The Eve of Saint Venus

In his preface to the 1981 edition Burgess says that the novella, first published in 1964, owed its origin to his re-discovery of a playscript written, discarded and forgotten in 1952. It seems to have been published again, in 2006, by Hesperus Press. My foxed and battered copy of the earlier edition includes the charcoal drawings by Edward Pagram which Burgess is said to have disliked because they ‘diminished the text’, so that it was not taken seriously. It remains unclear just how seriously Burgess intended the book to be taken: perhaps I was seduced by Pagram’s darkly funny illustrations. It’s an extravagantly wordy farce with stock characters that should be enjoyed at a sitting, like an old champagne, while the fizz still show more lasts. I particularly liked Burgess’ nostalgic evocation of the US and Russian Cold War competition to launch satellites into orbit round our troubled planet: ‘Russians and Americans vying with each other as young boys vie with each other, arching higher and higher, in school urinals’. show less

Delightful farce in which a young man accidentally manages to marry himself to a statue of Venus on the eve of his wedding, and the chaos which ensues. Hesperus have published this along with a short story by Prosper Merimee, 'The Venus of Ille', which provides another, far more Gothic, take on the legend, which is recorded as far back as the late Roman period. Merimee's contribution interested me mainly for the contrast which it affords to Burgess's story, which reads a bit like an intellectual Noel Coward play. Great fun - the first thing by Burgess I've read - and yet another fantastic publication from Hesperus, who are top on my list of publishers to watch - everything I've read from their catalogue has been very good.

An absolutely delightful novella telling the story of interference in human affairs by Venus herself. The book crackles with witty and literate humour and is one of those I just have to re-read every year.

"For heaven's sake," pleaded Lady Drayton, "don't start a row. There'll be time enough; you've all your lives in front of you. Let your grievances mature, lay down a cellar of wrongs - real and imaginary - for future decanting. Then you'll never be short of something to beguile the long winter evenings." (Lady Drayton giving advice to her daughter Diana, the night before her wedding.)

"The driver was rather sweet," said Diana, "and very intellectual. He talked about Andre Gide and Marcel Proust. He'd been, so he told me, a school-master, but was now trying to better himself."

Not my favorite Burgess, but his descriptions of people are so fun.