Exemplary piece of revisionism, 23 Mar 2003
From a literary perspective this book may be frustrating, the prose does not flow and this is not a comfortable book to read. This sense of unease throughout the book is its genuis however. Bowen is the first writer to suggest that the second world war for many was a time of distrust, anxiety, despair and angst - Louie can only feel part of something via the newspapers, Stella is enticed into a web of intrigue and hopelessness which brilliantly collapses around her.
A vital antidote to the 'national unity' wartime myth.

Exemplary piece of revisionism, 23 Mar 2003
From a literary perspective this book may be frustrating, the prose does not flow and this is not a comfortable book to read. This sense of unease throughout the book is its genuis however. Bowen is the first writer to suggest that the second world war for many was a time of distrust, anxiety, despair and angst - Louie can only feel part of something via the newspapers, Stella is enticed into a web of intrigue and hopelessness which brilliantly collapses around her.
A vital antidote to the 'national unity' wartime myth.

Great read, 23 Feb 2004
Having just moved to London, I loved how much the city infuses this moody jewel of a novel. It's definitely of its time, but anyone who has survived the depths and heights of adolescent love will appreciate the immaculate portrait drawn in this book.

A superb, moving novel, 22 Nov 2002
Elizabeth Bowen could produce page-turners worthy of the best
commercial novelists, but she had a knack of making the most of
the apparently ordinary. This story of a young girl's courtship and the small betrayals which lead to the 'death of the heart' is totally engrossing and moving. It had me reading into the night with an unidentifiable sense of dread and it left me in tears.
A superb novel.

An excellent, breath-taking read!!, 28 Nov 1996
Although not of the same era, Elizabeth Bowen's The Death of the Heart brings to mind the work of Jane Austen. This literary masterpiece, written in the Modern Period (during or immediately after World War I), centers around an adolescent girl's "coming of age" in an era of many questions and precious few answers. The brilliance of this novel is the linking of the familiar novel format to a Virginia Woolf-like stream of conciousness style of writing. I've recommended this book to many a bibliophile and never have had it fail to make an impact on the reader.

Exemplary piece of revisionism, 23 Mar 2003
From a literary perspective this book may be frustrating, the prose does not flow and this is not a comfortable book to read. This sense of unease throughout the book is its genuis however. Bowen is the first writer to suggest that the second world war for many was a time of distrust, anxiety, despair and angst - Louie can only feel part of something via the newspapers, Stella is enticed into a web of intrigue and hopelessness which brilliantly collapses around her.
A vital antidote to the 'national unity' wartime myth.

Great read, 23 Feb 2004
Having just moved to London, I loved how much the city infuses this moody jewel of a novel. It's definitely of its time, but anyone who has survived the depths and heights of adolescent love will appreciate the immaculate portrait drawn in this book.

A superb, moving novel, 22 Nov 2002
Elizabeth Bowen could produce page-turners worthy of the best
commercial novelists, but she had a knack of making the most of
the apparently ordinary. This story of a young girl's courtship and the small betrayals which lead to the 'death of the heart' is totally engrossing and moving. It had me reading into the night with an unidentifiable sense of dread and it left me in tears.
A superb novel.

An excellent, breath-taking read!!, 28 Nov 1996
Although not of the same era, Elizabeth Bowen's The Death of the Heart brings to mind the work of Jane Austen. This literary masterpiece, written in the Modern Period (during or immediately after World War I), centers around an adolescent girl's "coming of age" in an era of many questions and precious few answers. The brilliance of this novel is the linking of the familiar novel format to a Virginia Woolf-like stream of conciousness style of writing. I've recommended this book to many a bibliophile and never have had it fail to make an impact on the reader.

"The façade of the house was like cardboard, without weight", 02 Jan 2006
Danielstown, the Irish estate belonging to Sir Richard and Lady Naylor, is the closed environment which allows Elizabeth Bowen to explore the Anglo-Irish lifestyle, values, and allegiances in 1921, a time when The Troubles are about to sweep the country and change it forever. The Naylors' niece Lois is nineteen, a bored young woman without goals, impatient to get on with the job of finding a husband so that she can fulfill her apparent destiny. Her cousin Laurence, an Oxford student who would rather be in Italy or France, also has little to do, a condition he shares with a married couple, Francie and Hugo Montmorency, who visit friends like the Naylors regularly, having no home of their own.

A British army unit is garrisoned nearby to protect their loyal subjects-and, not incidentally, provide a ready source of young men for garden parties and tennis matches. With an acute eye for detail, ironic detachment, and a sometimes caustic wit, Bowen reconstructs the lives of these aristocrats. One comments that it would be "the greatest pity if we were to become a republic and all these lovely troops taken away." Laurence remarks cynically that he would like to be present when "this house burns and we should all be so careful not to notice." When an informer tells the family that guns have been buried on their property, they are blasé about it-they don't want to tell the soldiers because it might result in the trampling of some new trees.

Throughout the novel, Bowen's prose remains formal and detached. When Lois and a young soldier begin to think they are in love, there are no passionate scenes-both are a product of their time and upbringing, and kisses are reserved for the engagement. When nearby estates are attacked, the Naylors simply change their schedules and limit their travel. Bowen's book has the ring of truth-she herself was part of the Ango-Irish tradition in County Cork, and she wrote the book in 1929, when the revolution was still fresh. Though she puts an iconoclastic spin on attitudes and values, she offers no apologies, preferring to present the facts, create the scenes, and allow the reader to judge for himself/herself whether Ireland was better off before or after The Troubles. Mary Whipple

"The façade of the house was like cardboard, without weight", 12 Dec 2003
Danielstown, the Irish estate belonging to Sir Richard and Lady Naylor, is the closed environment which allows Elizabeth Bowen to explore the Anglo-Irish lifestyle, values, and allegiances in 1921, a time when The Troubles are about to sweep the country and change it forever. The Naylors' niece Lois is nineteen, a bored young woman without goals, impatient to get on with the job of finding a husband so that she can fulfill her apparent destiny. Her cousin Laurence, an Oxford student who would rather be in Italy or France, also has little to do, a condition he shares with a married couple, Francie and Hugo Montmorency, who visit friends like the Naylors regularly, having no home of their own.

A British army unit is garrisoned nearby to protect their loyal subjects-and, not incidentally, provide a ready source of young men for garden parties and tennis matches. With an acute eye for detail, ironic detachment, and a sometimes caustic wit, Bowen reconstructs the lives of these aristocrats. One comments that it would be "the greatest pity if we were to become a republic and all these lovely troops taken away." Laurence remarks cynically that he would like to be present when "this house burns and we should all be so careful not to notice." When an informer tells the family that guns have been buried on their property, they are blasé about it-they don't want to tell the soldiers because it might result in the trampling of some new trees.

Throughout the novel, Bowen's prose remains formal and detached. When Lois and a young soldier begin to think they are in love, there are no passionate scenes-both are a product of their time and upbringing, and kisses are reserved for the engagement. When nearby estates are attacked, the Naylors simply change their schedules and limit their travel. Bowen's book has the ring of truth--she herself was part of the Ango-Irish tradition in County Cork, and she wrote the book in 1929, when the revolution was still fresh. Though she puts an iconoclastic spin on attitudes and values, she offers no apologies, preferring to present the facts, create the scenes, and allow the reader to judge for himself/herself whether Ireland was better off before or after The Troubles. Mary Whipple

A vanished world brought to life, 16 May 2000
Elizabeth Bowen's novel, The Last September, is a wonderful evocation of a vanished world that today seems as remote as that of pre-Revolutionary Russia. A sense of doom pervades the book - her characters know that they are doomed because they belong to a ruling class that is being abandoned by the government in London and will not be accepted by the Irish catholics around them. In the middle of a nasty and bitter war between the British army and the IRA, and with the ever-present threat of ethnic cleansing by the IRA hanging over them, their reaction (and an all too human one) is to pretend that nothing is happening. They pretend to the British they are British, they pretend to the Irish they are Irish, they pretend to themselves that if they keep the old rituals going then things will carry on much the same. It is a masterful portrait of a society undergoing a nervous breakdown and retiring into itself and refusing to accept reality. But the best reason to read this book is the use of language - Elizabeth Bowen writes so beautifully that it becomes addictive. The way she looks at the world is unique and deserves to be more widely recognised. After reading The Last September I read Bowen's Court, and there is no doubt that The Last September is strongly autobigraphical.

