The Victorian Chaise-Longue by Marghanita Laski (1953)

A waking nightmare: a young mother suffering from TB falls asleep on a day bed and awakes to find herself on the same bed and in the same condition but in another body and another time. The themes of illness, death, frailty, constriction and loss of identity are unnerving. The short novel follows Melanie as she realises what is happening to her – her fear, her attempts at rationalising, her horror as hope of escape or return fades. She is aware of being both herself, Melanie, and the person whose body she inhabits, Milly, whom she begins to understand:

I think we did the same things, she told her, we loved a man and we flirted and we took little drinks, but when I did those things there was nothing wrong, and for you it was terrible punishable sin. It was no sin for Melanie, she explained carefully, because the customs were different; sin changes, you know, like fashion.

The chaise-longue as a Procrustean bed that cuts women down to helpless femininity? Or a gin-trap for women who are not on the alert to their vulnerabilities in the outside world? There are parallels in the women’s lives across the distance: both have experienced sexual passion – the words used are “rapture” and “ecstasy”, which both imply something out-of-body – outside/before marriage, and both have been weakened by their pregnancies. Milly’s life is a dark version of Melanie’s: in place of a loving (but straying?) husband and a fond doctor, Milly has a lover who cannot marry her and a doctor who resents his thwarted passion for her. Instead of Melanie’s sensible professional nurse, Milly has her stern sister. Melanie’s TB may be curable in the 1950s; Milly’s, in the nineteenth century, will literally be the death of her. Suburban Gothic horror.

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole (early 1960s)

I read this book in the early 1980s shortly after it was first published. The story of the neglected author who had killed himself years earlier and his mother’s struggle to interest a publisher in his work made for (sadly) good publicity. And then there was the book – which I found just as brilliant this time round as the first. I retained a clear memory of the first time the book made me laugh till I hurt (the sucked-out jam doughnuts that Mrs Reilly offers to Patrolman Mancuso). It’s a perfectly constructed tale of wonderfully grotesque characters (how could I have forgotten Miss Trixie?) and ludicrous situations that slot into each other smoothly and deftly. Ignatius Reilly is a compelling and repelling anti-hero who somehow retains his pathos. Despite his love of jam doughnuts and hot dogs and his obsession with Doris Day, he is a complete misfit in consumerist mid-century America; he belongs several centuries earlier – somewhere between Boethius and Thomas Aquinas, and probably in a monastery. His standards are idiosyncratic and exacting:

Possession of anything new or expensive only reflected a person’s lack of theology and geometry; it could even cast doubts upon one’s soul.

Ignatius himself was dressed comfortably and sensibly. The hunting cap prevented head colds. The voluminous tweed trousers were durable and permitted unusually free locomotion. Their pleats and nooks contained pockets of warm, stale air that soothed Ignatius. The plaid flannel shirt made a jacket unnecessary while the muffler guarded exposed Reilly skin between earflap and collar. The outfit was acceptable by any theological and geometrical standards, however abstruse, and suggested a rich inner life.

This eccentric scholastic is at large in decadent New Orleans. Unsurprisingly each new attempt to earn a living results in disaster for those around him – and great entertainment for the reader. There is a happy ending of sorts for those Reilly leaves behind him (big cheer when Jones’s wheel turns upwards) as he is rescued by the anti-heroine and is driven off into the sunset. Boethius lives another day. A masterpiece.

Politics

Not much point in borrowing a big book on politics and not trying to remember something of what I have read!

But first: what type of big book on politics? I borrowed two: one (1967) on the essential writings of Karl Marx, and another, “The Politics Book” (2024). The difference in presentation was quite something. I couldn’t face the dense text and the unknown concepts of the first so stuck with the picture book. (It’s not like I wanted to know everything – just a bit more than I already did up to the start of the twentieth century.) The picture book focused on thinkers to present different political approaches/ideologies. I’m not sure how some of them made the cut: Nietzsche but not Napoleon. There are vast gulfs too in many of the stances: Gandhi (“Non-violence is the first article of my faith.”) or Mao (“Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.”).

It’s been interesting to see the proliferation and increasing complexity of ideas over the centuries, responding to industrialisation, colonialism, increasing secularisation, the idea of universal rights – not to mention revolutions and wars of independence, and of the rising importance of economic maintenance. Also different emphases – on whether human nature is predominantly self-interested or co-operative; nation state or federation; political moralism, realism or pragmatism?

