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Way of the World by Auberon Waugh
Book by AUBERON WAUGH
Paperback
First published January 1, 1994
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
June 16, 2019
If that's what a cynic has to look forward to becoming, I think I'd rather not look.
July 14, 2022
The witty and often educational essay in British journalism has a long history, reaching back to the heady days of Joseph Addison, Richard Steele and Samuel Johnson. The tradition has survived and occasionally thrived; sadly, sometimes, the talent has wavered. Enter Mr Waugh of the Daily Telegraph, stage right.
Right wing would never do justice to his newspaper column. He not only despised anyone from the North of England, particularly Liverpool – all 650,000 (Waugh's figure) of us apparently share the same proud desire to sponge from the welfare state – it clearly stuck in his throat that a woman, and a grocer's daughter at that, had once led the Conservative Party and become Prime Minister. He clearly had a hatred of Rupert Murdoch and all Murdoch stood for, which goes deeper than journalistic rivalry, and what we now think of as environmentalism would make him splutter apoplectically into his snifter.
From his manor house at Combe Florey in Somerset, or crouched over a keyboard in a London office, he vilified and poked ruthless sarcasm at anything and anyone that disagreed with him with a highly literate and knowledgeable style. As for the style, it is as if his public school had aimed at producing the next Cicero and ended up with Archie Rice. The humour is often broad, even music hall/vaudeville vulgarity. Any insult will do once he identifies an enemy to his traditionalist views of upper class superiority and absolute right to rule society. Boris Johnson would probably have been dismissed as an upstart scribbler with ambitions beyond his ability. For once, I may have agreed with him.
As a collection of Waugh's Way of the World columns it is amusing, sometimes downright funny but, before reading, it needs to be taken with a pinch of salt or at least a deep calming breath to soothe those inner socialist views that may be secretly waving a red flag – or at least a pink banner - within the soul of any reader.
Right wing would never do justice to his newspaper column. He not only despised anyone from the North of England, particularly Liverpool – all 650,000 (Waugh's figure) of us apparently share the same proud desire to sponge from the welfare state – it clearly stuck in his throat that a woman, and a grocer's daughter at that, had once led the Conservative Party and become Prime Minister. He clearly had a hatred of Rupert Murdoch and all Murdoch stood for, which goes deeper than journalistic rivalry, and what we now think of as environmentalism would make him splutter apoplectically into his snifter.
From his manor house at Combe Florey in Somerset, or crouched over a keyboard in a London office, he vilified and poked ruthless sarcasm at anything and anyone that disagreed with him with a highly literate and knowledgeable style. As for the style, it is as if his public school had aimed at producing the next Cicero and ended up with Archie Rice. The humour is often broad, even music hall/vaudeville vulgarity. Any insult will do once he identifies an enemy to his traditionalist views of upper class superiority and absolute right to rule society. Boris Johnson would probably have been dismissed as an upstart scribbler with ambitions beyond his ability. For once, I may have agreed with him.
As a collection of Waugh's Way of the World columns it is amusing, sometimes downright funny but, before reading, it needs to be taken with a pinch of salt or at least a deep calming breath to soothe those inner socialist views that may be secretly waving a red flag – or at least a pink banner - within the soul of any reader.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews