Labels: A Mediterranean Journal

by Evelyn Waugh

Evelyn Waugh chose the name "Labels" for his first travel book because, he said, the places he visited were already "fully labelled" in people's minds. Yet even the most seasoned traveller could not fail to be inspired by his quintessentially English attitude and by his eloquent and frequently outrageous wit. From Europe to the Middle East and North Africa, from Egyptian porters and Italian priests to Maltese sailors and Moroccan merchants - as he cruises around the Mediterranean his pen cuts through the local colour to give an entertaining portrait of the Englishman abroad.

Genres: Travel, Nonfiction, British Literature, English Literature, Summer Reads, 20th Century, Middle East

176 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1930

About the author

Evelyn Waugh's father Arthur was a noted editor and publisher. His only sibling Alec also became a writer of note. In fact, his book “The Loom of Youth” (1917) a novel about his old boarding school Sherborne caused Evelyn to be expelled from there and placed at Lancing College. He said of his time there, “…the whole of English education when I was brought up was to produce prose writers; it was all we were taught, really.” He went on to Hertford College, Oxford, where he read History. When asked if he took up any sports there he quipped, “I drank for Hertford.”

In 1924 Waugh left Oxford without taking his degree. After inglorious stints as a school teacher (he was dismissed for trying to seduce a school matron and/or inebriation), an apprentice cabinet maker and journalist, he wrote and had published his first novel, “Decline and Fall” in 1928.

In 1928 he married Evelyn Gardiner. She proved unfaithful, and the marriage ended in divorce in 1930. Waugh would derive parts of “A Handful of Dust” from this unhappy time. His second marriage to Audrey Herbert lasted the rest of his life and begat seven children. It was during this time that he converted to Catholicism.

During the thirties Waugh produced one gem after another. From this decade come: “Vile Bodies” (1930), “Black Mischief” (1932), the incomparable “A Handful of Dust” (1934) and “Scoop” (1938). After the Second World War he published what is for many his masterpiece, “Brideshead Revisited,” in which his Catholicism took centre stage. “The Loved One” a scathing satire of the American death industry followed in 1947. After publishing his “Sword of Honour Trilogy” about his experiences in World War II - “Men at Arms” (1952), “Officers and Gentlemen” (1955), “Unconditional Surrender" (1961) - his career was seen to be on the wane. In fact, “Basil Seal Rides Again” (1963) - his last published novel - received little critical or commercial attention.

Evelyn Waugh, considered by many to be the greatest satirical novelist of his day, died on 10 April 1966 at the age of 62.

See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evelyn_W...

Reviews

[Nigeyb · Rating 4 out of 5]

Recently I have fully begun to appreciate the writing genius of Evelyn Waugh. I always realised he was good, but now I am starting to understand more fully his greatness. Throughout 2013 I have read, or reread, a number of his books, along with the splendid Mad World: Evelyn Waugh and the Secrets of Brideshead by Paula Byrne. Having read all of his fiction, bar Sword of Honour, which I am poised to start, I was keen to sample some of Evelyn Waugh's non-fiction.

I am delighted to report that Labels (1930) is every bit as good as his wonderful fiction. In Labels, we join Evelyn Waugh on a trip around the Mediterranean in 1929: he travels from Europe to the middle east and north Africa. Waugh chose the name Labels for this, his first travel book, because he thought the places he visited were already "fully labelled" in people's minds. Despite this, he brings a fresh and entertaining perspective to all that he encounters. His pen captures the local colour and the amusing idiosyncrasies of being a tourist. The writing is a delight, and each page is full of fun, amusing anecdotes, and incident. Even when he is bored, he still manages to write about it entertainingly. I look forward to reading more of his travel books, and more of his non-fiction.

Three things particularly struck me about this book:

1. The style is very chatty, humorous and self-deprecating, which is completely as odds with his misanthropic reputation.

2. His innate snobbishness results in some outrageous humour. For example, the cruise ship on which Waugh travels, occasionally encounters another cruise ship favoured by German tourists. He describes this ship as "vulgar" with inhabitants who are all "unbelievably ugly Germans" albeit "dressed with great courage and enterprise e.g. One man wearing a morning coat, white trousers and a beret".