Confucianism – rule by benevolent, wise king supported by loyal ministers who advise him and have the interests of his subjects at heart. A moral king sets a good example, which will filter down to the populace. Hierarchy is flexible – ministerial positions open to those of ability and good character. Reciprocity in relationships. Confucius lived mid-6th century BCE, at the end of the peaceful Spring and Autumn period, and his vision of how to administer an empire was more suited to peacetime than the Warring States period (476-221 BCE). Legalism – authoritarian and pragmatic – prevailed until the establishment of the new empire under the Han dynasty, when Confucianism was adopted as the state philosophy.

Sun Tzu – contemporaneous with Confucius – and The Art of War. The importance of maintaining strong defences and strategic alliances. The leader as a moral example who can command loyalty. War as a last resort.

Plato and the Republic – 5th-century Athens. The art of living well/virtuously (eudaimonia) is only fully understood by philosophers: politicians are interested in wealth and power and at best only imitate virtue, whereas a philosopher has studied and truly understands a virtuous/good life. If you can’t make a philosopher king, then you must make the king a philosopher.

Aristotle (384-322 BCE). Focus on empirical evidence rather than the intellectual reasoning of Plato. Man is a social animal; it is unnatural for him not to live in a polis. The polis or state exists to enable men to lead a good/virtuous life, and the form of government affects this aim. Three forms of government and their “corrupt” versions: monarchy/tyranny (i.e. defective monarchy); aristocracy/oligarchy and polity/democracy. Aristotle favoured polity – the rule by many for the benefit of all – over democracy. His works – more lecture notes than books – barely featured in western Europe between 600 and 1100 and were better known in the Arabic and Byzantine worlds. Thereafter his works were translated into Latin from Greek and Arabic and more widely read.

The Roman republic spread power through a mixed constitution – Consuls, Senate, popular assembly – which provided checks and balances until it was replaced by the empire (and its succession of ever-more-bizarre rulers).

Monotheistic religions, once they gained power, introduced the divine into politics. Augustine of Hippo and the division between civitas Dei and civitas terrea, and the concept of the just war. Muhammad, while extolling peace, spread Islam through conquest. Al-Farabi (c 900) was influenced by Plato, but replaced his philosopher king with a philosopher prophet/a just imam. The Virtuous City however remains a myth: citizens prefer earthly pleasures and reject a virtuous ruler.

Thomas Aquinas (13th century) married Christianity and Aristotelian logic: human reason can provide arguments for the existence of God. His political insight was that a war is just if it has a just cause and is conducted in accordance with reasoned notions of justice. “Natural law” is inherent, determined by reason, and aligns with God’s law; “human laws” are those rationally-based ones that we apply to ensure the smooth running of society.

Marsilius of Padua (1275-1343) – writing at a time of one of those power struggles between the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor – stated that the Church – i.e. the papacy – should not have political power. An early version of secularism.

I was rather taken with Ibn Khaldun (1332-1406), who seems to argue from observation rather than theory. “Government prevents injustice, other than such that it commits itself”. He acknowledged the dynamism of government: it begins with natural social cohesion, then expands into government for the well-being of the governed, but morphs into the domination of the ruling class and the exploitation of the governed.

And so we come to Niccolò Machiavelli (1469-1527) with his espousal of pragmatism and ditching of any religious ideals. Human beings are a malleable bunch: we are self-centred and fickle, but we are also imitative and can be persuaded to act benevolently and co-operatively under an effective leader. Social organisation is key; the ruler’s morality is secondary to state security and utility. Political life is a constant battle, and its weapons are secrecy, intrigue and deceit. (No wonder Machiavelli has a bad press, but he did not condone these methods in private life.) This approach applies where there is a sole ruler – a monarch or “The Prince” of Machiavelli’s treatise – but a republic (perhaps introduced by exactly that deceit and intrigue that he condoned) would operate differently. At this point it’s worth noting the turbulent times that Machiavelli lived through. Peace and stability at any price might have been worth it.

Europeans’ brutal exploitation of the Americas and criticism by the School of Salamanca. Francisco di Vitoria (first half of the 16th century) stressed the principle of natural law: we all share the same nature and therefore have the same rights. Religion was not a just cause for war. Francisco Suarez (second half of 16C) – sorted laws into natural, divine and human; no human-made law (positive law) should override people’s natural rights to life and liberty.

