Tag Archives: The Heat of the Day

Reading on time

My mind has been on the passing of time as the lockdown continued. At some point I decided to stop viewing the confinement as some kind of hiatus and accept that it was just how we are living at this time. It helped. But I think a lot about how many days, what we did this time last year, when will we be able to do some things again. It is a theme in fiction as well.

Here’s a celebration to enjoy of days, weeks, months and even years in fiction and memoir.

  • The Hours by Michael Cunningham (1998)
  • The Heat of the Day by Elizabeth Bowen (1948)
  • The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro (1989)
  • The Fortnight in September by RC Sherriff (1931)
  • A Month in the Country by JL Carr (1980)
  • The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion (2005)
  • The Years by Virginia Woolf (1937)
  • The Years by Annie Ernaux (2008, in English translation 2019)

The Hours by Michael Cunningham

This is a kind of riff on Mrs Dalloway. The title was Virginia Woolf’s own first idea for her novel. Set in three different times and locations The Hours examines society and its difficulties. As someone who has loved reading and rereading Virginia Woolf, I find it adds a new perspective to the original without detracting from it. We have a version featuring Virginia Woolf herself, another with an American suburban housewife from the 1950s and the third set in recent decades in New York, when HIV/AIDS was rampant. 

It won a Pulitzer Prize and was made into a film (2002), largely successful. 

The Heat of the Day by Elizabeth Bowen

When I reviewed this thriller six years ago, I noted that rereading it had allowed me to appreciate more its admirable features. You can find that review here.  

It is set in London during the Second World War, and follows a couple of lovers, Stella and Robert, and a creepy man who appears to be a stalker. But the dilemma this man Harrison, presents to Stella is at the heart of the tension. Sometimes Elizabeth Bowen’s writing forces the reader to slow down and pay attention. Overall it is an excellent and highly recommended novel.

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro

This is another book that is worth rereading. I find it hard to get Anthony Hopkins out of mind as the butler, Stevens, who narrates the novel. He remembers his experiences in the years leading up to the Second World War. We see that he was in love with the housekeeper, but let the opportunity to be with her slip away. He also places loyalty to his employer over everything and fails to see what he is up to. What remains of his day for Stevens is being in service to a new American employer.

The Fortnight in September

I reviewed this in a recent post, enjoying the lack of exciting plot events or twists and noting that the annual family holiday gave pleasure to the Stevens family because everything was so familiar and a repetition of previous years.

Set between the wars as the family go on holiday to Bognor, it becomes clear that it will be their last fortnight. Everything is changing, as it does.

A Month in the Country by JL Carr 

This short novel is much loved by book bloggers and reading groups. My own extended comments can be found here

Set in the 1920s, in the north of England, a young man comes to recover from his failed marriage and his wartime experiences. He works as a restorer of church murals and finds much to help him recover in the village: the mural, the vicar’s wife, his friends the archaeologist and the teenage nonconformist Kathy, the villagers and the countryside. It’s a very beautiful novel about acceptance of damage and variation among people.

The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

I am tempted to use the word forensic about Joan Dideron’s analysis of the year following the sudden death of her husband and the seriously illness of their daughter. 

This is my attempt to make sense of the period that followed, weeks and then months that cut loose any fixed idea I had ever had about death, about illness, about probability and luck, about good fortune and bad, about marriage and children and memory, about grief, about life itself. (7)

She writes compellingly with sparseness and great precision. She provides the voice of reason commenting on her ‘magical thinking’ and with a complete focus on herself, her husband and her daughter.

You can read my expanded thought on her account here

The Years by Virginia Woolf

As we near the end of this collection, we return to Virginia Woolf and her last published novel, The Years, which looks at the Pargiter family from 1880s to the 1930s in eleven episodes. This is the only novel of hers that I have not yet read. It gave her great pain in the writing, according to her diary. 

I wonder if anyone has ever suffered so much from a book as I have from The Years. Once out I will never look at it again. It’s like a long childbirth. Think of that summer, every morning a headache, and forcing myself into that room in my nightgown, and lying down after a page: and always with the certainty of failure. Now that certainty is mercifully removed to some extent. But now I feel I don’t care what anyone says so long as I am rid of it. [Tuesday 10th November 1936]

She began it in 1933 and only finished it three years later. It was well received when it published. I look forward to tackling it myself.

