Relentless Repose

Such a strange evening with minimal page-turning. I awoke steeped in spirit but the day has threatened. I hope to finish such enjoying the Waugh and a cigar. Waugh is delicious, such a departure from the hyper-detail of a James or Trollope; a slanting rain of snark befills the page. The novel has shifted its weight from the wartime ennui of his Sword trilogy to recovering itself in a Oxford manner, recalling to my own backwards eye the better parts of William Boyd. Strange to recognize the progenitor in the tyro.