Books Do Furnish a Room by Anthony Powell

by James Wallace Harris, 9/16/23

Books Do Furnish a Room is book ten in Anthony Powell’s series A Dance to the Music of Time covering the years 1945-1947 in the fictional life of Nick Jenkins. After the war, England is rebuilding, food is rationed, liquor is scarce, and Nick is trying to make a living by reviewing books. I’ve read in Powell’s biography, Anthony Powell: Dancing to the Music of Time by Hilary Spurling that Powell was reviewing as many as twenty books a month to make ends meet. Sometimes I wish that A Dance to the Music of Time was a series of memoirs rather than novels because I’d love to know the basis for all the satire in Nick’s life.

For instance, two of the main characters in Books Do Furnish a Room are Pamela Widmerpool and X. Trapnel. Powell supposedly based them on Barbara Skelton and Julian Maclaren-Ross. They aren’t nice characters either. Pamela is a notorious emasculator of men, yet men can’t resist her. Trapnel is a talented posser who sponges off everyone he meets. Pamela is married to Kenneth Widmerpool, a character who is in all twelve novels of the series.

Nick met Widmerpool at school, where he was despised by the other boys for being fat, poor, and a loser. Yet throughout the novels, Widmerpool keeps climbing higher on the social ladder until he’s a member of Parliament. It is quite strange that he ends up with Pamela, an extremely beautiful woman.

Books Do Furnish a Room is about Fission magazine that Nick, Kenneth, and X. Trapnel all write for. It was backed by Erridge, Earl of Warminster, Nick’s brother-in-law, who dies at the beginning of the story. One of the founders of Fission is J. G. Quiggin who has been in earlier novels and is a Marxist. In fact, many of the characters in these books are left leaning. Powell suggests England was full of fellow travelers, communists, and Marxists, even Kenneth Widmerpool.

The hardest thing to describe about this story is the humor. It’s very dry. I remember hearing Powell’s prose being described as a cross between Evelyn Waugh and P. G. Wodehouse. In one of the opening scenes Pamela flees a funeral service during a bout of nausea, almost knocking down the pallbearers of Erridge. Later she vomits into a five-foot tall Chinese vase that may or may not be rare, and there’s a funny seen of several men trying to wash it out. But Powell’s slapstick scenes are rare. Most of his prose is like the opening paragraph:

Books do Furnish a Room begins the final trilogy of books in A Dance to the Music of Time, and it deals with the academic and literary world. The story begins with Nick meeting Sillery, his old school master again. Nick is also researching a book he’s writing on The Anatomy of Melancholy, a 1621 book by Robert Burton. This was a real book, and maybe if I knew it better, it might relate to this story. Throughout Books do Furnish a Room, Nick mentions many books, most of which are fictional. It’s a challenge to discern references to real works and works that belong only in Nick Jenkins’ reality. The most important made-up novel is Camel Ride to the Tomb by X. Trapnel. In the eleventh novel, Nick meets Trapnel’s biographer, so its importance stretches over two books.

There was a 1997 4-part miniseries based on A Dance to the Music of Time. You can get them on YouTube. It’s quite a rush job to cram twelve novels into four TV episodes that are less than two hours each. However, they do cover the highlights of the entire series. I’ve seen it twice and I’m watching parts of it for a third time. You can get a feel for Books Do Furnish a Room by watching the first third of this episode. (By the way, the actress that plays Pamela looks nothing like how I imagined her from the novel. But the scene I mentioned above is in this sequence.)

JWH

What is Education in Old Age?

by James Wallace Harris

Is grazing on knowledge the same as an education?

I regularly read nonfiction books, watch news shows and documentaries, and read informative magazines, but is that getting an education? What exactly is an education?

When we are young, we go to school. We have the goal of graduating high school. A high school degree claims to give everyone a well-rounded basic education. After that we can seek a college degree because we’re told it will raise our status in society. Then we’re enticed to take graduate degrees with promises of better jobs and prestige. And for those people who didn’t go to college, earning technical certificates tempts us with more money and better job titles.

Education was related to specific goals. Is it the goal that defines an education? Let’s say you play chess. Is studying chess to beat your friends an education? What about studying chess to become a Grand Master? I think there must be a difference between learning and getting an education.

Next month with be my tenth anniversary of retiring from work. Before I retired, I thought I would have goals for my life after work. It hasn’t worked out that way. It’s been one long downward slide into inactivity. Having to go to school, college, and then work, imposed goals on me. Susan and I have minimum demands on us – stay healthy, don’t get sick, keep up the house, pay the bills, and take care of each other. It’s all about maintaining, there’s no planning for the future.