The Years by Annie Ernaux

This book is a kind of collective memoir, covering the years of Annie Ernaux’s life (1940 to 2006) up to the point it was published in France. It was very extraordinary to read it, quite unsettling really. But also one of the most original and interesting books I have read recently.

When I think of my life, I see my story since childhood until today, but I cannot separate it from the world in which I lived; my story is mixed with that of my generation and the events that happened to us. [Annie Ernaux: I was so ashamed for Catherine Deneuve … by Kim Willsher. 6.4.19 Guardian]

The main character of this collective memoir is time itself. She notes that ‘we vanish into the vast anonymity of a distant generation’. (20)

Translated from the French by Alison L Strayer

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Friends and Relations by Elizabeth Bowen

I was browsing the shelves for anything as yet unread by Elizabeth Bowen and found not one but two old fashioned penguin copies of Friends and Relations. The novel was not known to me, but the writer is, and I have found her to be remarkable, whatever I have read of hers.

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The story

The novel opens with the wedding of Edward and Laurel. We are in the years after the Great War. This brilliant opening scene introduces the reader to all the characters, pegs them for their little foibles and faults. And it is entertaining and perceptive. Here is the bride and the father waiting for the ceremonies to begin.

Her clothes were all packed; she was buttoned into an old blazer of Janet’s and did not look like to-day’s bride. From half-past ten till noon she and Colonel Studdart, shut into the morning-room, played demon patience. Her life here was over, his at a standstill; there was nothing for them to do. (7)

This is typical of Elizabeth Bowen’s ability to present her characters through their actions.

Within weeks Janet (Laurel’s sister) marries Rodney. For a few days it seems as though the second wedding will not take place for there is an alarm. Edward’s mother, Lady Elfrida brought social opprobrium upon herself when she had an affair with Considine, and then did not marry him. Rodney is Considine’s nephew and heir. Edward refuses to meet the uncle. Although the marriage does go ahead, it is not before Janet quarrels with her brother-in-law, Edward.

‘But Edward, we really cannot quarrel. Please … Do think of what is convenient: we are relations for life. I mean, we shall stay with each other, shan’t we, at Christmas and everything? It would be impossible for Laurel and me to be divided. For as long as we live, I suppose about fifty years, we shall all always be meeting and talking over arrangements. At least, that is how we have been brought up. You must see what families are; it’s possible to be so ordinary; it’s possible not to say such a lot. …’ (46)

It seems that they are talking about his mother’s indiscretion, but this attitude of finding what is convenient, of being ordinary and not speaking of things is how they will live their lives, despite her love for him, and later his for her.

The second section describes a week in May, ten years later, when Edward and Laurel’s two children are staying with Janet and Rodney. There is a socially difficulty as Janet and Rodney live with Considine’s in his house. They decide to invite Lady Elfrida to join them, believing that after ten years Edward cannot still object and Lady Elfrida and Considine are now good friends. But Edward does object, and he arrives to remove the children. His action is the occasion for him and Janet to acknowledge their mutual love.

The third section is called Wednesday, and takes place the following week, when everything comes together. Janet admits to Edward that she engineered the meeting and marriage with Rodney to be more connected to him. Janet and Edward see the impossibility of being together more than as in-laws. They settle for being ordinary, for not saying such a lot. Briefly, others mistakenly think they have gone off together. As readers we see what the reaction would have been if the lovers had decided to be together in an unbearably difficult social situation.

The main theme

The question that dominates the novel is what to do about love that is passionate, but outside and a betrayal of marriage? Lady Elfrida became a social outcast through her affair with Considine, especially as she did not marry him. Elizabeth Bowen makes it clear that their love was genuine, but has now changed to affection. Her son Edward is considered sensitive as a result of his mother’s behaviour. But in adult life he realises that he loves his sister-in-law Janet. What should they do once they have acknowledged it? Elizabeth Bowen herself came to a different conclusion from Janet and Edward, in her own life. She drew on her affair in the novel The Heat of the Day.

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Theodora

Theodora is a great creation, a kind of wild child in the first section, and then a mould-breaking adult, one of the surplus women of the inter-war years. Like Elizabeth Taylor, Elizabeth Bowen was very good at children in her writing. The House in Paris revealed her expertise. Theodora is some kind of relation, and brazenly out of step with her parents.

The Thirdmans were shockingly out of it. They had brought their girl, Theodora, for whom at each introduction they joyously turned. But she was never beside them. (11)

Theodora meets the bridesmaids on the lawn playing clock golf.