3. By focusing on various minor details of his travels, Waugh provides the modern reader with all kinds of fascinating insights into tourism and travel in 1929. For example, the book starts with Waugh taking a flight to Paris - he was one of only two passengers in a tiny plane, and this mode of transport was very new and unusual at the time. His detailed description of the experience is very informative about the early years of air passenger travel.

A very enjoyable read and, at a mere 174 pages, pleasingly quick and easy to read.

4/5

[Nathan "N.R." Gaddis]

The only label I don’t like/object to is the label “label”. Take the following For Instance ::


Radio DJ :: So tell us, What kind of music do you play?

Band Member :: We don’t like to label our music. We just play what we feel.

Radio DJ :: But surely you can characterize your music. Is it Baroque or Romantic or Classical or Jazz or Be=Bop or Dixieland or Swing or Big Band or Soul or Blues or R&B or RockaBilly or Florida Death Metal or Gutenberg [sic!] Melodic Death Metal or Norwegian Black Metal or Cascadian Black Metal or Pirate Metal or Elevator Music or Punk or New Wave or Electronico or Industrial or WhatEverNewShitKidsHaveComeUpWithToday.

Band Member :: We just really don’t like to label our music. We want everyone to make up their own mind.

Radio DJ :: But no one is going to give a fig about you if they don’t have some preconception that you’re even anywhere near to their ballpark of interests.

Band Member :: No but we just really don’t believe in genre and labels and pigeonholes and things like that. I think when people hear what we play they’ll all react in each their own unique way.

Radio DJ :: I’ve seen that happen. It’s not pretty. You just might want to somehow characterize your music so that those folks who might potentially be interested in your shit might find it and folks who will prima facie hate it will avoid it and won’t write a travesty of a review of it in the local Zines.

Band Member :: I see what you mean. Well, yeah, I guess you could say we play Primitivo=Industrio=Baroquo=Jazzified=Metalicalo=DubStep’d da gamba. Arranged for String Quartet.

Radio DJ :: You’re an idiot .

Band Member :: No labels please .



B=side ::

“I listen to all=kinds/every=kind of music”. “No you don’t.” ::
My C***’s on Fire. “That’s not music.” “Well, that’s just your opinion.” Etc.

[Susan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Published in 1930, “Labels” is Evelyn’s Waugh first travel book, which was followed in 1931 by the more well known “Remote People.” In both location and style, this is a more tentative – but certainly not a less enjoyable – book. Called “Labels” because all the places visited on his trip were fully labelled in travellers minds, it is obvious that Waugh is not off the beaten track. Indeed, he travels by train or on cruise ships, meets groups of tourists and often joins them on excursions. During this book he begins with a vague intention of visiting Russia, but never gets there. Instead he travels around Europe, the Middle East and North Africa; going to Paris, Monte Carlo, Cairo, Cyprus, Malta and Barcelona, among other places.

These travels take place in 1929 and so this book is fascinating as an account of a long vanished world as much as being a record of Waugh’s trips. He is a young man here, having published only one biography and one novel. At this time, his brother Alec was a far more successful writer than he was – indeed, he makes light of being mistaken for his brother by a woman he meets, but it surely rankled. His sharp humour is very much in evidence in this wonderful volume and he is full of sly observations. In Cairo, for instance, he is slightly overwhelmed by staying in a hotel so close to the pyramids. It is, he observes, “like having the Prince of Wales at the next table in a restaurant; one kept pretending not to notice, while all the time glancing furtively to see if they were still there.”

During this book, Waugh has a warm and chatty style; he is charming, charmed and open to new experiences. If you have enjoyed Waugh’s more famous novels, then this will show you another side to the author as he just started out on his travels. Like all his books, it is a delight.

[ariella]

I read this book while traveling by train in the Grand-Est region of France, experiencing my own condensed and displaced parallel to Evelyn's travels as I made my way through his reflections, sensations, and emotions. Everything you could want in a travel book- descriptions of the landscape, the smallest interactions with the locals, details about food and interiors. I laughed a few times. I finished the book on the way home. Timely.

[trovateOrtensia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Divertente e garbato resoconto di una crociera nel Mediterraneo, nel lontano 1928. Non amo in modo particolare lo humour inglese, ma Evelyn Waugh ne fornisce qui un esempio molto godibile e misurato, regalandoci un libro veramente piacevole di cui consiglio la lettura (anche in quanto testimonianza storica sugli albori del turismo organizzato).

"E io, girellando per quelle strade tranquille e assolate o dormicchiando all'ombra dei giardini del Casinò, riflettevo sul decreto del destino per cui i ricchi sono così rigidamente liturgici nei loro spostamenti da venire a Monte Carlo sotto la neve perché quello è il momento stabilito da rubriche e calendario per il loro arrivo, e da lasciarla appena essa diventa abitabile per riguadagnare le loro grandi, sporche e caotiche città nordiche; e su quanto poco i ricchi somiglino ai gigli dei campi, che non dividono il tempo con nessun sistema metrico, ma mettono lietamente i boccioli al primo accenno di primavera, e li perdono quasi subito al sopraggiungere del gelo."

[Keelia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Overly concerned with race, classist, xenophobic and snobbish, yet Waugh’s travels through the Mediterranean were so interesting from a traveller point of view (added some sights to my list for next years adventure) and also as a snapshot of interwar Europe. Waugh places himself in the position of the knowledgeable Briton who admires the art and architecture of a particular place but is mildly revolted by the people who inhabit it—there is (especially throughout the Egypt and North Africa sections) a sense that the people didn’t understand nor appreciate their art of antiquity and that therefore it was up to the British to take control of their historical and cultural sites and artefacts to preserve them. Alas, it was 1929. Alas, this is still happening now. Waugh can definitely put together a sentence and I love his turns of phrase. He tries so hard to remain detached and ironic but his sense of wonder and joy manage to eke through, even when he’s trying his hardest to maintain this sense of imperial detachment.
“I do not think I shall ever forget the sight of Etna at sunset; the mountain almost invisible in a blur of pastel grey, glowing on the top and then repeating its shape, as though reflected, in a wisp of grey smoke, with the whole horizon behind radiant with pink light, fading gently into a grey pastel sky. Nothing I have ever seen in Art of Nature was quite so revolting.”

[Mike Clarke · Rating 3 out of 5]

Waugh of the world: suitable light reading for a short trip to Italy, this slim volume of travelogue is early Evelyn, before Catholicism got him. He's content with a few shrewish observations on foreigners, English people abroad and the hatefulness of coy, cute, twee nostalgia in a way that would later be echoed by Julian Barnes: "The detestation of 'quaintness' and 'picturesque bits' which is felt by every decently constituted Englishman...has developed naturally in self-defence against arts and crafts...Tudor cottages....collection of pewter and oak...and Ye Olde Inne and the Kynde Dragon and Ye Cheshire Cheese, Broadway, Stratford-on-Avon, folk-dancing, nativity plays, reformed dress, free love in a cottage, glee singing, the Lyric Hammersmith, Belloc, Ditchling, Wessex-worship, village signs, local customs, heraldry, madrigals, wassail, regional cookery, Devonshire teas, letters to The Times about saving timbered almshouses from destruction, the preservation of the Welsh language, etc. It is inevitable that English taste, confronted with all these frightful menaces to its integrity, should have adopted an uncompromising attitude to anything the least tainted with ye oldeness." Solid, scarf-waving stuff.

[Jordan · Rating 4 out of 5]

A delightful and often hilarious account of Waugh’s tour of the Mediterranean in the winter and spring of 1929. Waugh’s sharp eye for silliness and absurdity and his acid wit are on full display, as are his historical and artistic interests. Some parts had me laughing out loud, and the ending proved a surprisingly moving meditation on homecoming and patriotism.

Waugh, starting from London, flies to Paris (his description of air travel when it was still a novelty is hysterical), takes a train to Monaco and the Riviera, and sails aboard a Norwegian cruise liner to Naples, Messina and other points in Sicily, Haifa, and Port Said on the Suez Canal, where he disembarks for a while to keep a few fellow Englishmen company and to better explore Egypt. His account of visiting Cairo, the pyramids, and various sites of Egyptian antiquities are quite interesting, as Howard Carter’s finds in King Tut’s tomb were still new and exciting in 1929, and Waugh’s assessment of the hype surrounding Tut—and his supposed curse—are suitably acerbic.