A vanished world brought to life, 16 May 2000
Elizabeth Bowen's novel, The Last September, is a wonderful evocation of a vanished world that today seems as remote as that of pre-Revolutionary Russia. A sense of doom pervades the book - her characters know that they are doomed because they belong to a ruling class that is being abandoned by the government in London and will not be accepted by the Irish catholics around them. In the middle of a nasty and bitter war between the British army and the IRA, and with the ever-present threat of ethnic cleansing by the IRA hanging over them, their reaction (and an all too human one) is to pretend that nothing is happening. They pretend to the British they are British, they pretend to the Irish they are Irish, they pretend to themselves that if they keep the old rituals going then things will carry on much the same. It is a masterful portrait of a society undergoing a nervous breakdown and retiring into itself and refusing to accept reality. But the best reason to read this book is the use of language - Elizabeth Bowen writes so beautifully that it becomes addictive. The way she looks at the world is unique and deserves to be more widely recognised. After reading The Last September I read Bowen's Court, and there is no doubt that The Last September is strongly autobigraphical.

The author draws you into her web of trivia, 03 Jan 2000
willstew@bishopstoke.swinternet.co.uk

THE LAST SEPTEMBER Elizabeth Bowen

I read this book because it came free with a magazine; I'd never read Elizabeth Bowen, and it was coming out as a film. Bowen's characters are preoccupied, obsessed with the trivia of Irish society in the 1920 - tennis clubs, dances, house visiting, parties and afternoon tea. She portrays and empty-headed, pathetic group of people for who the reality of the political upheaval has little consequence. The portrayal of social history is beautiful, yet even in that it is a narrow slice, leaving me feeling that nobody existed outside of the narrow, self-contained set. They were totally absorbed in one another to the total exclusion of anyone else. Nobody else seemed to exist apart from these upper echelons of society and various army officers. Nothing much happens in the book, and when it does, like the uncovering of an IRA gunman hiding in a mill, it is detached, and second-hand. When a shot is fired, it is dismissed as being unimportant. The girls in the story are simpering, and, like the woken, empty-headed, while the men, equally lacking in passion, are week-kneed and wishy-washy. They seem quite unable to say what they want to say, and when they say something, immediately retract it in a welter of uncertainty and confusion. Lois, the principal character, wants to love and be loved, but even that lacks passion. She loves Gerald, a impecunious army officer; Lady Naylor, Lois's aunt, puts a stop to the romance. This does not result in floods of tears, in fact, Lois's reaction is like all their reactions, restrained, almost apathetic. When Gerald is killed by the IRA, again the lack of passion is disturbing. It is as if the world must carry on as before. Grief would be too upsetting; the status quo would be shattered and it could never again be restored. It is as if they believe that they can push back the tide by being 'normal.' Normal, everything must be normal. I was well into the book when I experienced a severe jolt. The narrative, the inconsequentiality, the trivia, the self-talk, had taken me back to a previous century; more in keeping with Jane Austen, than the 1920s. I had been lulled into a time warp, as if this bit if Irish society hadn't moved in time. This illusion was created, in part, by Bowen's delightful descriptions of time and place. In some places as much as half a page is devoted to describing nothing more significant than what the girls are wearing. These long descriptions give a certain timelessness to the narrative. It was the mention of jazz that jolted me back into reality time. But that created a conflict for me - reconcile the 19th century atmosphere with the ever-present threat of IRA violence. I kept looking over my shoulder expecting to find a terrorist gun pointing at me. Yet in that conflict, Bowen seems to exemplify the struggle of the characters. If you closes your eyes you cannot see that fat that stares at you from behind the dark woods. So why struggle? They did not even acknowledge that there was a struggle. To have done so, to try to make sense of the situation, would have meant doing something to resolve it, and resolution was impossible. The final resolution - destruction and terror - brings the book to a close, but even that lacks drama, as, in spit of it all, they, not the terrorists, have finally triumphed. Their spirit is has not been subdued. I had many intellectual difficulties with this book and not till I read the last word did I see how cleverly the author had woven me into her web. That I could read 206 pages of inaction and trivia, while all the time looking over my shoulder for the IRA guns, says something for Bowen's skill. I cannot imagine how the film producers will bring this 1920s story, lacking as it does any action, there is not even a decent love scene, into the 21st century, unless they take severe liberties with the script. That will be interesting to see. If you are looking for an extraordinary well-written book, with wonderful descriptive passages, and some real wit, I can recommend The Last September. If, however, you are looking for quick action, excitement, sex, gratuitous violence, and high drama, this book is not for you.