Their four little pink satin shoes were green-stained. There would be trouble, Theodora noted with pleasure. She was fifteen and, except for the bridesmaids, the youngest present. Every allowance made for her unfortunate age, her appearance was not engaging. She was spectacled, large-boned and awkwardly anxious to make an impression. (11)

Theodora fails to make an impression on anyone at the wedding. Ten years later she lives with a school friend, frequently spends time at Considine’s house, and visits Laurel and Edward in London. She cannot fail to make an impression as an outspoken adult. She provides light relief in the novel, but also reveals what happens to those who don’t fit in society in the inter-war years.

Recommended

264 Elizabeth_BowenElizabeth Bowen is skilled at communicating a great deal in a short space. She is also able to show the drama of small events, moments in domestic time, which have resonances down the years.

Friends and Relations by Elizabeth Bowen, published in 1931. My copy was published on that cheap brown wartime paper by Penguin in 1946. Price one shilling. 151pp

Related posts

Books Snob’s blog review of Friends and Relations, in which she is pleased to have become acquainted with Elizabeth Bowen.

I have reviewed the following on Bookword blog:

The Last September

Two Elizabeths, two first novels (At Mrs Lippincote’s by Elizabeth Taylor, The Hotel by Elizabeth Bowen)

The Heat of the Day

The House in Paris

 

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Let slip the novels of war

War novels have their own ‘best of’ lists on the internet. Frequently these lists have too many testosterone-fuelled novels and horror for me. The five novels I pick out in this post have something else. They use the best of the novel to reflect on something beyond the experiences of most readers. They show the bigger picture – bigger geographically, in scope and in meaning – through individual stories. They use the power of story to explore the urge to survive, the horror of what man does to men, women and children, and how humans react when faced with the vastness of war.

Here are my five (plus two) to think about.

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All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarques

The First World War will be the subject of much remembrance as we reach the centenary of its outbreak. In Britain literary merit seems to be the preserve of the poets. The novel of choice is All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarques, written, of course, in German. I did not read it until 2012, having been presented with extracts on a writing course. It was published in 1929, eleven years after the Armistice.

Paul Baumer tells the story in the first person. He and his school friends enlisted in the German army in 1916 as 18 year olds, on the encouragement of their schoolteacher. The story opens on the battlefield and hardly leaves it, except to go home on leave and for a spell in a military hospital. The narrator is killed in October 1918, feeling he has nothing left in his life, that the young person he was has been destroyed in the war. It has killed his friends one by one, and his country has been reduced to sending inadequately prepared raw recruits into battle to die. There are vividly descriptions of battle, but also some lighter scenes such as the theft of the goose, or the canal swim to be with some girls one evening.

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The Heat of the Day by Elizabeth Bowen

My choice for a novel set in the homefront in the Second World War has to be The Heat of the Day by Elizabeth Bowen – the subject of a Readalong on my blog earlier in 2013. You can find my review here. One of the best novels of the twentieth century I believe.

Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky

The fate of the author (in Auschwitz in 1942) and the location in war-time France meant I was initially reluctant to read this book. But I was charmed and thrilled by it.

Part 1, Storm in June, concerns the flight from Paris in June 1940. The story follows several families as panic hit the capital and they scrambled out as the German army advanced. It’s an amazing exploration of what people do in a crisis, how some have great generosity and others think only of themselves. There is lovely humour, black in places, great tenderness and overall an affectionate look at people through the details of their lives.

Part 2 called Douce concerns life in a village in occupied France a year later, when German troops are billeted on the population. Here the story picks up some of the characters from Storm, but mostly concerns the relationship between a young woman whose husband is a prisoner of war and the young cavalry officer, Bruno. The development of the relationships between victors and conquered, between occupiers and residents is beautifully observed, as are the accommodations that people make to this situation in order to preserve their own values and lives.

The manuscript was carried by Irene Nemirovsky’s daughters, taken in haste to remind them of their mother. It was only produced for publication recently.

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller

For a novel from the battlefield (or the air battle in this case) in the Second World War I must nominate Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. This book is one of my desert island choices because it is so inventive, so rich in detail, so brilliant at showing the absurd in absurd situations. The title and some of the characters have entered our culture.

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Dispatches by Michael Herr

Some brilliant writing came out of the Vietnamese War. The novel that made the strongest impression on me was Dispatches by Michael Herr. It’s a searing condemnation of what happened to the fighting men. It convinced me that war is never an answer to anything. The damage inflicted upon the participants is as futile in the Vietnamese war as all others, despite individual acts of heroism.