This move away from divine or natural law towards individual liberty and rights was extended by Hugo Grotius (1583-1645): people have rights to life and property and the state has no right to take them away.

Consociation: Johannes Althusius (1557-1637), Calvinist political philosopher. Human communities come into being through a kind of social contract. Like Aristotle, Althusius stressed the sociability of humans. Individual communities are subservient to the state, but collectively they are superior to the state. Federalism, but one that is less individual-based than in the present day.

Sidelining of ideas of divine law with the rise of the modern scientific method and empiricism; greater stress on the idea of human nature untethered from social structures. How did people actually behave? Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679 – so he lived through the English Civil War) and his pessimistic view of human nature. Without strong government, people would live in a state of perpetual wrangling, each individual self-interested and anarchic (the “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short” scenario). Therefore strong government is essential, and individuals submit to it under a form of social contract for the sake of the safety and rule of law that it promises. The sovereign is absolute so long as he guarantees the safety of the people.

John Locke (1632-1704): liberalism. Continued the idea of the social contract, but government should have a limited role. Its task is to protect citizens’ rights to life, freedom and property, and Locke held it acceptable to rebel against illegitimate government.

Montesquieu (1689-1755) argued for separation of powers: an executive branch for enforcing law, a legislative branch for passing and amending laws, and a judicial branch for interpreting laws. This would avoid despotism and create a stable government; the idea became influential in the creation of the United States constitution (1787) and in France after the revolution.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778). Unlike Hobbes, Rousseau believed that, free of state control, man in a state of nature, is actually a happy and contented creature. The social contract trammels him, but government is not set in stone. Under a new type of social contract man could be free and content again within the bounds of new laws and a society could even become perfectible. Sovereignty comes from the people (the general will), not the ruler – via popular assemblies, though, rather than modern democracy.

Edmund Burke (1729-1797) anti-Rousseau and a Whig, he favoured gradual progress in society, not an abrupt break – e.g. the French Revolution, whose outcome horrified him, whereas the 1688 “Glorious Revolution” was acceptable because it restored order to the country. He was also in favour of American independence. He thought that discussion of abstract rights distracted from the job of government, which is to administer the country. Passions of the individual should be subjected to the laws of the country to ensure the fairest outcome.

Thomas Paine (1739-1809) was one of the first to propose democracy in the form of universal male suffrage with no property qualification. Highly critical of the corruption and inadequacy of the British Parliament of that time. Voting is the way for society to shape a government that reflects social needs. Monarchy and other hereditary principles are unnatural. and can lead to despotism. Like Burke (once his friend), Paine was a strong supporter of the rights of American colonists to independence – but also of the French revolution. (He avoided execution there.) He followed Rousseau’s idea that the general will of the people should be sovereign in a nation and believed that, with fair elections, private interests and corrupt practices would wither away. Reflected in the American Declaration of Independence and its insistence on inalienable rights.

Enlightenment thought with its emphasis on reason was challenged by Johann Gottfried Herder (1744-1803), who held that a person’s shared cultural and linguistic background shapes character. A cultural nation with its own Volksgeist was where man was happiest. His ideas were influential to the rise of Romanticism and the 19th-century development of new nation states (Belgium, Greece).

Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832) and utilitarianism: the greatest good to the greatest number of people is the measure of right and wrong. A government’s task is to decide which laws are likely to produce more universal good than harm. Bentham devised the felicific calculus to work out this problem. 
In favour of universal suffrage – not from the perspective of natural rights but as a pragmatic way of ensuring that only a government that increased general human happiness for the greatest number would triumph.

Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797) – A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. Without education, women cannot earn their own living. They are therefore dependent on men for financial support and must do what they can to catch a husband. Respectable women who do not play this game are eternally at a disadvantage.

Simón Bolívar (1783-1830) – rejecting power of the Spanish in South American countries. Small republics should replace colonies: a small republic is self-contained, has no reason to expand its boundaries and therefore is a stable and just state, whereas a monarchy or an empire is constantly trying to conquer other lands. Behind the liberation of Ecuador, Colombia, Venezuela, northern Peru and NW Brazil.

Carl von Klausewitz (1780-1831) – “war is a continuation of politik by other means”, by which he meant that war is a serious act of one state imposing itself on another and must have an overriding political goal.

Auguste Comte (1798-1857) – French positivist philosopher: understanding society requires valid data from the senses, followed by the logical analysis of this data. Society operates according to laws, just like the physical world of natural science, and the family – not the individual – is the true social unit. “Families become tribes and tribes become nations.
“

Alexis de Tocqueville (1805-1859) argued for a return to the ideals of the French Revolution. He wanted a democratic, free, classless France and rejected socialism. His saw socialism as promoting materialism, bypassing the highest human virtues, undermining the principle of private property (which he saw as vital to liberty), and stifling the individual.

The rise of the nation state in the 19th century. Giuseppe Mazzini (1805-1872). Individual rights and interests are not a good enough basis to govern a society. People need to work together within their country (created by God) as an association, a brotherhood, for the common good.

John Stuart Mill combined Bentham’s utilitarianism with individual liberty in liberalism. He thought that people should be free to think and act as they wish so long as they don’t harm anybody else. 
The “tyranny of the majority” can bring conformity and stagnation; eccentricity was the mark of a dynamic society, where there would be a profusion of ideas that could be tested in the “bubbling cauldron” of public opinion.

Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (1809-1865) and the idea that “property is theft”. Rights to liberty, equality, and security were the basis of society, but the right to property was not in the same league. Property, in fact, undermined those rights because it enshrined liberty for the rich and perpetuated poverty for the poor.

Mikhail Bakunin (1814-1876). The only authority to acknowledge is the laws of nature. They are the only constraints on us. We should rebel against the authorities of religion and government. Anarchism is the path to human freedom and human liberation.

Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862). People – citizens – must do what their moral conscience tells them is right, even if it means rebelling against the government or engaging in civil disobedience. By being passive, citizens may find themselves colluding with injustices that they would otherwise condemn, like slavery.

Karl Marx (1818-1883) – his analysis of 19th century industrial capitalism and his theory that material and economic factors influence historical developments (the dialectic). His theory rested on its internal logic more than sociological observation (although there was Engels). Production of goods essential for human life can be organised in different ways; the way that they’re organised gives rise to different kinds of social and political arrangements. Man needs to work to provide himself with certain goods, but work also has the potential to be intensely fulfilling. Under the Victorian industrial capitalist system, though, workers are alienated from what they produce. Instead of creating the products that they themselves use, they create them partially and en masse for an employer for wages. Hence they sell their labour, which becomes just another commodity. 
This alienates them from their true nature – creative, sociable – and from their fellow workers. 


Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900) developed Schopenhauer’s notion of will to survive as a “will to power” – a no-holds-barred striving to higher values. He presented this Übermensch as the successor to the deities of organised religion.

Georges Sorel (1847-1922) sounds a bit incoherent. Political structures in the 19th century were changing fast in the wake of industrialisation and population movements. Sorel believed that parliamentary democracy failed the working class and benefitted the middle class. 
What the working class needs are myths to believe in, and violence is a way of actualising these myths. At first he supported syndicalism – the most militant wing of the trade union movement which favoured strikes over political manoeuvering – but by the end of his life he seems to have tasted just about any political theory

Eduard Bernstein (1850-1932) was a member of the German Social Democratic Party, which was guided by Marxism. Bernstein noticed that Marx’s predictions weren’t happening: workers were not moving towards revolution. In fact, they seemed to value the stability and security of capitalism. He therefore proposed ditching the idea of revolution and accept that socialists look at what workers actually believed and work on that – gradual rather than revolutionary socialism. (The Social Democratic Party formally renounced Marxism in 1959.)

(This is particularly relevant since I’m re reading this on the day that Trump has removed the Venezuelan president.) José Martí (1853-1895) Latin and South American countries had mostly thrown off European shackles, but Martí warned of colonialism of a new kind from the United States. The Monroe Doctrine of 1823 affirmed that the United States remained opposed to European colonialism, but it also identified both North and South America as falling under the “protection” of the United States.

Peter Kropotkin (1842-1921) and anarcho-communism. He argued that the best aspect of humanity is its ability to co-operate; this would allow it to do away with all oppressive structures; a new society could be based on mutual respect and collaboration.

