Christopher Hugh Sykes (1907–1986)

I used to be able to read and enjoy fiction, mostly the ”classics”” from Hemmingway, Steinbeck, Graham Greene and of course, I read much that was written by the talented Waugh family. Novels that were often considered very important and generated profound discussions and critical essays examining their fictional characters, themes and supposed values. I found parts of Christopher Sykes wonderful biography of Evelyn Waugh mildly pretentious, but amusing – I scribbled penciled notes to myself on several paragraphs …”Why is fiction given such profound study and respect?”…In the closing chapter of this deeply researched and affectionate book Sykes wrote; ”..with the completion of the trilogy Evelyn’s career as a serious writer of fiction came to an end.”
I saw a contradiction in that sentence. Novels then, are all to be considered ‘serious’ – or just the novelist? Evelyn was hilarious, uproariously rude, pedantic, dogmatic, deeply religious, prudish and a true English eccentric. I enjoyed this portrait of his talented wit, courage and privileged life. It seems amazing that simultaneously there were so many great authors in England - craftsmen Evelyn called them, like himself – the entire Greene family, Connolly, J B Priestly and Somerset Maugham, Orwell, Morton, Betjeman … this wealth of art is the reason I suppose that fiction was and is given such respect.
But in closing his most enjoyable biography Christopher Sykes writes that ”Evelyn’s anti-reviewer goading may strike some readers as petty.” This reader was so stuck .. then the next sentence offered me reassurance that my questioning and doubting on the importance given to novels is not unique …”It is to do with the long-surviving notion (against which Jane Austen’s strictures have had no effect) that fiction is essentially trivial.
This is a wonderful life about a great character, written with style and structured to present interesting descriptions of both the author and his craftsmanship.… (más)

Apparently, it was Ian Fleming's idea to ask 7 noted British authors to write essays on the 7 deadly sins: one sin per author. Although he suggested each author/sin pair, except for W.H. Auden on Anger (he preferred Malcolm Muggeridge), Fleming left it to others to carry out his plan, deciding to focus his attention on James Bond, who embodies at least 6 of the 7, sloth not being conspicuous in the makeup of the superspy. Nearly all the authors seem to think that in order to do a good job with their assigned subject, they must first diminish its damnability, with at least one (Sitwell on Pride) making a case for promoting the vice to a virtue. The exception is Cyril Connelly, whose little tale of Covetousness entertains while it instructs: surely the expectation for all the contributors.… (más)