From Publishers Weekly
One senses Waugh doesn't really want his readers to answer the question in his title, because for many it won't do! Those without knowledge of or interest in English literary publications and feuds therein will wonder at so many tempests in such tiny teacups, and those put off by English upper-class pretensions will get an overdose. This eldest son of the curmudgeonly novelist Evelyn Waugh (Brideshead Revisited), who died in 1966, tries to have it both ways: he seems to want the spotlight as a famous man's son, but he also wants his own talent and mordant wit to be judged solely on merit. He tells a rather sad tale. It seems Evelyn Waugh didn't much care for his children, asserting in his diaries that they wouldn't be his first concern in a house fire. His son also claims that his father felt entitled "to advertise an acute and unqualified dislike of [his six children]." This particular Waugh has wandered around the world and written five novels, many book reviews and hundreds of acerbic, often witty columns for periodicals like the Spectator, Private Eye and the New Statesman. This possibly first installment of his autobiography was published in 1991 in the U.K. While offering juicy gossip for aficionados, it seems unlikely that U.S. readers in general will find the book sufficiently interesting. Photos.
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.
From Library Journal
In the "Apologia" to this interminable, name-dropping memoir, Auberon Waugh (b. 1939), editor of London's Literary Review, columnist for the Daily Telegraph, author, and son of writer Evelyn Waugh (1903-66) ponders his motives for writing his autobiography. Except during rare moments of limited insight into his curmudgeonly father, the reader remains just as perplexed. In spite of Auberon's somewhat disingenuous self-effacement, his desire for his father's approval, not forthcoming during the elder's lifetime, is apparent. The best portions of the book, which involve descriptions of Auberon's early career as a journalist and novelist, unfortunately, do not comprise the bulk of the memoir. Though smartly written and dryly humorous, this insider's look at British upper-class life, replete with nicknames like Toady, Slimy, and Pips, tales of Oxford, and near-deadly pranks in the army could only appeal to the most ardent Anglophile.?Diane Gardner Premo, Rochester P.L., NY
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.