Exemplary piece of revisionism, 23 Mar 2003
From a literary perspective this book may be frustrating, the prose does not flow and this is not a comfortable book to read. This sense of unease throughout the book is its genuis however. Bowen is the first writer to suggest that the second world war for many was a time of distrust, anxiety, despair and angst - Louie can only feel part of something via the newspapers, Stella is enticed into a web of intrigue and hopelessness which brilliantly collapses around her.
A vital antidote to the 'national unity' wartime myth.

Great read, 23 Feb 2004
Having just moved to London, I loved how much the city infuses this moody jewel of a novel. It's definitely of its time, but anyone who has survived the depths and heights of adolescent love will appreciate the immaculate portrait drawn in this book.

A superb, moving novel, 22 Nov 2002
Elizabeth Bowen could produce page-turners worthy of the best
commercial novelists, but she had a knack of making the most of
the apparently ordinary. This story of a young girl's courtship and the small betrayals which lead to the 'death of the heart' is totally engrossing and moving. It had me reading into the night with an unidentifiable sense of dread and it left me in tears.
A superb novel.

An excellent, breath-taking read!!, 28 Nov 1996
Although not of the same era, Elizabeth Bowen's The Death of the Heart brings to mind the work of Jane Austen. This literary masterpiece, written in the Modern Period (during or immediately after World War I), centers around an adolescent girl's "coming of age" in an era of many questions and precious few answers. The brilliance of this novel is the linking of the familiar novel format to a Virginia Woolf-like stream of conciousness style of writing. I've recommended this book to many a bibliophile and never have had it fail to make an impact on the reader.

"The façade of the house was like cardboard, without weight", 02 Jan 2006
Danielstown, the Irish estate belonging to Sir Richard and Lady Naylor, is the closed environment which allows Elizabeth Bowen to explore the Anglo-Irish lifestyle, values, and allegiances in 1921, a time when The Troubles are about to sweep the country and change it forever. The Naylors' niece Lois is nineteen, a bored young woman without goals, impatient to get on with the job of finding a husband so that she can fulfill her apparent destiny. Her cousin Laurence, an Oxford student who would rather be in Italy or France, also has little to do, a condition he shares with a married couple, Francie and Hugo Montmorency, who visit friends like the Naylors regularly, having no home of their own.

A British army unit is garrisoned nearby to protect their loyal subjects-and, not incidentally, provide a ready source of young men for garden parties and tennis matches. With an acute eye for detail, ironic detachment, and a sometimes caustic wit, Bowen reconstructs the lives of these aristocrats. One comments that it would be "the greatest pity if we were to become a republic and all these lovely troops taken away." Laurence remarks cynically that he would like to be present when "this house burns and we should all be so careful not to notice." When an informer tells the family that guns have been buried on their property, they are blasé about it-they don't want to tell the soldiers because it might result in the trampling of some new trees.

Throughout the novel, Bowen's prose remains formal and detached. When Lois and a young soldier begin to think they are in love, there are no passionate scenes-both are a product of their time and upbringing, and kisses are reserved for the engagement. When nearby estates are attacked, the Naylors simply change their schedules and limit their travel. Bowen's book has the ring of truth-she herself was part of the Ango-Irish tradition in County Cork, and she wrote the book in 1929, when the revolution was still fresh. Though she puts an iconoclastic spin on attitudes and values, she offers no apologies, preferring to present the facts, create the scenes, and allow the reader to judge for himself/herself whether Ireland was better off before or after The Troubles. Mary Whipple

"The façade of the house was like cardboard, without weight", 12 Dec 2003
Danielstown, the Irish estate belonging to Sir Richard and Lady Naylor, is the closed environment which allows Elizabeth Bowen to explore the Anglo-Irish lifestyle, values, and allegiances in 1921, a time when The Troubles are about to sweep the country and change it forever. The Naylors' niece Lois is nineteen, a bored young woman without goals, impatient to get on with the job of finding a husband so that she can fulfill her apparent destiny. Her cousin Laurence, an Oxford student who would rather be in Italy or France, also has little to do, a condition he shares with a married couple, Francie and Hugo Montmorency, who visit friends like the Naylors regularly, having no home of their own.