From Egypt Waugh travels to Crete and Istanbul, and back again to Athens and through the Gulf of Corinth for a tour up the shores of the Adriatic. He remarks often on the consequences of the Paris Peace Conference’s settlement for the various cities along the way, especially those historically independent cities that, without regard to their origins, traditions, or ethnic makeup, were folded into the new state of Yugoslavia. (Waugh would return to Yugoslavia with Randolph Churchill during World War II, and his disillusionment with the way the Allies handed over Eastern Europe to the Soviets during that conflict provides one of the richest and most somber storylines in Sword of Honour.)

From Venice and the Adriatic Waugh’s voyage more or less retraces its earlier course, and Waugh doesn’t dwell on this part except for an amusing account of visiting the ruins of Pompeii. But faced with the prospect of rail and air travel across France to return to England, he chooses to spend another two weeks aboard his Norwegian cruise liner and visits Spain, where he proves quite taken with the architecture of Gaudi. His remarks on the church of Sagrada Familia in Barcelona are quite interesting, as only a few walls and towers were complete by that point (illustrated by one of Waugh’s own photographs), and Waugh grimly predicts that if more funding is not forthcoming the church will never be completed. Indeed, Sagrada Familia is still unfinished, but while there have been interruptions to its construction (such as the Spanish Civil War) it is now, almost a hundred years after Waugh’s trip, nearing completion. I think Waugh would be pleased. At any rate, his opinion—always sharply expressed—would be worth reading.

This is the second account of an Englishman’s travels during this period that I’ve read lately, the other being Patrick Leigh Fermor’s A Time of Gifts, recounting a walk across Germany, Austria, and Hungary in 1933. I’ve really enjoyed them, not only because they are beautifully written but because they capture a lost world in vivid detail.

Waugh’s is doubly poignant in that regard, as by the time he published Labels the Great Depression had driven the worldwide economy to ruin. I found myself not only marveling at his stories and his shining prose and laughing at his escapades and embarrassments, but wondering with genuine regret how many of the restaurants, hotels, casinos, and other points of interest had disappeared within a few years.

A very good window into another time and place. I look forward to reading more of Waugh’s travel writing. Next up—Remote People, an account of his travels through Africa following the coronation of Haile Selassie as Emperor of Ethiopia.

Highly recommended.

[Edoardo Albert · Rating 4 out of 5]

'What I did in the holidays' is, deservedly, a cliche for a tired English-writing class task but when the pen writing the account is that of Evelyn Waugh, it becomes something different even when the actual underlying structure remains the same. This really is the account of what Evelyn did in his holiday, in 1930 if I remember right, when he took ship from Portsmouth and fetched up in the Mediterranean. It's the tale of people met, restaurants eaten in (a particular concern of Waugh's) and the minutiae of travelling a well-worn road. Unlike his later travel books, Waugh was not bringing anywhere unknown to light but simply commenting on the familiar. He doesn't even really shed any particularly new light on the familiar. But it's the writing: the sheer, brilliant, crystalline precision of the writing that makes it all worthwhile. So while the skeleton is the same tired old English-writing task, it's made somehow translucent, effervescent and slightly cruelly alive by Waugh's prose. My goodness, the man could write.

[Caroline Robinson · Rating 4 out of 5]

I read most of Evelyn Waugh's novels about 30 years ago. I had never heard of this travel book published in 1930 when I picked it up in a bookshop. I read it after a trip to Greece (Athens) and I had been to many of the places Waugh visited.

It is entertaining and interesting to read about places nearly 100 years ago. I got very concerned about Juliet especially when she got pneumonia!

Waugh's background was public school and Oxford and sometimes his rather patrician attitude comes through which jars in 2025. He had the luxury of being able to travel for 3 months in 1930 so referring to people as 'the lower orders' more than once is very patronising but not surprising given the class ridden society of the time.