Before I retired, I thought I’d get a master’s degree in computer science, or some other subject in my free time. But after I retired, going back to school seemed pointless. Do we only go to school to get a job?

Why do I need an education if I’m not going to use it in some way? We talk about life-long learning, but is that the same as an education? I’m learning new things every day, but I don’t think that’s an education.

Because I love reading books written by English authors, I could make that into a goal of getting a master’s degree in English literature. The Wizard of Oz gave the Scarecrow a diploma to prove he had brains. Would that be meaningful to me now that I’m old?

Chess players use various rating systems to rank themselves. It’s mainly used for arranging matches in competitions, but it allows players to judge the depth of their knowledge.

I like to think I know a little bit about English literature, but I have no idea how much I know. What if there were standardized tests that measured knowledge of English literature and ranked the test takers, would that be meaningful stimulus to get better educated? Would learning to compete in rankings be an education?

Most people think of themselves as knowledgeable about their favorite subjects and hobbies. What if there was a way to rank that knowledge? Earning a living is the incentive for most people to go to school. Could competition be another incentive to seek an education? What if there were more than just Pub Trivia contests to prove our knowledge in old age?

I’ve thought about studying math in my old age to see how much I’m capable of still learning. I got on the Khan Academy right after I retired and discovered I had forgotten nearly all the math I had taken in school and college. I had to start over with grade school mathematics. I gave up while still taking lessons at the fifth-grade level. I gave up because I didn’t feel like I needed what I was learning. However, I’ve been wondering lately if I could get further just to prove I was still able to learn at 71. Is that another incentive to get an education late in life?

There are subjects that I should study in old age. Things like how to use the healthcare system, where to invest my retirement savings, household maintenance for future climate change, how to live with failing bodies, or financially planning for death. Most of us just fumble our way through these things. What if there were degrees to earn in these topics, or ranking systems to measure our progress?

It seems to be an education is some kind of validated learning for a purpose. Since so many of us are getting old, maybe society needs to develop educational systems for the last third of life.

JWH

Strangers on a Train (1951)

by James Wallace Harris, 9/13/23

Annie and I got together this afternoon to watch our second Alfred Hitchcock film together, Strangers on a Train. Of the four Hitchcock films I’ve seen this month, it’s the one I liked best by far. See my reactions to Notorious, Rebecca, and The Man Who Knew Too Much. I say reactions, because these essays aren’t reviews, they chronicle how I felt and come with spoilers.

I had some problems with Strangers on a Train, but this 1951 film showed Hitchcock had evolved creatively since Notorious in 1946. Visually, it was much more exciting, and the plot was far more believable — until the end. The acting felt deeper too.

Tennis star Guy Haines (Farley Granger) is recognized by a fan, Bruno Antony (Robert Walker) on a train. Bruno comes on very friendly and forward, and admits he knows a lot about Guy because of what’s in the newspapers. Bruno knows Guy is married and wants a divorce so he can marry Anne Morton (Ruth Roman), a daughter of a senator. Eventually, Bruno tells him his theory of how to get away with murder. He offers to kill Guy’s wife if Guy will kill his father. He says each of them won’t be a suspect because neither will have a motive. Guy thinks Bruno is nuts and goes on his way.

But Bruno does kills Miriam Joyce Haines (Kasey Rogers) assuming he and Guy had a deal. The film hits high gear when Guy learns his wife has been murdered and Bruno starts pestering him to fulfill his part of the bargain.

This is a perfect setup for a Hitchcock film. It’s based on a 1950 novel of the same name by Patricia Highsmith, which has a significantly different plot. It’s a psychological thriller, and the reason the film Strangers on the Train is so good. Of the four Hitchcock films I’ve seen this month, two were based on successful novels, Rebecca, and Strangers on a Train. From my small sample, I assume Hitchcock creates his best work from a tightly plotted story. The two other films, The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934) and Notorious felt like they were a succession of scenes that tied together a plot but weren’t tightly integrated into a seamless interconnected whole. The two films based on books were both brilliantly plotted.

Bruno is a realistic portrayal of a psychopath. His character is quite believable, living in his own fantasy reality. The idea of Bruno shanghaiing a sane person is fascinating, and believable. I wish Strangers on a Train had maintained that believability until the end. Unfortunately, the plot derails when Guy and Anne hatch a plot to catch Bruno planting evidence.

Hitchcock loves generating tension, but I thought the tension turned up too high at the end, and the action sped up too fast with it. The whole rushed tennis match didn’t work for me. And I thought the Merry-Go-Round scene was silly. The Merry-Go-Round went too fast to be believed, and seeing it crash to pieces hurt the whole experience. I figured Hitchcock wanted a BIG climax, but it was too big.

