Revisting Brideshead

Evelyn Waugh revisits Brideshead Revisited in its 1959 revised edition; "It was a bleak period of present privation and threatening disaster — the period of soya beans and Basic English — and in consequence the book is infused with a kind of gluttony, for food and wine, for the splendours of the recent past, and for rhetorical and ornamental language which now, with a full stomach, I find distasteful."

The contrast between war-ravaged 'soya bean' England and the luxuriant hedonistic memories of Charles and his friendship with Sebastian was, for me, the most emotionally engaging and well written part of the novel. Overall I wanted to like this book much, much more than I actually did.

Waugh's depiction of love and marriage, a commentary within the frames of Catholicism and the English Upper Class, was simply that. Julia and Charles' blossoming relationship was sort of mechanically written, as was other relationships/affairs between the other characters (except Charles and Sebastian's -- perhaps if it was called "Brideshead Revisited: the Adventures of Charles and Sebastian," it would have been better). Waugh can wax lyrical on the delicious and extravagant, but is reluctant to get emotive in his description of romance and its turmoils. There are glimpses of witty and vibrant Marchmain family vignettes, but in obvious contrast Waugh turns the latter part of the book into a serious narrative with hints of redemption and/or resolution for some characters, but it is generally boring because I had little empathy for any of the characters to begin with.

Brideshead Revisited: a great and sweeping bittersweet reverie of a British soldier, rests comfortably on this idea and doesn't take it too much further.

A Visit Down to Brideshead

Brideshead Revisited, by Evelyn Waugh.

Initially after reading Brideshead it took a while to really understand what the book was about. Without a second thought you might assume that it is entirely about a quirky family with lots of problems and has no real point to the disjointed plot. This was very similar to our discussion on it at book club. It was only when we were wrapping up the night that we got into a real discussion of the books subtle main theme.

Maybe this is why the book is so highly regarded, you can revisit the book and get more out of it each time (not that i'll read it again). Mid way through the book I was ready to conclude that this was a fantastic read. I was thoroughly enjoying the story about two young men getting into trouble whilst drinking tremendous amounts of alcohol. It rung true with my own life. But this story died off with Sebastian becoming an alcoholic and eventually running away from not only Brideshead but also the book. This left me feeling lost, not knowing what the rest of the book was really about. Charles steps up the story about his own life, finds some romances and sees all the older Marchmains die.

But this is not what Brideshead is about at all. The house and the characters and the little stories about each one are just a instrument for Waugh to make his point about the Catholicism song. Subtly interwoven throughout the book are discussions and actions discribing Waughs own religion. These tidbits were all a little too weak for me to actually believe that Waugh is a man of strong faith. He consistently mocks Catholic logic, like where he questions how Alexander Flyte crossing himself on his death bed is going to make up for the years of anti-Catholic behaviour, and then gives a small argument for divine grace in Charles's moment where he feels some spirituality after seeing Alexander die. Not nearly dramatic enough to convince me it was really life changing.

A theme should be somewhat of a statement, some kind of goal that the book is trying portray and hopefully persuade the reader into questioning their own ideologies or whatever. But here I am more fascinated by Charles youthful agnostic beliefs than his later conversion. The reader should also be clearly able to understand the conversion if all the Marchmains talk and actions that helped to lead to Charles's conversion have been told. Clearly Waugh would want his audience to be somewhat more understanding of the Catholic teachings and himself being a Catholic would probably want the book to help grow the church. But as I reached the end of the book I'd have to agree with Henry Green who says "The end was not for me. As you can imagine my heart was in my mouth all through the deathbed scene, hoping against hope that the old man would not give way, that is, take the course he eventually did."

The Operation of Grace

Bookclub often involves heated arguments, whether about the aforementioned science fiction issue or related with a particular interpretation of a certain character or theme, the participants are always up for a bit of loud, racous defence of silly ideas. Last night, we examined Waugh's self-proclaimed opus, Brideshead Revisited and engaged in a particularly heated debate concerning the religious quality of the novel.

