
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
The used bookstore guy recommended this, as Evelyn Waugh-meets-Anthony Powell, the old "moneyed white dudes having literary problems but generally being well off" type affair. It was funny and even reasonably warm-hearted, which was a pleasant surprise. In fact, it encouraged me to take another few paces through Anthony Powell's Dance To The Music Of Time, which my dad (and his buddy, and my buddy) say is perhaps the best series of books ever to be written, but I get awfully bogged down every time I wade in.
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