A British army unit is garrisoned nearby to protect their loyal subjects-and, not incidentally, provide a ready source of young men for garden parties and tennis matches. With an acute eye for detail, ironic detachment, and a sometimes caustic wit, Bowen reconstructs the lives of these aristocrats. One comments that it would be "the greatest pity if we were to become a republic and all these lovely troops taken away." Laurence remarks cynically that he would like to be present when "this house burns and we should all be so careful not to notice." When an informer tells the family that guns have been buried on their property, they are blasé about it-they don't want to tell the soldiers because it might result in the trampling of some new trees.

Throughout the novel, Bowen's prose remains formal and detached. When Lois and a young soldier begin to think they are in love, there are no passionate scenes-both are a product of their time and upbringing, and kisses are reserved for the engagement. When nearby estates are attacked, the Naylors simply change their schedules and limit their travel. Bowen's book has the ring of truth--she herself was part of the Ango-Irish tradition in County Cork, and she wrote the book in 1929, when the revolution was still fresh. Though she puts an iconoclastic spin on attitudes and values, she offers no apologies, preferring to present the facts, create the scenes, and allow the reader to judge for himself/herself whether Ireland was better off before or after The Troubles. Mary Whipple

A vanished world brought to life, 16 May 2000
Elizabeth Bowen's novel, The Last September, is a wonderful evocation of a vanished world that today seems as remote as that of pre-Revolutionary Russia. A sense of doom pervades the book - her characters know that they are doomed because they belong to a ruling class that is being abandoned by the government in London and will not be accepted by the Irish catholics around them. In the middle of a nasty and bitter war between the British army and the IRA, and with the ever-present threat of ethnic cleansing by the IRA hanging over them, their reaction (and an all too human one) is to pretend that nothing is happening. They pretend to the British they are British, they pretend to the Irish they are Irish, they pretend to themselves that if they keep the old rituals going then things will carry on much the same. It is a masterful portrait of a society undergoing a nervous breakdown and retiring into itself and refusing to accept reality. But the best reason to read this book is the use of language - Elizabeth Bowen writes so beautifully that it becomes addictive. The way she looks at the world is unique and deserves to be more widely recognised. After reading The Last September I read Bowen's Court, and there is no doubt that The Last September is strongly autobigraphical.

A vanished world brought to life, 16 May 2000
Elizabeth Bowen's novel, The Last September, is a wonderful evocation of a vanished world that today seems as remote as that of pre-Revolutionary Russia. A sense of doom pervades the book - her characters know that they are doomed because they belong to a ruling class that is being abandoned by the government in London and will not be accepted by the Irish catholics around them. In the middle of a nasty and bitter war between the British army and the IRA, and with the ever-present threat of ethnic cleansing by the IRA hanging over them, their reaction (and an all too human one) is to pretend that nothing is happening. They pretend to the British they are British, they pretend to the Irish they are Irish, they pretend to themselves that if they keep the old rituals going then things will carry on much the same. It is a masterful portrait of a society undergoing a nervous breakdown and retiring into itself and refusing to accept reality. But the best reason to read this book is the use of language - Elizabeth Bowen writes so beautifully that it becomes addictive. The way she looks at the world is unique and deserves to be more widely recognised. After reading The Last September I read Bowen's Court, and there is no doubt that The Last September is strongly autobigraphical.