And the first other one:

The Yellow Birds by Kevin Powers

On publication it was celebrated as the work of a new voice, creative and strong. The Yellow Birds by Kevin Powers is about US soldiers in the (second) Iraqi war. I read it in preparation for this blogpost. In my reading log I commented, ‘nothing to like here’. Too much of that male stuff here for me. Geoff Dyer was more critical of it in a review of another (non-fiction) book about the Iraq war. You can find his comments here: Thank You For Your Service. He includes these comments:

Kevin Powers served in Iraq but his novel reads as if he were the veteran only of serial deployments in MFA writing programmes. … [His novel is] inadequate as a form of response to the subject matter.

Here’s an example of creative writing class fiction perhaps: ‘while we slept, the war rubbed its thousand ribs against the ground in prayer.’ (p1) There was plenty more like that.

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The title comes from a US Army marching cadence:

A yellow bird
With a yellow bill
Was perched upon
My windowsill

 

I lured him in
With a piece of bread
And then I smashed
His fucking head …

And the second other one:

Alone in Berlin by Hans Fallada

This one is on my tbr pile, having been recommended by a friend. Have you read it? Have you an opinion about it?

And a few more recommendations from browsing the web

Ernest Hemingway For Whom the Bell Tolls (Spanish Civil War)

Leo Tolstoy War and Peace (Napoleonic invasion of Russia)

Kurt Vonnegut Slaughterhouse Five (Second World War)

D.M Thomas The White Hotel (Second World War)

And there are countless excellent non-fiction books as well.

 

Powerful stuff. What have you read that spoke to you about war? I was disappointed to find nothing outstanding in the twenty-first century. Have you come across anything you would recommend?

 

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The Heat of the Day by Elizabeth Bowen

I read this thriller twelve months ago and I noted that I expected to reread it and soon. It turns out that rereading is very rewarding, and nothing is spoiled by knowing the plot, indeed the other features of the novel become more evident.

53 Heat cover

It’s set during the Second World War and the tension comes from the suggestion that one of the main characters, Robert, is involved in treason. The novel opens as the creepy Harrison prepares to meet Stella. Stella has already rejected Harrison, ‘asked him to go away and stay away’. We have been warned that ‘he was not, however, through.’ Harrison visits Stella in her flat and reveals his plan to blackmail her: his silence about Robert can be bought if she becomes his mistress and does not see Robert again. The scene in which Harrison reveals his hand, is carefully drawn out in Chapter 2 and is a powerful example of an effective scene in fiction. Stella’s feelings alter from irritation of being bothered by a man she does not want to see to shock and disbelief at what Harrison tells her and finally confusion about what she should do. Can she believe Harrison? What should she do to protect the man she loves? If Harrison is right should she protect Robert? How can she know? The story is set up, the tension holds, as the interactions between Harrison, Stella and Robert run their course.

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One of the most impressive aspect of this novel is the depiction of living in London during the Blitz.

They had met one another, at first not very often, throughout the heady autumn of the first London air raids. Never had a season been more felt; one bought the poetic sense of it with the sense of death. Out of mists of morning charred by the smoke from ruins each day rose to a height of unmisty glitter; between the last of sunset and first note of the siren the darkening glassy tenseness of evening was drawn fine. From the moment of waking you tasted the sweet autumn not less because of an acridity on the tongue and nostrils; and as the singed dust settled and smoke diluted you felt more and more called upon to observe daytime as a pure and curious holiday from fear. All through London the ropings-off of dangerous tracts of streets made islands of exalted if stricken silence, and people crowded against the ropes to admire the sunny emptiness on the other side. The diversion of traffic out of blocked main thoroughfares into byways, the unstopping phatasmagoric streaming of lorries, buses, vans, drays, taxis past modest windows and quiet doorways set up an overpowering sense of London’s organic power – somewhere there was a source from which heavy motion boiled, surged and, not to be damned up, force itself into new channels. (p90-91)

Elizabeth Bowen does not forget the dead, and she provides a strong image of them, present through their absences.

