleased to see you know who at the end to realising that old schoolmates don't necessarily make things better.

Things I really didn't like:

- Look you, spoilsport I do not want to be, but say I would that the people of the valleys DON'T SPEAK LIKE THIS. Nor do the ones from Anglesey, for that matter.
- Oh look, my wife might be in a house somewhere in the country about to have a baby. Do I give a shit? No I do not.

I acknowledge that this last is becoming a recurring theme. Perhaps I should just use a code word - like chauvinist - for future reference?

The Original

After I posted yesterday I went to the Wallace Collection where I saw the original of the painting that gives its title to the novel sequence (and thus indirectly to this blog). I wish I could say that it gave me great inspiration to get on with The Valley of Bones, but in fact I have never liked Poussin much and this one was no exception. I don't understand why he felt the need to work in a colour scheme which makes everyone look as though they're lit up by a raging fire which, strangely, you can't see in the picture.

I am sure, however, that this is down to my lack of knowledge about The Art.

Not winning any kindly competitions...

Finally finished 'The Kindly Ones', which took me rather longer than I had intended. However, the nice thing about bringing up the rear is that I can read back over everyone else's posts and see what they thought. Somewhat surprisingly, you may think (seen as we may generally give the impression that we don't agree on anything at all) I agree more with Will than with Andrew & Elliot about this one.

Perhaps it's because I read it somewhat sporadically, but I found the whole thing a bit, well, bitty. I liked the childhood 'memoir' but I felt that, because it was so long, it threw the whole of the book out of kilter. You have this long, funny and quite touching section which leads on to....something entirely unconnected. And then there are several more unconnected bits before we end with poor, lovely Moreland turning up, looking all dazed and confused, at Molly Jeavons' house. Glad as I was to see him again, I'd had several attacks of 'where-is-this-all-going-itis' before I got there. I had to flick back through the book to try to remember what had happened after I finished it, and now I think that wasn't because I read it in bits here and there (I did that with 'Casanova's Chinese Restaurant' and had no problems remembering that one) but because, whilst there are a number of nice vignettes, they are just that - vignettes - without much to link them.

I do tend to lose interest to a degree when the characters I like aren't around and - given that there aren't very many of those - this may be a bit of a problem. I am encouraged to see that Moreland crops up in later volumes, and I am hoping that Matilda's defection to Donners won't be permanent, although I am quite keen to find out what he gets up to in his cellars. Bit of a Max Mosley moment, perhaps?

I do agree with Elliot, though, when he says that Nick has become more bearable in this volume. You see a bit of self-awareness poking through, which is nice. I almost liked him in the part when he went to collect Uncle Giles' belongings and met up with Duport again. Having said that, the entire absence of Isobel - or even any concern about Isobel - throughout the narrative was, as usual, a bit offensive, speaking as one of those decorative little women things.

Death of death, and Hell's destruction...

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.

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.

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!

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):

1. Elinor M. Brent-Dyer (63. All of the Chalet School and one other)
2. Agatha Christie (no idea how many. We've got the lot, but I've probably read about 50)
3. Terry Pratchett (20)
4. Isaac Azimov (16)
5. David Eddings (16)
6. Iain Banks (15)
7. Laurence Durrell (15)
8. Margaret Weis & Tracey Hickman (about 15)
9. Anthony Trollope (13. Actually this is 10, but I'm hitting the second half of the Paliser novels after The Military Philosphers)
10. C.S. Lewis, (13. I have 11, and I've definitely read some of the SF)
11. 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.

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...

Baby Powellanaut

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.

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?

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.

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 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!

(No) surprises

In an act of further smugness, I can cheerfully report that The Kindly Ones has now also been knocked off - in fact this was last week, but I've been busy.


I'm less convinced by this volume, though it is clearly aiming for 'significance' and seriousness as it takes us into the war. Schematically I found it a bit annoying, with the long Proustian childhood sequence and the obvious attempted parallel between the outbreak of the first and second wars, down to recurring characters in each. In theory this is fine, I just thought it was a bit clumsily done. Elsewhere, it pretty much meanders around, with some goodish unrelated scenes - Widmers again doing good work - and it ends pretty well, in a very Powellian twist where random acquaintance suddenly resolve the issue whereas figures well known to the narrator had proved their uselessness. It's all a bit familiar and even the plot twists are not as exciting as one feels they ought to be.

Much more surprising is the news that Keanu Reeves went on record last week saying he had just finished Proust. Do you think he'd be up for Powell?

Time to start afresh...

I have been a bad, bad, boy regarding Mr Powell... Having started volume one, I never even finished it, let alone got as far as the dizzying heights of Mr Garrood. Anyway, as of tomorrow, I shall be at home in Co Durham almost permanently until the Autumn, in an attempt to find some peace and quiet in which to write up the D.Phil.

And so, I promise to start again, and to catch up... It's not as if I will have anything else to do!

Mollified

I've been prompted into updating on my recent progress. I knocked off Molly's almost two weeks ago but have sadly been reading nothing more exciting than a huge stack of UCAS forms since then (unless you count Titus Groan, the first of the Gormenghast books, which is, frankly, a bit of a drag). Well, I concur entirely with M. Garrood on this one - ALM was superb. Utterly delectable, and I hope the rest of the series continues as such. The character development of Jenkins is welcome, albeit offset by the appalingly sparse description of his new token female - honestly, if his fascination with Widmers, Quiggin, Erridge et al doesn't scream closet homo I don't know what does.

The undercurrent of political tension in Europe, and the suggestions of appeasement are curious - most certainly background music to the main dance at the moment, and one wonders how aware/bovvered the Upper Middle Classes really were of events cross channel. It's tempting, in an age of 24 hour news channels, for us to disregard the characters' relative indifference to Hitler as not being particularly credible - particularly when compared the constant barrage of outrage against Mugabe/China/Dubya/villain-of-the-week that El's employers espouse. For Powell's set there were clearly far more important matters to consider at the time, such as the three or four social events per day to drop in on and those coincidental bumpings-in-to at the Albert Memorial or in Chelsea apartments. In the next, bleaker, volume and thereon the seriousness of the situation seems desitined to bite them on the backsides. For now though - the dance is on!

P.S. Irittatingly, given we are now playing with the Experimental Law Variation of 3 volumes per 2 months, I am on an enforced sin-binning whilst volumes 5-9 lie gift-wrapped beneath a Christmas tree chez mes parentals. Chaps - please keep a seat for me at Casanova's Chinese Restaurant but go ahead and order, I'll be with you as soon as I am able.

That's better

I'm glad we upped the pace. Casanova's Chinese restaurant was good, in many ways I think the best of the lot (I feel I have said this before), but wouldn't have worked so well if I hadn't read it in such close proximity to the previous book.


In fact, quite a few things become very obvious by reading in close tracking to one another. The structure of the books become a lot clearer, with the dominant characters of the books really assert themselves when you aren't desperately trying to remember who they are. Moreland, the key man in CCR, is easier than most because he appears from nowhere (I had to check in Spurling) and gets a flashback at the beginning before we reconnect with time from ALM (in the intervening period our narrator has got married - we get no description of this passage at all).


It's an altogether bleaker book than the previous ones, ending depressingly and with a nice little twist. I reread the end of ALM and the contrast between them is striking. Because it tracks back at the beginning (brief cameo reappearance of Deacon), we get a much greater sense of a narrative arc, rather than the often fragmented and episodic nature of previous books. This one isn't perfect, but there is a real sense of a story in itself.


It also yielded my favourite line of the saga so far, more for the barb than the writing (Quiggin on Erridge):


He appears to have treated POUM, FAI, CNT, and UGT, as if they were all the same left-wing extension of the Labour Party. ... If you can't tell the difference between a Trotskyite-Communist, an Anarcho-Syndicalist, and a properly paid-up party member, you had better keen away from the barricades.