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Margaret Jenkins's avatar

Thank you Alex for your thoughtful analysis. I am tolerably interested in Art but, I must admit, never heard of Llote or Glaizes. On what you showed I don’t think that I would want a portrait painted by either of them. I must look them up.

There is definitely a gathering gloom running through the book and we, of course, know what’s coming. McClintick’s suicide at the end of the book contributes to the atmosphere.

I do agree that more about Nick’s wedding would have been interesting but I suppose he is simply keeping himself in the background as narrator. He doles out snippets about his private life from time to time, like the arrival of the baby, but doesn’t elaborate.

In preparation for The Kindly Ones I listened to Peter Dawson singing the Kashmiri song - I expected it to sound familiar but I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.

I’m glad you like The Card - very different from most of Arnold Bennett but such a good read. I have recommended it to many over the years and sometimes sent people a copy when they said they hadn’t read it.

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Wendy Shillam's avatar

Casanovas Chinese Restaurant

As always your commentary illuminates aspects of the book I hadn’t focused on.  Watteau’s The Love Lesson made me think immediately of the old Sagne cafe on Marylebone High Street, which had dreamy trompe d’oeil interiors -now all swept away.  I found a picture of Lucien Freud supping there with his mother in the 80s.  In those days it was beloved of Harley St doctors, RAM musicians and genteel ladies such as myself with a penchant for afternoon tea.  Perhaps  it was Powell’s inspiration. And I couldn’t help imagining The Mortimer pub as The Wheatsheaf in Rathbone Place - never bombed as far as I know, but a well known haunt of Dylan Thomas and Augustus John.

I’d love to see the paintings that were exhibited in the show of the London Group!

I hope you don’t mind me adding my own thoughts (in a bit of length here).

I like the way Casanova’s  starts at the end and, just like the fate of some of Nick’s friends (which we don’t learn about till later) it has been obliterated by a wartime bomb. We are invited to think that that world and that part of Nicks life is now over. But I don’t think it was!

I can’t help finding shared imagery with Waugh’s books (think of the trompe d’oiel room in Brideshead (1945)) or Decline and fall (1928), which I gather was influenced by Gibbon.

But while Gibbon describes the decline and eventual obliteration of Roman civilisation - serious stuff and Waugh treated the whole 30s decline as a bit of a joke, Powell’s characters are more nuanced and suffer a variety of fates.  One commits suicide, triggering another to leave his mistress to go back to his wife.  Erridge is left money - enabling him to do the right thing by his family and Nick stands always at the centre of the maelstrom, observant, uncritical and unscathed.

Casanovas is described as East meets West, present and past, incongruous - an amalgam of cultures, just as Nick’s circle encompass business and the arts, straight and gay, rich and poor.  I like the way old friends like Deacon, St John Clarke and Mackintosh represent the ‘old school’ the past while Moreland, Erridge and women like the Tolland sisters represent a future, albeit one that is about to be sorely tested.    

I noticed the deliberate ambivalence that Powell shows to his characters who are often contradictory. This is personified in Matilda, who turns out to be complex in character and looks. She is described as unconventionally beautiful, a ‘jolie laide’. I had to look it up, roughly translated it means ‘pretty ugly’ - striking or unconventional - I imagine a twiggy or a Grace Jones, not a Mia Farrow.

Nobody is sainted or condemned in the book.  Even the most feckless of characters are treated even handedly. is there a tinge of guilt here One wonders whether Powell himself, who married Lady Violet Pakenham in 1934 left a few skeletons in his own cupboards at that time? Though I’m not aware of any.

The balance of humour and drama is skilful.  The one heightens the other.  As the book progresses and the prospect of war looms the mood certainly darkens.  Nick’s rather hapless bohemian friends are treated with humour, but the suicide of a fellow music critic brings Nick and Moreland to their senses.

I found the decline and fall of  Maclintick to be unexpectedly sombre and sad.  He becomes a metaphore for the pre-war ‘carefree’ bohemians who we will not see again until the 60s.

There is probably recognition that the old world is probably best left behind.

The book ends with the metaphor of the ghost train, which pitched and turned its passengers this way and that, both fast and slow towards ‘a shape that  lay across the line’.  That spectre is certainly the Second World War.

Thank you and looking forward to next month

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