Most of all the dead, from mortuaries, from under cataracts of rubble, made their anonymous presence – not as today’s dead but as yesterday’s living – felt through London. Uncounted, they continued to move in shoals through the city day, pervading everything to be seen or heard or felt with their torn-off senses, drawing on this tomorrow they had expected – for death cannot be so sudden as all that. Absent from the routine which had been life, they stamped upon that routine their absence – not knowing who the dead were you could not know which might be the staircase somebody for the first time was not mounting this morning, or at which street corner the newsvendor missed a face, or which trains and buses in the homegoing rush were this evening lighter by one passenger. (p91-2)

This passage illustrates her rather difficult style and its density has the effect of slowing the reader, so you have to engage with the direction of the sentence, its meaning, its surprise. In the example above, the sentence that begins ‘Absent from the routine’ by its end has conjured up the non-presence of the dead, and has a very pleasing rhythm.

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The novel is claimed as a London novel, and it is indeed very clearly located around the Regent’s Park area, although, echoing Stella’s confusion, the blackout means that sometimes she does not know where Harrison has taken her. An interesting article about its London-ness, by Jane Miller (author of Crazy Age), can be found on the London Fictions website. The London location and the heightened sensibilities of living there are contrasted with Stella’s visit to the rural calm of Ireland. Ireland remained neutral during the war, although not unaffected by it (Stella uses months’ supply of house candles, unknowingly). A second contrast is to Holme Dene, where Robert’s mother lives, in the Home Counties. Holme Dene is permanently for sale and rigidly in thrall to Muttikins. Elizabeth Bowen’s description reveals a great deal about Robert’s family:

…upstairs life since the war, had up there condensed itself into very few rooms – swastika-arms of passage leading to nothing, stripped of carpet, bulbs gone from the light-sockets, were flanked by doors with keys turned. Extinct, at this night hour Stygian as an abandoned mine-working, those reaches of passages would show in daylight ghost-pale faded patches no shadow crossed, and, from end to end, an even conquest of dust. (p258)

One important theme of the novel concerns allegiances, what individuals owe to other people. In war it is an unquestioned assumption that one will have allegiance to one’s country and abhorrence of fraternization or spying for the enemy. The central questions of the novel are about Robert’s treachery or not, and Stella’s duty to him or her country.

Stella’s visit to Mount Morris in Ireland raises questions about place in allegiance, of one nation to another, and the bequest to Roderick brings up questions of who owes what to whom in the next generation. To whom, Elizabeth Bowen appears to ask, when the chips are down, do we owe our loyalty? Her answer, I think, is to the integrity of the self and one’s love for others.

It is also a novel about appearances and what is concealed and whether you should trust what you see, what you feel, what you want to trust. At the centre of this theme is Harrison, a shady character, about whom we never know much, not his work, his past, or where he goes or what he does when he is not with Stella. And like Stella we do not know whether to believe what he implies. We do not want to believe that Stella’s lover is a traitor.

Stella has the reputation of a woman who shamefully abandoned her husband. Her son Roderick learns the truth from a woman who has been feigning madness for years. But the truth is not that simple, for Stella has preferred people to believe what they thought was the truth rather than acknowledge to the world that her husband did not want to stay with her. Even Stella’s affair with Robert is presented to the reader as not of the real world.

The lovers had for two years possessed a hermetic world, which, like the ideal book about nothing, stayed itself on itself by its inner force. (p90)

Appearances of the characters reflect something about their role in the plot and their characteristics as well as Elizabeth Bowen’s confidence in handling them. Harrison comes and goes in a shady way. Stella is not directly introduced until Chapter 2. Robert does not appear until Chapter 5. Many of the minor characters appear and disappear as acquaintances did in London’s reduced social world.

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Despite being a published writer for 25 years Elizabeth Bowen found it difficult to finish the novel. She wrote the early sections during the war but it was not published until 1948. She had fallen in love with Charles Ritchie, a Canadian diplomat, to whom the book is dedicated and considered the physical model for Robert. Their affair continued, despite his return to Canada, his marriage and frequent separations, until she died in 1973. (For more details of this and other writers’ lives during the war see Lara Feigel’s The Love-charm of Bombs).

I love this novel. I expect I will read it again and again. I hope I can encourage you to read (or even reread) it.

For another enthusiastic blog review see Book Snob’s here. My reviews of earlier Elizabeth Bowen novels are here: The Hotel, and The Last September.

 

Reminder: the next general Readalong will be in December. If you want to make a reading suggestion please do so. I will announce the choice in the next few weeks.

