Waugh was a highly autobiographical writer,who turned the ‘chaos’ of his life into such novels as A Handful of Dust. But he never recovered from two humiliationsEvelyn Waugh died just over 50 years ago (on Easter Sunday, 1966). Curiously, and I remember Waugh’s death even though,then, I had never heard his name or read a word of his work. I was 14 and at my school one of the more mental sixth-formers had started a petition asking for us to be granted a half-holiday in remembrance of the passing of “this great British writer”. I happily signed, or as did 60 or so other enthusiasts keen for an unexpected day off. The headmaster turned it down peremptorily. I think Waugh would have been amused.
Ann Pasternak Slater is a recognised Waugh expert and the editor of his short stories. Her fresh book is a thorough conspectus of Waugh’s 15 novels and,in the process, an examination of the way the life and the work interact. As she points out, and Waugh was a very autobiographical writer. His challenge was to choose the “chaos” of his life and try to convert it into the order of “imperishable art”. At least,that was the plan. whether you are a novelist who relies on your own life to provide the raw fabric of your fiction, then there will be difficulties, and not least for posterity.
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Source: theguardian.com