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A review by jennyyates
The Last September by Elizabeth Bowen
3.0
Set in Ireland in 1920, during the Troubles, this novel is restrained, elliptical, and self-conscious. It features a bunch of wealthy Irish and British folks living in a country house, having dances and tennis parties, while all around them, the Irish and British fight for control of the country. The prevailing myth among this crowd is that the British have come in to save the Irish from themselves.
In the course of this slow-moving novel, we gradually get an idea of all the characters’ moods and pretensions. The main character is a young woman, Lois, living with her Aunt Myra and Uncle Richard. She doesn’t quite know what to do next, and is trying hard not to be too predictable and ordinary. She goes out with soldiers, and finally decides she has fallen in love with one of them, since he’s rather more definite about being in love with her. However, her Aunt Myra finds him unsuitable, and manipulates the situation to break them up.
The final few pages break up the whole scene, by killing off Lois’ soldier-lover, and burning down the country house. The writing is quite dramatic for a few pages. After I finished the novel, I went back and read the beginning again, and I picked up more of the understated subtext the second time around.
Some of the writing is beautiful, while some of it is a bit too precious. Here are some of the lines I liked best:
< Vague presence, barely a silhouette, the west light sifting into her fluffy hair and lace wrappings so that she half melted, she gave so little answer to one's inquiry that one did not know how to approach. >
< Sir Richard, touching his tie vaguely, wandered around the room, displacing with some irritation the little tables that seemed to spring up in his path, in the pent-up silence of a powerful talker not yet in gear. >
< Her eyes, long and soft-coloured, had the intense brimming wandering look of a puppy’s; in repose her lips met doubtfully, in a never determined line, so that she never seemed to have quite finished speaking. >
< Mrs. Vermont opened her mouth to tell Mrs. Carey the latest Ford story, then checked herself because in Ireland they seemed to like Fords so seriously. She observed instead, “All this is terrible for you all, isn’t it? I do think you’re so sporting the way you just stay where you are and keep going on. Who would ever have thought of the Irish turning out so disloyal – I mean, of course, the lower classes! I remember Mother saying in 1916 – you know, when that dreadful rebellion broke out – she said, ‘This has been a shock to me; I never shall feel the same about the Irish again!’ You see, she had brought us all up as kiddies to be so keen on the Irish and Irish songs. I still have a little bog oak pig she brought me back from an exhibition. She always said they were the most humorous people in the world, and with hearts of gold. Though of course we had none of us ever been in Ireland.” >
In the course of this slow-moving novel, we gradually get an idea of all the characters’ moods and pretensions. The main character is a young woman, Lois, living with her Aunt Myra and Uncle Richard. She doesn’t quite know what to do next, and is trying hard not to be too predictable and ordinary. She goes out with soldiers, and finally decides she has fallen in love with one of them, since he’s rather more definite about being in love with her. However, her Aunt Myra finds him unsuitable, and manipulates the situation to break them up.
The final few pages break up the whole scene, by killing off Lois’ soldier-lover, and burning down the country house. The writing is quite dramatic for a few pages. After I finished the novel, I went back and read the beginning again, and I picked up more of the understated subtext the second time around.
Some of the writing is beautiful, while some of it is a bit too precious. Here are some of the lines I liked best:
< Vague presence, barely a silhouette, the west light sifting into her fluffy hair and lace wrappings so that she half melted, she gave so little answer to one's inquiry that one did not know how to approach. >
< Sir Richard, touching his tie vaguely, wandered around the room, displacing with some irritation the little tables that seemed to spring up in his path, in the pent-up silence of a powerful talker not yet in gear. >
< Her eyes, long and soft-coloured, had the intense brimming wandering look of a puppy’s; in repose her lips met doubtfully, in a never determined line, so that she never seemed to have quite finished speaking. >
< Mrs. Vermont opened her mouth to tell Mrs. Carey the latest Ford story, then checked herself because in Ireland they seemed to like Fords so seriously. She observed instead, “All this is terrible for you all, isn’t it? I do think you’re so sporting the way you just stay where you are and keep going on. Who would ever have thought of the Irish turning out so disloyal – I mean, of course, the lower classes! I remember Mother saying in 1916 – you know, when that dreadful rebellion broke out – she said, ‘This has been a shock to me; I never shall feel the same about the Irish again!’ You see, she had brought us all up as kiddies to be so keen on the Irish and Irish songs. I still have a little bog oak pig she brought me back from an exhibition. She always said they were the most humorous people in the world, and with hearts of gold. Though of course we had none of us ever been in Ireland.” >