I wish the realistic pacing had stayed constant throughout. The film lost control of the characterization. Even the cinematography fell apart as the pacing increased. I have not read the Highsmith novel, but I might. From what it says on Wikipedia it’s a much different story.

After Annie and I finished with Strangers on a Train, we watched two little shorts about Hitchcock that were quite informative. I have a feeling that the more I learn about Hitchcock the more I’ll like his movies. I also expect to be more forgiving of his films when I rewatch them. There’s a chance that I need to learn how to watch Hitchcock.

Even though I’m complaining a lot about the Hitchcock films we’re watching, I ended up buying two collections of his films. This gives me twenty of his most famous films to study. Many of Hitchcock’s films are on YouTube. TCM showed several of them this week. And many are available for rent on Amazon Prime. The Blu-ray box set was exceptionally nice with its packaging and extras.

JWH

The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934)

by James Wallace Harris, 9/13/23

Do you ever think about why you watch movies? Do you ever think about why people make movies? The obvious answer is people want to be entertained and diverted and other people want to make money off those impulses. However, there are filmmakers with something to say, and audiences who want more than to be just entertained.

Alfred Hitchcock aims at pure entertainment. I don’t believe his films are philosophical, uplifting, meaningful, spiritual, or have anything specific to communicate. Hitchcock shows an evolution in the artistry over time, and his 1934 film The Man Who Knew Too Much is not as creative as his on 1956 remake. However, I don’t want to compare the two, I want to consider the 1934 film on its own.

The Man Who Knew Too Much is based on book title, a collection of detective stories by G. K. Chesterton. The film uses nothing of the stories.

The plot of the film is basic. Foreign agents plan to assassinate a prominent figure in London. A British couple vacationing in Switzerland with their adolescent daughter intercept a warning for the British consul. The agents kidnap the daughter and tell the couple if they relay the message to the police, they will kill their daughter. The couple return to London where British officials meet them. They have guessed the situation. They tell the couple they must tell them the message or else the assassination could cause a war like WWI. The couple refused, saying they only care about their daughter.

This hostage setup is common in thrillers. Hitchcock uses it clumsily. The criminals are willing to kill anyone at any time. Why didn’t they just kill the parents and leave the child? And why do the parents find the criminals almost instantly, faster than the police? And what’s with the silliness of the dentist scenes? Or the silliness of the cult of sun worshippers (nudists)?

Hitchcock switches between humor, violence, humor, violence, throughout the film. And for modern audiences, the stage and special effects are crude. They are on par with movies from 1934, but most modern film viewers won’t know that.

Hitchcock has said he was an amateur filmmaker when he made the 1934 version of The Man Who Knew Too Much, but a professional when he made the 1956 version. To me, the only reason to watch the 1934 version is if you want to have seen all of Hitchcock’s films.

My favorite film of 1934 is Treasure Island with Wallace Beery, Jackie Cooper, Lewis Stone, and Lionel Barrymore. Even still, most modern movie watchers will find it crudely made. Treasure Island is superior to The Man Who Knew Too Much in every way, plot, acting, costumes, sets, and special effects, but Treasure Island probably had five times the budget, and was made in Hollywood. The Man Who Knew Too Much is more comparable in quality to Charlie Chan in London from 1934.

The best thing about The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934) is Peter Lorre. He couldn’t speak English yet and had to memorize his lines phonetically. He’s not particularly evil or menacing in this film, but he does stand out as a fun bad guy.

However, as I watch these Hitchcock films, I’m disappointed that they never try to rise above just being thrilling or funny. They give no sense of place, history, or society. They offer no psychological insights. Later Hitchcock films offer style, but not this early one.

Comparing it to Rebecca made just six years later in 1940, but in Hollywood, Hitchcock shows a tremendous evolution in filmmaking. It offered so much more, but then Rebecca was based on an impressive book. Then six more years, in 1946 Hitchcock made Notorious, which I found problematic. It wasn’t based on a book and the plot seemed silly.

My current hunch is Hitchcock on his own or working closely with a screenwriter, focuses on pushing just a few kinds of emotional buttons. He likes to create suspense and tension and uses comedy to keep things within control. That’s what we see in The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934).

It’s okay if that’s what you like, but I wanted more.

JWH

A Dance to the Music of Time: Autumn by Anthony Powell

by James Wallace Harris

The Valley of Bones, The Soldier’s Art, and The Military Philosophers are books seven, eight, nine in a twelve-volume series called A Dance to the Music of Time by Anthony Powell. The twelve books are about Nick Jenkins, written between 1951 and 1975, covering Jenkin’s fictional life from 1921 through 1971. The twelve volumes are sometimes published in four volumes named after the seasons. Books 7-9 are called Autumn, or the Third Movement. The series takes its name and theme from a 1640 painting by Nicolas Poussin.

