Afternoon Men

An interesting if rather odd book, one that I was sorry ended as soon as it did.
The oddness springs from the sensation I sometimes had that I was reading a collection of Seinfeld scripts . . . written by Evelyn Waugh.

A charmingly bleak short novel where the comedy comes as much from what is not said or inferred. Also a useful portrait of museum life and the sad personalities it attracts.

Stripped down, brutal satire. First published in 1931, the novel lays bare the pretence of intellectual cum bohemian life in interwar Britain. The dialogue is lean, even minimalist, as if the English leisure class had run out of nice things to say. A sample:
"How was he?"
"He seemed fairly well when I left."
"I expect he'll kill himself one of these days," said Mr Nunnery. "He looks as if he would."
"Yes, I expect he will."

Somewhere between the goofiness of Wodehouse and the sting of Waugh. It might just be literally impossible for humor to get any drier than in this novel.

It's an episode of Seinfeld, if Seinfeld was a 30's British painter.

paperback

paperback