Sun Yat-Sen (1866-1925), Chinese nationalist, hostile to the weak and corrupt imperial court. He stressed the strength of Chinese culture and wanted to fuse China’s traditions with “Western” development. He laid down the Three Principles of the People: nationalism, democracy and people’s economic improvement on the basis of fair distribution of China’s resources
. The Qing dynasty was overthrown in 1911 and Sun was briefly president in the new Republic of China.

There’s also the whole history of twentieth-century decolonisation and newly independent states which I’m trying to get my head round. Not just the new political structures but also the absence of a contemporary home-grown model of government.

And the point we are at now? A global plate-spinning exercise. On the one hand powerful elites – business, military, key politicians – run the institutions which provide us with what we expect in our prosperous western world. It’s hard to see how they can be reformed without serious economic consequences. On the other – I’m thinking of Michel Foucault’s notion that the power of the state is diffused through “micro-sites” like schools, workplaces and families (which have always existed), but that’s more of an incidental thought.

Little Boy Lost by Marghanita Laski (1949)

What a wonderful, gruelling novel with moral questions woven through. A Englishman learns that his baby son, whom he had to leave behind with his wife in wartime Paris, has been lost in the chaos of occupation. After the war he returns to France to discover if an unknown small boy in a poor orphanage is indeed his son. It’s a book that engages your mind while clawing at your heart.

It’s brilliantly written: detached and even, which may be the best way to convey the dilemma. The Englishman has suffered loss and does not want to suffer again even if the child is really his – but he is also priggish and, despite his good manners, somewhat intolerant. Perhaps the strained relationship with his mother is of his doing as much as hers. The experience of spending a week in a half-destroyed French backwater makes him re-examine what he knows and feels – not just the awfulness of living in a country where many are still suffering from the war but also his own prejudices.

She spoke carefully now. ‘Yes, by our present standards he is healthy – but only by those standards. The doctor tells me he has a tendency to rickets; this will doubtless get worse, because soon he will be about six and then there will be no more milk for him – but then most of our children have a tendency to rickets. He is certainly anaemic. If he gets a cold, if he cuts his leg, it will take him longer than it should to recover, but that also is true of all our children. . . . We have tubercular children here. If you knew more of Europe, monsieur, you would know that to run the risk of being infected with tuberculosis in a home where you have a bed to sleep in and regular meals is to-day to have a fortunate childhood.’

I noted this, which chimes today in an era of online BTL echo chambers:

Hilary was saying to himself as they walked along, but how in God’s name can he be happy in this one-eyed town? I should die of boredom if I had to live in the provinces in England. I suppose, he thought resentfully, that he has this capacity for happiness Pierre was talking about. But does that mean, he questioned, that one is able to live anywhere, like people uncritically and just be happy? Yet how could one be happy if one had only fools to talk to? Is he perhaps imbued with the old sentimental belief that the recognition of true worth in anyone makes them a desirable companion on a level of common humanity?

It’s a belief that we English intellectuals have totally discarded, he mused. We are bored and resentful if we are expected to be companionable with anyone not of our own sort – unless, that’s to say, he’s a left-wing politically conscious tramway-worker. And that, I suppose, is why our work lacks universality; we deliberately encase ourselves in an esoteric coterie and lack the material to generalise about human emotions.

Solar by Ian McEwan (2010)

The first sentence establishes the rather repellent qualities of the protagonist, Michael Beard. So repellent that it’s hard to remember how clever he is (Nobel prize) and to believe that he attracts so many pleasant women. It’s been a long time since I last read a novel by a man about a man’s life; suddenly I was back in a Y-chromosome world made familiar by Saul Bellow (Herzog, maybe), Martin Amis and early William Boyd. I also remembered radio science programmes some years ago that mentioned the scheme of sending scientists and artists to the Arctic/Antarctic so that they could work together in some way to capture the public’s imagination about global warming. Apparently McEwan went on one such trip; this is his novel about global warming.

It’s about (a flawed plan for) solar energy for a planet that can’t wean itself off over-consumption of energy. And, in parallel, a man who, despite his initial resolution, just can’t reform his diet, his lifestyle and his womanising to live a healthier life. It’s clever, satirical, funny, well-researched and, perhaps, a bit too long.