Highlight was reading that the Egyptians couldn't be trusted with their own antiquities in 1930 in the week they have opened a fabulous new museum in Egypt in 2025. A holiday in Egypt now sounds very tempting....

[Kami Rice · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book is considered a classic, but I didn't love it. It reminded me quite a lot of Mark Twain's Innocents Abroad, which I read last year, and I much preferred Twain's version of his Mediterranean travels. I'm a lover of the Mediterranean after spending a good bit of time there myself. Waugh's account of his travels felt mostly dry with a few humorous or interesting anecdotes here and there, but not enough to make me love it. I was glad the book wasn't any longer than it was, because I was determined to finish it, but it was a slowish read.

[Mia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Old white guy travels around Europe

[Amy · Rating 3 out of 5]

Your fave is problematic. I adore Waugh - biting and bitchy, smart, funny, with quippy, agile prose. Having previously read only his fiction, where that peevish, acid eye is turned (mainly) on his peers, (and, obviously, with the remove of almost a century), I'd found his works delicious, or sad, or funny, but always impressive. Here, he achieves equally prodigious heights of dizzying racism, snobbery, and sexism. Paroxysms of bigotry! Classism of the highest order! Aside from the general repugnancy of those ways of thinking (of course, he's not alone in works of earlier periods), also damning is that his smug, too too bored tone comes off in the most affected, banal way. He's been outdone by hipsters. Still, almost in spite of himself and his apparent effort to be blase in three continents, there are fascinating bits of travel detail.

[Mark Colenutt · Rating 5 out of 5]

Not strictly a book on Spain as it touches other countries at the time. However, the great writer did visit Spain and left behind some surprisingly acute observation for such a short stint. For reason alone I recommend this publication to any Hispanophile keen to expand and compare their observations and learning of the country.

It is a gem of a book and its premise is masterly, namely to visit those countries in the Med that have already been 'labelled' as 'This' or 'That' and discover if such epithets are true or are in need of urgent revision. Make sure you get a copy of the original edition as the 1930s Art Deco styling adds beauty of design to what will inevitably be an equally pleasing experience lost in Waugh's use of language.

[John · Rating 4 out of 5]

Entertaining description of travels through inter-war Europe.

[Andrew Darling · Rating 4 out of 5]

Evelyn Waugh was a young man, only twenty four and still apparently undecided on the direction his life should take, when his first book was published – a biographical study of the painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Five months later came his first novel, the exquisite Decline and Fall. Both books were well received, Decline and Fall especially so. In the same year, 1928, Waugh married his first wife, also named Evelyn (thereafter known in the Waugh circle as ‘She-Evelyn’). The public recognition he enjoyed as a result of his two successful books enabled him to persuade the owners of one of the most luxurious cruise ships then afloat, the Stella Polaris, to provide him and She-Evelyn with a cabin on a journey around the Mediterranean, in return for favourable publicity. Labels: A Mediterranean Journal was the result.

Although it is today not widely read, Labels is well worth seeking out. It seems (at least to this reader) remarkable that one so relatively young could possess the self-assurance, supported by such a very wide base of knowledge, to behave in the way he describes, to analyse and to contextualise the societies, places and people he encounters in such diverse environments as the nightclubs of Paris, the bars and brothels of Port Said, and the strait-laced colonial clubhouses of the Anglo-Egyptian ruling class. While Labels does not have the wild comedy of Decline and Fall, it is neverthelss extremely funny, although occasionally in a somewhat self-conscious way. I do not know how many of his observations have found their way into Dictionaries of Quotations, but there seems to me to be a candidate for inclusion on virtually every page. To cite some of those which particularly appealed to me is as good a way as any of giving a flavour of the book:

*There was one sight, however, which was unforgettable – Paris lying in a pool of stagnant smoke, looking, except for the Eiffel Tower, very much like High Wycombe.

*As a race the French tend to have strong heads, weak stomachs, and a rooted abhorrence of hospitality.

*Every Englishman abroad, until it is proved to the contrary, likes to consider himself a traveller and not a tourist.

*None of the servants spoke a word of any European language, but this was a negligible defect since they never answered the bell.

