I heard on a podcast recently the distinguished academic Katherine Bucknell - who will forget more about Isherwood than I will ever know - make an impassioned case for the late Isherwood prose style, indeed in an extract from this very book. I just can't hear it or see it as she does though, can't get past it. It feels to me dead on the page, artificial, cold.

Luckily, as Tom Ford's film showed, this book does not require my advocacy :) ( )

3.75 ( )

In which a European in exile in 1964 manages to accurately convey the inner workings of those of us Antipodeans in 2012.

I've not yet seen the (apparently wonderful) film based on this book, which was probably a blessing, as I was able to approach it uninitiated. In a scant 150 pages, Isherwood details one mundane-yet-important day in the life of an English professor in the U.S. Digging deftly to the root of George's mind, Isherwood captures his moments of intelligence and pain, of arrogance, lust, self-loathing, confusion, alienation, connection, nostalgia, heartbreak, discovery. It's a taut little character study, which approaches a variety of '60s counter-culture/neo-romantic issues (social alienation, the rise of that loathsome word 'tolerance', man-made boundaries preventing connection), yet - because his focus is so clearly on George's character - Isherwood avoids that painfully on-the-nose attitude that so dates other writers of the era (if I cough Kerouac's name out of the corner of my mouth, will a thousand hipsters descend upon my house with torches and pitchforks?).

A beautiful little work. It worries me somewhat that I feel Isherwood has here predicted my future. And if not, all the better: he has allowed me an insight into a genuine mind. A complete human being laid bare in 150 pages. Perhaps the moral is to invite your neighbours over to dinner more often. Perhaps it's simply to say "yes" when asked. Or perhaps it is that we cannot expect any more. It's not the dinner, or the asking, or what we say when we're there, or even what we mean. It's about washing ourselves free of the rituals in which we drape our lives, or at least of questioning the rituals before we abandon ourselves to them. It's how we remove the past from its pedestal without removing its meaning. It's going forward knowing that, in some ways, everything we have learned is important to us, yet in other ways, we have learned nothing at all. ( )

This is a lovely, melancholy read. The protagonist, George, seems to be in the habit of putting everything in negative terms. The narrator shares this perspective and it results in some very funny moments, as American consumerist society and its social mores are cruelly disected. It also contributes to the sadness, as it is clear that George's grief has a long way to run before it's resolved. All of the characters are well drawn. The writing suffers from a somewhat pretentious opening, in my view, but recovers after a few pages and is lucid and subtle. When Isherwood describes people or locations it is often beautiful and the action is well paced and very real.

In many ways the story would be identical if it was about a man who had lost his wife, but for me as a gay man it carried special poignancy. It should be essential reading for university students, though, as George's thoughts about his students are very insightful and would have helped me at that time of my life.

I'd recommend this short book, provided you are in a situation where you can read it at a leisurely pace and enjoy getting to know the narrator and his protagonist. ( )

Summary: "Welcome to sunny surburban 1960s Southern California. George is a gay middle-aged English professor, adjusting to solitude after the tragic death of his young partner. He is determined to persist in the routines of his former life. We follow him over the course of an ordinary twenty-four hours. Behind his British reserve, tides of grief, rage, and loneliness surge- but what is revealed is a man who loves being alive despite all the everyday injustices."--back cover ( )