A Lady And Her Husband by Amber Reeves (1914)

I think I was expecting something more polemical and less measured: an undercurrent of rage rather than a rational, ironic dissection of marriage and capitalism. Not that I minded; there are various ways of turning the spotlight on injustice. Is the title significant? The indefinite article, implying these circumstances apply more widely. “A Lady” comes first and hence the husband becomes her “property” – a reversal of the norm. It’s a book that makes its points subtly – and then I wonder how it was received on publication, when its ideas would have seemed more radical.

It’s about a woman, Mary Heyham, in early middle age whose children are now leading independent lives; to keep her active, she is encouraged by her very modern younger daughter to take an interest in the work conditions of the women employed in the family’s tea shop business. Her husband is a successful, energetic and hard-working man. He’s a good husband, a good father and a good employer and he does indeed love his wife dearly . . .

He went over to her and stroked her hair. That, to his mind, was the use of her hair, and to please him she dressed it in a way that was not easily disarranged.

Ouch! Or:

There was no doubt in her mind that most of the wives she knew understood their husbands thoroughly, thus sparing them the trouble of understanding their wives.

As for the economics of running a business, I couldn’t decide if my fuming reaction to the following was totally anachronistic:

Florrie had come to work in the depot not because she needed work, but because she liked her independence and a bit of fun. She left home at seven sharp, and she got back about ten. She had Sundays off, and alternate Bank Holidays. . . .

Yes, it was perfectly true that the company only took girls who were not dependent on their wages for their living. Not that they gave bad wages, but you couldn’t live as a young lady ought to live on eleven shillings a week, bonus instead of tips, making it up to twelve. The manager thought that was good money, she herself had begun – in another company – as kitchen help at seven shillings, and kitchen work was man’s work, not girl’s work at all.

It reminded me of the time I heard an American (politician? journalist?) on “Any Questions” who stated quite baldly that it wasn’t an employer’s task to pay full-time workers enough to support themselves on. It was a shock to realise that people thought like that today – and set me thinking of the dominance of the cash nexus and how crucial state-mandated fairness is in how we live under today’s system.

Anyway – predictably – it turns out that Florrie does indeed need the work to support herself and her sick mother. The “bit of fun” indirect speech is scathingly ironic. It’s typical of the author that Florrie is eventually shown to be flawed as we all are: there are no Dickensian paragons here.

Reeves focuses clearly and rationally on her topics – cool, light, ironic, as if she was anticipating patronising accusations of being emotional or of exaggerating. Lessons are learned, realities faced and Mary emerges from her cocoon of cultivated ignorance, saddened but ready for a new role.

Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (1925)

I feel as if I should be writing an essay on the themes of this novel, its recurring images, its modernism and streams of consciousness that lead to a great sea of life – and then hand it in to be marked. But no – I shall just note what struck me on my first reading.

I’ve never read Ulysses (and have no inclination to), but I assume there are similarities. Is it telling that there is no great legendary female voyager to represent Mrs Dalloway? Her geographical range is narrow – Central London and somewhere in the country – but her temporal range is from girlhood to her current age. There were echoes of The Wasteland too – shell-shocked Septimus and I had not thought death had undone so many, the bells that keep the hours.

Women/girls and flowers/the natural world. We first meet Mrs Dalloway as she sets off to buy some flowers (cut, already picked) for that night’s party; her daughter is now of an age where men see her as a flower to be plucked:

She was like a poplar, she was like a river, she was like a hyacinth, Willie Titcomb was thinking . . .

I found myself very taken by the attempts to encompass everything of a person’s thoughts: the constant flowing between youth and middle age in one’s head while clocks strike the hours:

For she was a child, throwing bread to the ducks, between her parents, and at the same time a grown woman coming to her parents who stood by the lake, holding her life in her arms which, as she neared them, grew larger and larger in her arms, until it became a whole life, a complete life, which she put down by them and said, ‘This is what I have made of it! This!’ And what had she made of it?

So many characters whose lives briefly touch. Septimus and his suffering Italian wife. The repellent and conflicted – but also suffering – Miss Kilman. Their lives appear dreadful against the worldly comforts of the Dalloways and their friends. Reticence: Mr Dalloway intends to tell his wife that he loves her, but he passes up the opportunity to yet, involuntarily, he tells his daughter how lovely she is. Age brings with it complications that we are only dimly aware of.

Perhaps Sally’s final words are the ones to be heeded: “What does the brain matter . . . compared with the heart?”

Just brilliant.