*On the decks there were no deckchairs except those the passengers provided for themselves; the three or four public seats were invariably occupied by mothers doing frightful things to their babies with jars of vaseline.

*[on the colour of the stone with which the Acropolis is constructed]: The nearest parallel to it in Nature that I can think of is that of the milder parts of a Stilton cheese into which port has been poured.

*The entertainment was confined to one pianist in Georgian peasant dress. We asked if there was to be no cabaret. ‘Alas,’ said the Manageress, ‘not tonight. Last night there was a German gentleman here, and he bit the girls so terribly in the legs that tonight they say they will not dance.

*The chief disability suffered by tortoises as racing animals is not their slowness so much as their confused sense of direction. I had exactly the same difficulty when I used to take part in sports at my school.

*I do not think I shall ever forget the sight of Etna at sunset; the mountain almost invisible in a blur of pastel grey, glowing on the top and then repeating its shape, as though reflected, in a wisp of grey smoke, with the whole horizon behind radiant with pink light, fading gently into a grey pastel sky. Nothing I have ever seen in Art or Nature was quite so revolting.

*There is very little to see or do in Malaga, though it is an agreeable, compact little town, smelling strongly of burnt olive oil and excrement.

*I will not say that I did not know any town could be so ugly as the town of Gibraltar; to say that would be to deny many bitter visits in the past to Colwyn Bay, Manchester, and Stratford on Avon.

Waugh sets out from the beginning of Labels to assure the reader of his honesty and plain-speaking; he cheerfully suggests that ‘there are only two respectable reasons for reading a book written by someone else; one is that you are being paid to review it, and the other that you are continually meeting the author and it seems rude not to know about him.’ Later, writing enviously of those wealthy enough to buy themselves homes on Corfu, he adds: ‘Do let me urge you, gentle reader, if you have only borrowed this book from a library, to buy two or three copies instantly so that I can leave London and go and live peacefully on this island.’

As is often the case with Waugh, the whimsy is frequently accompanied by darker or bleaker sentiments. Sailing through the Dardanelles towards the Black Sea, a fellow-passenger asked him if he could perhaps envisage Masefield’s quinqueremes from distant Ophir, with their cargoes of ivory, sandalwood, cedarwood and sweet white wine. ‘I could not, but with a little more imagination I think I might easily have seen troopships, full of young Australians, going to their death with bare knees.’

Labels is a fine book, full of fine writing. I liked very much the lengthy portrait of Port Said; and will read again and again the account of a journey to the interior of Montenegro, and the description of Cetinje, the capital ‘city’ of its mountainous region, with its royal palace about the size of the rectory in an English village. ‘Its largest room is occupied by a billiard table, which so far eclipsed the other concomitants of royalty in the eyes of the neighbouring highlanders that the palace became known, not as the house of the king, but as Billjarda, the house of the billiard table.’ The party of tourists from the splendid motor yacht Stella Polaris received a suitably extravagant welcome from the Montenegrins. The city’s only hotel had been destroyed by fire some time previously, so the official luncheon was served on trestle tables in the House of Parliament. ‘It is only fair to say that this was no very serious degradation to the building, since even in the days of the kingdom it had combined a double office, being the legislature by day and the theatre by night. Luncheon was very bad indeed, even though it was cooked in the office of the commissar of police; the wine was a dark-coloured local vintage, not red but not exactly black, the colour one’s fountain pen makes when one dips it accidentally into the red inkpot; it was very sour and left a temporarily indelible stain on the tongue and teeth.’

Waugh’s first biographer, his old friend Christopher Sykes, believes that there was still some uncertainty in Waugh’s mind at this point as to what he would make of his life; he gives as corroboration a remark in Labels concerning an encounter in a Paris nightclub, where Evelyn is mistaken for his elder brother, Alec, who was at that time a far more widely-known author. Evelyn writes that he ‘still regarded myself less as a writer than an out-of-work private schoolmaster.’ This may be true, but it is equally true that, like all writers, Waugh was squirrelling away experiences for future exploitation in print. For instance, he notes in an aside in Labels that Montmartre contains many ‘destitute Russians and Viennese, who are paid to sit there [in nightclubs] and look gay’. Two years later appeared his short story on the imagined origins of one of these Russian emigres, ‘The Manager of the Kremlin.’

