Grant Munroe

Evelyn Waugh (1903—1966) is one of my favorite comic authors. Sadly, he’s not too well known in America. And if he is known, it’s usually for Brideshead Revisited, his least funny novel. It’s not a comedy at all, really. Which is why it might be, given his incredible gift for satire, my least favorite of his early works.

The money books, I think, are the four he published prior to BR:

• Decline and Fall (1928)
• Black Mischief (1932)
• A Handful of Dust (1934)
• Put Out More Flags (1942)

With Decline and Fall being the best, and A Handful of Dust as the close second. (Though Put Out More Flags, even if it fails as a novel, may be his funniest.)

Here’s the thing about Waugh’s humor, which may explain why it’s more appreciated in England than it is in America: it’s cruel. It’s unabashedly mean. None of his characters are ever completely innocent, half of them are inevitably and unjustly tripped up—even killed—by bizarre circumstances, and the remaining half treat the pains of the former half with aristocratic indifference. There’s a good example of this in an early scene in Decline and Fall, set at a third-tier public school. On Visiting Day, the students are herded around by a band of doltish teachers, forced to participate in “sport” before their aloof upper-class parents. One of those teachers, Mr. Prendergast, drunk off one drink, is given the role of Starter—which he carries out using not a starting pistol, but an old WWI service revolver:

“I shall say, ‘Are you ready? one, two, three!’ and then fire,” said Mr. Pendergast. “Are you ready?  One”—there was a terrific report. “Oh, dear! I’m sorry”—but the race had begun. Clearly Tangent was not going to win; he was sitting on the grass crying because he had been wounded in the foot by Mr. Pendergast’s bullet. Philbrick carried him, wailing dismally, into the refreshment tent, where Dingy helped him off with his shoe. His heel was slightly grazed. Dingy gave him a large slice of cake, and he hobbled out surrounded by a sympathetic crowd.

“That won’t hurt him,” said [Tangent's mother,] Lady Circumference, “but I think some one ought to remove the pistol from that old man before he does anything serious.”

“I knew that was going to happen,” said Lord Circumference.

“A most unfortunate beginning,” said the Doctor.

“Am I going to die?” said Tangent, his mouth full of cake.

“For God’s sake, look after Prendy,” said Grimes in Paul’s ear. “The man’s as tight as a lord, and on one whisky, too.”

“First blood to me!” said Mr. Predergast gleefully.

“The last race will be run again,” said Paul down the megaphone. “Starter, Mr. Philbrick; time-keeper, Mr. Predergast.”

It would be one thing if Tangent were only shot on the foot. But as the novel moves forward we’re given updates on his state of his appendage—which runs from “grazed” to “infected” to “gangrenous” to “in need of etherless amputation.” Until, finally, near the end, we read a cast-off mention of Tangent’s death.

There’s a documentary about the Waugh family on YouTube. It’s a multi-generational biography, showcasing a four (possibly five) generations of brilliant, strong, witty writers, with Evelyn—both the best writer out of all of them, and the biggest bastard out of all them all—featured prominently. Worth watching, I think.