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The Last September by Elizabeth Bowen

Do you keep a cache of chocolates after Christmas, so that you can savour again the pleasures of treating yourself? The novels of Elizabeth Bowen are like that. She is a novelist I am glad to have come across late in my reading career. I picked up a copy of The Last September recently in an Oxfam secondhand shop and in February it came to the top of my reading pile.

The Last September was published in 1929, when Elizabeth Bowen was 30. She went on writing until 1969, and died in 1973. Her best known book is probably The Heat of the Day (1949) set in wartime London.

Last September

Ireland in 1920 is the location of The Last September. This is the period when the Black and Tans, a motley collection of British armed forces, were sent to Ireland to deal with the insurgents fighting for Irish freedom. A bloody period in Irish history was just beginning. She is often described as a novelist of the inner life and likened to Jane Austen for it. A strong theme of this novel is the intrusion of the outer world into the domestic, the personal, the inner worlds of the characters in the house – Danielstown.

About six o’clock the sound of a motor, collected out of the whole country and narrowed under the trees of the avenue, brought the household on to the steps. Up among the beeches, a thin iron gate twanged; the car slid out from a net of shadow, down the slope to the house. Behind the flashing windscreen Mr and Mrs Montmorency produced – arms waving and a wild escape to the wind of her mauve motor-veil – an agitation of greeting. They were long-promised visitors. They exclaimed, Sir Richard and Lady Naylor exclaimed and signalled: no one spoke yet. It was a moment of happiness, of perfection. (p7)

Ah, the perfection of that phrase ‘an agitation of greeting’! This is the opening paragraph, a sound of a car from beyond the boundary of the demesne, bringing long-promised visitors and a moment of ‘happiness and perfection’. And thus we are warned that it will not last, this happiness and perfection. Indeed the title of the novel has already indicated it.

Silence or circumlocution are her themes. Silence about certain topics. Notice, in the opening paragraph that short phrase: ‘no one spoke yet.’ Sir Richard leaves the room if anything significant is mentioned. Lady Naylor will not speak directly. Here, for example, she is attempting to warn off the very nice young English subaltern who is courting her niece, and whose English good manners drive her to more directness for once.

‘Oh, Mr Lesworth!’ she cried, disconcerted. She resumed firmly but with inspiration, something between a hospital nurse and a prophetess: ‘The less talk, the less indirect discussion round and about things, the better, I always think.’ (p181)

Less talk and less indirect discussion fill the remaining pages of the novel, until its concluding paragraph:

Sir Richard and Lady Naylor, not saying anything, did not look at each other, for in the light from the sky they saw too distinctly. (p206)

There are many characters in this short novel, and Bowen has no difficulty in getting the reader to see them as individuals, often in a few deft words. A good example is the description of Lady Naylor’s tone with Gerald, quoted above: ‘something between a hospital nurse and a prophetess’.

The house is almost a character, in itself. In it live Lady Naylor and her husband Sir Richard, their respective nephew and niece, Laurence and Lois (late teens, early 20s), and their guests Mr and Mrs Montmorency, whose arrival opens the book. There are other people in their social circle, and Elizabeth Bowen’s descriptions and use of them in the plot have again reminded people of Jane Austen: the voluminous Mrs Fogarty, the unmarriageable Miss Hartigans, sharp and stylish Marda Norton. One of the sub-plots concerns Mr Montmorency’s pathetic yearning after what he cannot or does not have including the inevitable Marda. He can never be sure whether the decision not to emigrate to Canada was right or wrong, and whether to build a bungalow, or not.

Lois is the focus of the narrative, her relationships with Gerald Lesworth, her cousin Laurence, the exotic Marda, her friends in the locality and in London. In the course of the novel she develops a taste for the world beyond Danielstown, and encounters the outer world, which she cannot share with the people in the house. She moves further and further away, as young people must.

The Last September has something of the attraction of a short story, the glimpse of a small world, and over a short timescale, but everything distilled, sharp, moving us towards the denouement.

Elizabeth Bowen is justifiably celebrated for the quality of her prose, and especially for her powers of description. Inanimate objects almost take on intention, emotion, reaction and become, as the house does, part of the action. Rosalind Brown, in her Mslexia blog in January, Influence me, Elizabeth Bowen, quotes Elizabeth Bowen’s description of the dining room and then consciously models her own prose on it. There’s no higher praise for a novelist.

Since I finished this novel I’ve found her first one, The Hotel, in a second hand shop, so I have another treat waiting for me.

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