[Meema · Rating 3 out of 5]

Just finished this travelbook by the very amusing Evelyn Waugh. A fortunate timely coincidence perhaps with the world going rightfully berserk with #blm protests.

This books reeks of #orientalism and #racesuperiority, dished out in nonchalant droll descriptions inherent to Waugh's writings. I find it particularly important to read right now as historical events and norms are being judged against temporally irreverent moral values. Waugh was a product of his time, albeit witty and well educated but the advent of internet is recent and the overwhelming sense of oneness of humanity, an unexplored possibility until recently. This was even more evident when reading this book, Waugh depends on guidebooks written by fellow white men for trivia and first impressions and does not go beyond the extreme assault on the senses of an Englishman when it collides with something as extravagant as Mediterranean culture.

The book covers a whole cruise and parts of Egypt, Palestine, Monaco, France, Spain, Italy and Greece and even Gibraltar occupied by the British. If for nothing else, the book is replete with elaborate and entertaining descriptions of local architecture and Waugh's experience with locals in almost every stop he made. By locals I mean food to brothels, dancing to cheating coast to coast.

I will go back to the point I attempted to make earlier, born in a system of inherent superiority over any other group, the oppressor will need a whole lot more of an effort to accept the possibility of his domination. A lot of us are certainly in many ways born into various systems of oppression and have never questioned the existence of a power imbalance as this is normal to our time and space. Evelyn remains one of my favourite writers despite the many views in this book that I disagree with. There is an excellent review on Google by an Egyptian of this book that I think may help alleviate if you are feeling particularly angry.

[S · Rating 5 out of 5]

7/10

Outright hilarious at times, at others showcasing truly masterful prose, then there are many cracks that damage the whole picture.

The main flaw of Labels is the journey that it follows. Waugh went on a ship voyage around the Mediterranean, Monaco, South of Italy with Sicily, stopping for a long time at, then British, Port Said and in Egypt, then he continued onwards to Malta, Istanbul, Greece, and back home to England with several stops along the way. The flow isn't quite there owing to a lengthy stop at Port Said, where Waugh explores, but holds his pen describing, its red district. There are also passages where he plays a wine critic, where he gets infatuated with Gaudi, annoyed by locals and by what he observes.

As an interesting tidbit, since Waugh often attracts negative racial connotation, there's a passage in Algiers where he favourably observes mixing of classes and races, comparing it to how anglos are segregating themselves in Port Said.

What not only saves this travelogue, but makes it, is just pure comedy. Waugh can be funny, here he is hilarious. I'm not spoiling a single joke, just keep your mind open, and be ready to roll on the floor. Turkey and Greece are especially notable in this aspect.

[Edoardo Albert · Rating 4 out of 5]

'What I did in the holidays' is, deservedly, a cliche for a tired English-writing class task but when the pen writing the account is that of Evelyn Waugh, it becomes something different even when the actual underlying structure remains the same. This really is the account of what Evelyn did in his holiday, in 1930 if I remember right, when he took ship from Portsmouth and fetched up in the Mediterranean. It's the tale of people met, restaurants eaten in (a particular concern of Waugh's) and the minutiae of travelling a well-worn road. Unlike his later travel books, Waugh was not bringing anywhere unknown to light but simply commenting on the familiar. He doesn't even really shed any particularly new light on the familiar. But it's the writing: the sheer, brilliant, crystalline precision of the writing that makes it all worthwhile. So while the skeleton is the same tired old English-writing task, it's made somehow translucent, effervescent and slightly cruelly alive by Waugh's prose. My goodness, the man could write.

