Anthony Powell: Journals 1990-1992

Journals of Anthony Powell #3

by Anthony Powell

Third in a series of journals, this book includes the author's memories of Evelyn Waugh, Philip Larkin, John Betjamin, Kingsley Amis, and Marlene Dietrich.

Genres: Nonfiction, History

238 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1997

About the author

People best know British writer Anthony Dymoke Powell for A Dance to the Music of Time , a cycle of 12 satirical novels from 1951 to 1975.

This Englishman published his volumes of work. Television and radio dramatizations subjected major work of Powell in print continuously. In 2008, The Times newspaper named Powell among their list of "the fifty greatest British writers since 1945."

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthony...

Reviews

[Kexx · Rating 3 out of 5]

Never read books on or autobiographies by your hero. Loved his Dance to the Music of Time, but these journals show him as a snob as he lurches from luncheon to luncheon, basking in his formal glory. irrelevant and sad.

[David]

Amidst an ever-increasing catalog of obituaries (friends, colleagues, etc.) and hoping that he doesn't reach his 90s, Powell records his final (published) journal entries (finishing just after his 87th birthday) observing how dependent he has become on his immediate family. Like the previous two installments, these journals are opinionated, occasionally cantankerous, obsessed with food, wine, friendship and dentistry, and still wondering how anyone who claims to be a fan can possibly imagine that the person who wrote all these books about which they claim to care so much is the sort of person who enjoys having total strangers call or drop in unannounced/unintroduced!

[David]

AP emerges as a cranky old man. But hasn't he earned the right? As he himself asks in an earlier volume, what is there about his fiction that would suggest to readers that he is the type of author who would welcome unscheduled visits, phone calls at odd hours, and repeated importunings about anything? The man has given us his art. Why should we think he also owes us his privacy ? I hope I can still read as widely and with some sense of open-minded judgment when/if I reach 85.