The author draws you into her web of trivia, 03 Jan 2000
willstew@bishopstoke.swinternet.co.uk

THE LAST SEPTEMBER Elizabeth Bowen

I read this book because it came free with a magazine; I'd never read Elizabeth Bowen, and it was coming out as a film. Bowen's characters are preoccupied, obsessed with the trivia of Irish society in the 1920 - tennis clubs, dances, house visiting, parties and afternoon tea. She portrays and empty-headed, pathetic group of people for who the reality of the political upheaval has little consequence. The portrayal of social history is beautiful, yet even in that it is a narrow slice, leaving me feeling that nobody existed outside of the narrow, self-contained set. They were totally absorbed in one another to the total exclusion of anyone else. Nobody else seemed to exist apart from these upper echelons of society and various army officers. Nothing much happens in the book, and when it does, like the uncovering of an IRA gunman hiding in a mill, it is detached, and second-hand. When a shot is fired, it is dismissed as being unimportant. The girls in the story are simpering, and, like the woken, empty-headed, while the men, equally lacking in passion, are week-kneed and wishy-washy. They seem quite unable to say what they want to say, and when they say something, immediately retract it in a welter of uncertainty and confusion. Lois, the principal character, wants to love and be loved, but even that lacks passion. She loves Gerald, a impecunious army officer; Lady Naylor, Lois's aunt, puts a stop to the romance. This does not result in floods of tears, in fact, Lois's reaction is like all their reactions, restrained, almost apathetic. When Gerald is killed by the IRA, again the lack of passion is disturbing. It is as if the world must carry on as before. Grief would be too upsetting; the status quo would be shattered and it could never again be restored. It is as if they believe that they can push back the tide by being 'normal.' Normal, everything must be normal. I was well into the book when I experienced a severe jolt. The narrative, the inconsequentiality, the trivia, the self-talk, had taken me back to a previous century; more in keeping with Jane Austen, than the 1920s. I had been lulled into a time warp, as if this bit if Irish society hadn't moved in time. This illusion was created, in part, by Bowen's delightful descriptions of time and place. In some places as much as half a page is devoted to describing nothing more significant than what the girls are wearing. These long descriptions give a certain timelessness to the narrative. It was the mention of jazz that jolted me back into reality time. But that created a conflict for me - reconcile the 19th century atmosphere with the ever-present threat of IRA violence. I kept looking over my shoulder expecting to find a terrorist gun pointing at me. Yet in that conflict, Bowen seems to exemplify the struggle of the characters. If you closes your eyes you cannot see that fat that stares at you from behind the dark woods. So why struggle? They did not even acknowledge that there was a struggle. To have done so, to try to make sense of the situation, would have meant doing something to resolve it, and resolution was impossible. The final resolution - destruction and terror - brings the book to a close, but even that lacks drama, as, in spit of it all, they, not the terrorists, have finally triumphed. Their spirit is has not been subdued. I had many intellectual difficulties with this book and not till I read the last word did I see how cleverly the author had woven me into her web. That I could read 206 pages of inaction and trivia, while all the time looking over my shoulder for the IRA guns, says something for Bowen's skill. I cannot imagine how the film producers will bring this 1920s story, lacking as it does any action, there is not even a decent love scene, into the 21st century, unless they take severe liberties with the script. That will be interesting to see. If you are looking for an extraordinary well-written book, with wonderful descriptive passages, and some real wit, I can recommend The Last September. If, however, you are looking for quick action, excitement, sex, gratuitous violence, and high drama, this book is not for you.

A demanding read but very rewarding, 31 May 2001
This book is regarded as Elizabeth Bowen's best work. It is exceptional for its multi-facted portrayal of childhood, coming of age and old age. It illustrates how each generation regards the basic facets of human identity: birth, love and death. Bowen's special ability is to convey her characters' emotions through external aspects: descriptions of places; the house in Paris, the cherry garden, Boulonge; and also weather conditions and nature.

Time is fractured in this novel: from the present we switch to the past and then back to the present. This timeframe can be exasperating and the story is revealed in a gradual way. Rather irritating is Bowen's dismissal of important events: e.g Max's death in relatively few words compared to the inordinate trangessions she makes when describing seemingly more trivial matters e.g. Karen's meeting with the girl in the yellow dress. But I guess most of life consists of gradual development of character as opposed to dramatic, life-shattering events.

This book has so many intriguing strands, memorable characters and beautiful images that it is a truly rewarding experience. Bowen has been compared to Henry James but I was most reminded of Ford Madox Ford's 'The Good Soldier'. Like Ford's book, Bowen's can be difficult but it is like viewing a picture up close - it s only when you have read the book, step back and see the author's entire canvass that the power of the work takes effect.