Vile Bodies (1930)
Evelyn Waugh (Little & Brown, 1958)

321 pp. First reading.
Posted 11 October 2006.

Waugh's second novel, following after Decline and Fall, continues the black humour and inspired absurdity of its predecessor. The story, such as it is, explores the social circles of London's twentysomethings -- whom Waugh dubbs "Bright Young Things" -- in the years between the two world wars.

It is in some ways a difficult book to appreciate. A flock of extravagant characters are introduced in the first chapter, and while I think none of them are dropped completely, a fair number have little to do with the story's subsequent development. They have odd names like Mr. Outrage, Chastity, Mrs. Ape; initially I suspected that there was a layer of allegory, but this turned out to be false. The story leaps from one situation to the next, sometimes resting for only a moment before moving on, more like a screenplay than a conventional novel, and I find it difficult to discern much shape in the result.

Perhaps that is the point. The lives these characters are living are casual, undirected, decadent, and superficial. They move from one episode to another, one glittering party to the next, having forgettable conversations and meaningless relationships. None of their lives have any moral purpose or seriousness; how then could a story about them be otherwise?

Waugh's humour is never far below the surface, and comes closer the harder one concentrates on the details of the writing. As always with him, the comedy has a sharp edge. The laconic telling of the suicide of a gossip columnist evoked some uncomfortable giggles; more wholesome was the account of Colonel Blount's screening of his film on the life of John Wesley, during which I couldn't read more than a few lines at a time for gleeful laughter.

Despite these pleasures, I must admit that I found the tone of the novel elusive. Much of it left me scratching my head. The large number of characters, their mostly inconsequential activities, and the sudden shattering of the novel's world by the dark intrusion of reality at the novel's end add up to what seems an awkward result. I am willing to believe, however, that Waugh is a better writer than I am a reader, and I hope that I can return to this book in the future to try again.

[The gossip columnist, having been ejected from the biggest party of the year, returns home and calls in a scandalous fabrication for his column.]
It made over two columns, and when Simon finally rang off, after receiving the congratulations of his colleagues, he was for the first time in his journalistic experience perfectly happy about his work. He finished the watery dregs of the cocktail shaker and went into the kitchen. He shut the door and the window and opened the door of the gas-oven. Inside it was very black and dirty and smelled of meat. He spread a sheet of newspaper on the lowest tray and lay down, resting his head on it. Then he noticed that by some mischance he had chosen Vanburgh's gossip-page in the Morning Despatch. He put in another sheet. Then he turned on the gas. It came surprisingly with a loud roar; the wind of it stirred his hair and the remaining particles of his beard. At first he held his breath. Then he thought that was silly and gave a sniff. The sniff made him cough, and coughing made him breathe, and breathing made him feel very ill; but soon he fell into a coma and presently died.

[Adam Symes meets Ginger, the man who stole his fiance Nina]
'Look here, Symes,' said Ginger, 'what I mean to say is, what I'm going to say may sound damned unpleasant, you know, and all that, but look here, you know, damn it, I mean the better man won -- not that I mean I'm the better man. Wouldn't say that for a minute. And anyway, Nina's a damn sight too good for either of us. It's just that I've been lucky. Awful rough luck on you, I mean, and all that, but still when you come to think of it, after all, well, look here, damn it, I mean, d'you see what I mean?'
  'Not quite,' said Adam...

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