The three books of the third movement cover the war years 1940-1945 and give a rather unique view of England during WWII. Nick Jenkins’ life somewhat resembles Anthony Powell’s life (1905-2000) and some of the characters are based on people he knew. Here is a description of Powell’s military career during WWII from Wikipedia. It is very much like what we read in the three novels. Although we aren’t told Nick won any awards or medals, but then he is a modest character that doesn’t like attention.

Upon the outbreak of the Second World War, Powell, at age 34, joined the British Army as a second lieutenant, making him more than 10 years older than most of his fellow subalterns, not at all well prepared for military life, and lacking in experience. Powell joined the Welch Regiment and was stationed in Northern Ireland at the time of air raids in Belfast. His superiors found uses for his talents, resulting in a series of transfers that brought him to special training courses designed to produce a nucleus of officers to deal with the problems of military government after the Allies had defeated the Axis powers. He eventually secured an assignment with the Intelligence Corps and additional training. His military career continued with a posting to the War Office in Whitehall, where he was attached to the section known as Military Intelligence (Liaison) overseeing relations with, and the basic material needs of, foreign troops in exile, specifically the Czechs, later with the Belgians and Luxembourgers, and later still the French. Later, for a short time, he was posted to the Cabinet Office, to serve on the Secretariat of the Joint Intelligence Committee, securing promotions along the way.

For his service in the Army, he received two General Service medals as well as the 1944 France and Germany Star for escorting a group of Allied military attaches from Normandy to Montgomery's 21st Army Group Tactical HQ in November 1944 three miles from Roermond, Holland then held by the Germans. For representing the interests of foreign armies in exile as a liaison officer he received the following decorations: the Order of the White Lion (Czechoslovakia), Oaken Crown (Luxembourg), Order of Leopold II (Belgium), and Luxembourg War Cross (Croix de Guerre -Luxembourg).[19]

After his demobilization at the end of the war, writing became his sole career.

I find Nick’s story of military training and life on the London home front quite fascinating since the last book I read was about a British bomber squadron and all the books work like a jigsaw puzzle to create one vast image. The most action Nick sees are air raids. In one sequence he describes how several of his friends were killed in a bombing raid, and in another he gives a description of living with V-1 attacks. I was particularly moved by Nick’s observations and contemplations when he attended the VE Day Thanksgiving Service at St. Paul’s Cathedral.

But you don’t read these books for military history. Powell was an observer of people, and so was Nick. Powell’s A Dance to the Music of Time is often compared to Marcel Proust’s seven-novel sequence In Search of Lost Time. However, Proust was very inward looking, and Powell was not. We learn little about Nick Jenkins in these novels because he likes to look outward. He is an observer of people, places, and society.

I love Powell’s books because there are so many characters that come and go. I am delighted whenever one returns. Powell’s characters are like real life people, reminding me of people I know who have come into my life and left, but sometimes I run into them again, or hear stories about them years later. That essentially describes the books in this series. It’s sad that in the third sequence, many of the characters I loved reading about die in the war. I was especially saddened by Charles Stringham story. Peter Templer tale ends too, in The Military Philosophers, but it is offstage and mysterious. and there’s plenty of Kenneth Widmerpool anecdotes. He’s everyone’s favorite, getting his own entry in Wikipedia.

The notable new character that enters in these three books is Pamela Flitton, a femme fatale of the first order. She’s a real piece of work and was based on Barbara Skelton, wife of Cyril Connolly. Skelton also wrote novels and memoirs, so now I must read her. Powell’s vicious portrayal of her makes me wonder if he got sued. Her character continues into the final three novels.

Powell’s reputation is on the decline, which is disappointing. He was friends with Evelyn Waugh, Henry Green, and other British writers of the 20th century, which means my TBR pile is growing. I’ve also discovered several articles about Powell and his friends on Google, but I can’t read those articles until I resubscribe to The New York Review of Books and The New Yorker. That could become a black hole that could capture me forever.

20th century British literature is gently pulling me away from science fiction. Part of that tugging comes from reading A Dance to the Music of Time. Science fiction is known for its world building and the vast fictional landscape created by English writers is becoming far richer and real than the sci-fi alien worlds I’ve lived with for six decades.

For the first six novels, I only rated them four stars in Goodreads, but these last three are five-star novels. I expect if I go back and reread the first six, I will bump up their ratings to five-stars too. And this is a series that I will need to reread. It has over three hundred named characters, and the web of interconnections they make is rich and baroque. It will draw me back in again.

JWH