[Andrew · Rating 5 out of 5]

Waugh at his acerbic & satirical best, travelling the breadth of theMediterranean in ships & boats in 1929-30...a post-war world, not yet overwhelmed by tourism & commercial exploitation...though both concepts feature widely in Waugh's 'holiday'...with some fine passages of highly-subjective but informed writing on the best & worst facets of the Med & its cities, towns & even villages. He loved Corfu though it had never registered in his world view before; and he savages Mohammedan art, music & dance with an acidic tone...shocked by its lack of variety or development. The idea of a snobbish but understimulated Englishman abroad is perfectly captured and this joins my list of travel books to recommend if you're tired of Baedeker & its bland catalogues of attractions & sites of (debatable) interest to an aesthete & a man of literary imagination.

[Django · Rating 2 out of 5]

I've enjoyed Waugh's fictional works, like Brideshead Revisited, but I'd never read any of his non-fiction travel writings and started with this one. On full display is Waugh's snobbishness, smugness, misogyny, anti-Semitism, and, really, animus towards anyone not him. Add to that, his knowledge of architecture and art is laughable at best, especially when compared to Robert Byron (and his excellent, "The Road to Oxiana"), and he goes on at length with contempt about the geometries of Islamic art. At (rare) times, his writing is full of wit and juicy zingers, but he continually reminds the reader he's just writing this for the money, as though to excuse his mostly poor job of it. Is it all a joke? If so, the joke is most certainly on the reader.

[Julie Thomason · Rating 4 out of 5]

Written by an English wordsmith. I have not read anything by Waugh in many years and was intrigued to read a travel book. It was fascinating taking us back to a contemporary trip between the two world wars. I was intrigued by the desritions of places I know especially his observations o La Sagrada familia in Barcelona which until relatively recently fulfilled his predictions that neither money or inclination would see the cathedral completed. Many of his observations however,r would defiantly bot be acceptable today.

[Thomas · Rating 5 out of 5]

Waugh's talent for capturing surprising observations in pithy turns of phrase is richly displayed in this highly entertaining book. His nonchalant and often self-deprecating way of calling out stereotypical behaviours and moods makes this a small masterpiece, despite its age. Touring the Mediterranean a century ago was definitely a different proposition compared to nowadays. There's something for everyone in here, and even the most seasoned and hard-nosed of travellers will find themselves share a chuckle or two with the author.

[Ann · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a travel book, written by Evelyn Waugh (later famous for "Brideshead Revisited") when he was trying to make some money by writing. He took a 3 month Mediterranean cruise, and wrote of the places they visited. Written 1930, it's an interesting look at post-WWI and pre-WWII Europe. Although only 167 pages, it took me awhile to read. Before traveling to any of the stops mentioned in the book, I'll definitely re-read those pages.

[Finn Morris · Rating 3 out of 5]

Really enjoyed reading this, the first non-fiction Waugh I had ever tried. Three stars for the period racism, sexism, and weird ‘ranking’ of civilisations - weighted heavily in favour of his own - as Waugh travels from West to East and back again.
Particularly liked the description of 1929 Barcelona. Waugh didn’t think the Sagrada Familia would ever be finished.

[Alastair Hill · Rating 1 out of 5]

This is effectively a diary of a luxury cruise Waugh takes around the Mediterranean. There are no epiphanies, no explorations of the human condition or really even any good travel writing. Instead it is a pompous account of an arrogant ignoramus' journey round the Mediterranean coast. Really didn't enjoy this, and found his writing extremely narcissistic.

[Adam · Rating 3 out of 5]

Evelyn Waugh's trip around the Mediterranian. Feels somewhat staid now. There are some fine quips and bon-mots, but several other passages that have aged to the point they have become racist. Some nice reflections on small provisional villages that have now become holiday hot-spots.

[Vincent Hernot · Rating 2 out of 5]

I'd rather have entered 1,5 star(s)...This is poor, and Waugh must have known it too, as he keeps remarking he's only doing it for the money, the traveling expenses and the staying at nice hotels. He's obviously lifting tourist info from guidebooks, and can hardly be bothered to sound like he's taking the task seriously.
Fair enough, he needed to live (although Waugh was famously well-off then), but it just doesn't click, and apart from a couple of funny lines here and there, this is such lazy work...

[Emmapettitt · Rating 3 out of 5]

Amusing, interesting; has made me want to read more of his work.

[Antonio Saras · Rating 2 out of 5]

Algunas experiencias interesantes.