There is (and was) no denying the strong religious themes dealt with in the book. The inhabitants of Brideshead are set apart by their religion, although the protagonist is adament in his atheism. This is with several large exceptions, chief of which is this passage taken from Charle's first discussions with religion:

I had no religion. I was taken to church weekly as a child, and at school attended chapel daily, but, as though in compensation, from the time I went to my public school I was excused church in the holidays. The masters who taught me Divinity told me that biblical texts were highly untrustworthy. They never suggested I should try to pray. My father did not go to church except on family occasions and then with derision. My mother, I think, was devout. It once seemed odd to me that she should have thought it her duty to leave my father and me and go off with an ambulance, to Serbia, to die of exhaustion in the snow in Bosnia. But later I recognised some such spirit in myself. Later, too, I have come to accept claims which then, in 1923, I never troubled to examine, and to accept the supernatural as the real. I was aware of no such needs that summer at Brideshead. (page 18)

This passage alone hints at a conversion, although admittedly offers no claim of creed or even monotheistic character. However, a cursory glance at what the author has said about the novel and his own context reveals much. Waugh wrote to his literary agent A. D. Peters, "I hope the last conversation with Cordelia gives the theological clue. The whole thing is steeped in theology, but I begin to agree that the theologians won't recognise it." The writing style does not explicitly state anything, but carefully threads the concepts beneath the relationships. The author's avowed intent is to "deal with what is theologically termed 'the operation of Grace', that is to say, the unmerited and unilateral act of love by which God continually calls souls to Himself".

While in other books of the time, secularlism rules unheralded, it is the secular values that Charles holds that are somehow empty in the face of the deep spirituality expressed through the Catholic tradition. The flawless logic that Charles employs does not even convince himself, when he sits at the side of Lord Marchmain's bed and prays for a sign.

Whether Charle's converts in the book is contested in the critical literature but kneeling down in front of the tabernacle of the Brideshead chapel and saying a prayer, "an ancient, newly learned form of words" - implies "recent instruction in the catechism" and the strange smile is testament to some form of enlightenment.

Waugh speaks of his own faith in grace in a letter to Lady Mary Lygon: "I believe that everyone in his (or her) life has the moment when he is open to Divine Grace. It's there, of course, for the asking all the time, but human lives are so planned that usually there's a particular time — sometimes, like Hubert, on his deathbed — when all resistance is down and Grace can come flooding in."

This is not to say the author portrays Catholicism in an entirely positive light. Waugh paints a tainted picture of his ideal, the deeply flawed Brideshead family torn apart from the offset. Sebastian could be happier without religion and Cordellia agrees "Sebastian is very holy and no one is holy without suffering." Julia believes one has to sacrifice happiness to be close to God and Charles logically deconstructs every aspect of religion that he can. I believe these issues simply display religion in a real light: Catholicism does not preach that having faith will bring happiness. Happiness is seen as a transitory thing in the novel, something ultimately unfulfilling. There is something more that exists, that perhaps one must be faithful to understand.

By no means am I claiming understanding, the concept of faith falls outside my worldview but Waugh, in his strangely poignant tale of his relationship with the Brideshead family, sheds some light on the strange nature of divinity and its interaction with our fleeting existence.

the immutable science fiction

When I first claimed The Picture (Portrait) of Dorian Gray was an excellent example of early science fiction I was mocked. Vilified almost.

Every book club since, my name has been tainted with the brush of science fiction.

"Oh Poms." They say, "Has this something to do with science fiction."

And laugh, laugh like an episode of the US office, which is surprisingly consistent.

To those doubters I turned the laughing tables tonight, when, not really thinking too carefully about what I was saying, I came up with a theory that will put that feverish doubt so hungrily dumped at my door in the same coffin as the fantasy authors utility to society.

About when Newton was sitting under apple trees, Gottfried Leibniz was postulating just as interesting theories on the other side of the Channel, particularly involving the possibilities of there being other worlds existing parallel to our own. While his theories, revolving around our own forming some kind of perfect vision of God, Kripke and others converted the ideas into semantic tools, allowing us to logically deal with concepts like "possibility."

X is possible, means there exists a possible world, where x is true. X is necessary, means X is true in all possible worlds. Neat, tidy, wonderful. And from this idea, stems a befuddling idea that effectively states all these worlds might exist. The many-worlds interpretation of quantum physics effectively postulates the physical existence of all possible worlds.

This is beside the point slightly, my point is that every piece of fiction, postulates a possible state of the world. The novel is a peek into a world that actually exists beyond our potential observation and probably beyond my understanding of the principle, but nevertheless states something profound about the nature of consciousness and how we shape worlds according to our perception of what is possible.

Can we create these worlds by placing them on paper or what appears to be more logical, are we actually desecribing actual worlds and events, whether in the far off junk fantasy of Jordan's Wheel of Time or the near autobiographical approach of Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited.

A subject that has absolutely no potential impact in the real world, but is worth thought, if only after a bottle of wine.