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What's Become of Waring
Good, funny novels are so extremely rare that when one is published it needs celebrating. There is no other British novelist whose sense o social nuance is so delicate or so subtle, or whose comic range is so wide...And there is certainly no other novelist whose work gives so much or such consistent pleasure.
222 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1939
About the author
Anthony Powell
129 books343 followersPeople best know British writer Anthony Dymoke Powell for
A Dance to the Music of Time
, a cycle of 12 satirical novels from 1951 to 1975.
This Englishman published his volumes of work. Television and radio dramatizations subjected major work of Powell in print continuously. In 2008, The Times newspaper named Powell among their list of "the fifty greatest British writers since 1945."
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthony...
This Englishman published his volumes of work. Television and radio dramatizations subjected major work of Powell in print continuously. In 2008, The Times newspaper named Powell among their list of "the fifty greatest British writers since 1945."
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthony...
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 31 reviews
May 11, 2026
What’s Become of Waring is a short and very dryly comic novel about the mysterious death of a mysterious travel writer. The narrator, a young editor at Waring’s publishers, superintends the writing of a biography which turns up lots of unexpected and generally disreputable secrets. The point is really Powell’s ironic gaze at all the absurdities that the characters keep getting into. Here’s just one example from a rather silly séance.
The medium went under control with a good deal of puffing and blowing. After a few minutes he spoke a few phrases in a small high voice like a child's. This happened several times with long silences in between. The spirit sought was that of George Eliot. On previous occasions she had announced that she wished to be called Mimi, so it was by the latter name that she was addressed by Lipfield in his periodical appeals to her to take some notice of Mrs. Cromwell and her guests.
May 18, 2012
For years I've been meaning to start Powell's great sequence, A Dance To The Music of Time; but somehow I've never made the first step. However, I DO have a copy (purchased I think from some second-hand bookseller years and years ago) of this pre-Music comic novel, and the other day when I needed something absorbing but not too emotionally or intellectually challenging to read, I fished it off the shelf, and found myself enchanted. What's Become of Waring is set in England and the South of France in what seems like the summer of 1938 -- which for any student of history is the summer before Munich, a fact that gives the novel's souffle-like lightness an unbearably poignant quality. Even without that glint of mutability, however, What's Become of Waring is a delight: the story of what happens when a mysterious best-selling travel-writer appears to have died in murky circumstances, and his publisher engages an earnest young historian to write a (hopefully celebratory) biography. There are echoes of a gentler Waugh, or a male Barbara Pym, or an agnostic A. N. Wilson, in this novel; and I must admit to having gulped it down in indecent haste. The only thing preventing me from giving it four stars is its own modesty of intent -- and the fact that I want to save one for what I understand is its author's Magnum Opus, on which I now fully intend to embark.
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February 25, 2024This one gets funnier every time. So much of Dance is rehearsed in Waring. Eustace Bromwich, especially, is an early version of Dicky Umfraville, just as the nameless narrator anticipates Nick Jenkins. The mystery surrounding T.T. Waring is resolved in a manner that anticipates the interconnectedness of everything in Dance. I find all of Powell's 1930s' novels reward re-reading. Like most of Powell's work, subtle foreshadowing, only apparent on re-reading, is woven effectively into the narrative. Rather a shame that this one was nearly destroyed by World War II and, more or less, went into a sales stasis for the better part of two decades. Having re-read all Powell's 1930s novels in the last week, I find I currently like this one best of the lot, and all of them better than ever before.
September 25, 2016
A classic British comedy that follows on the traditions of Wilde. This is light, classic, Ealing comedy style writing that captures a sense of time brilliantly. Loved it.
March 16, 2026
enjoyable Wodehouse like comic novel. shades of the qualities i love so much in the Dance Series.
April 5, 2022
The unnamed narrator is an editor at a publishing house. He goes to a séance and is told by the medium that they have been told by a spirit that TT Waring has passed away. Now Waring is the best selling author at the publishing house. It is decided that a biography must be written about his life. After the owners of the firm argue between two authors it is decided to hire a third. And this biographer learns some amazing things as he researches the life of Waring.
Of his pre-“Dance” works, I have enjoyed this one the most so far. It does get a bit chaotic at the end. Powell’s writing style in this novel seems to be on a par with his writing in the “Dance”.
Of his pre-“Dance” works, I have enjoyed this one the most so far. It does get a bit chaotic at the end. Powell’s writing style in this novel seems to be on a par with his writing in the “Dance”.
April 1, 2026
Having now read Dance to the Music of Time twice - I was delighted to go back and read another AP book. What's become of Waring is on one level a bit of a classic mystery, but it definitely works on more than one level. In true Anthony Powell style its a cleverly woven book, there are a large number of characters and plot strands which are all drawn together by the end of the book.
September 30, 2010
This is a novel about a mysterious travel writer who seems to have died, narrated by an unnamed editor at his publishing company. It's 1930s London, so the action (if it can be called that) takes place in drawing rooms, cluttered offices, staid men's clubs, and country houses. It is quietly, very drily, not overbearingly comic, and the writing is good in an unobtrusive way:
"My brother is a strange fellow," said Bernard, speaking with terrible bonhomie.
*
"I was staying with friends," Roberta said, "in a villa not far from Toulon."
"Anyone I know?"
"I don't think so. Anyway, I took the car into the town to buy some things one day. When I came out of the shop I found I had parked in the wrong place or driven up a one-way street or something. There was a policeman there. I tried to explain what had happened, but he talked such méridional French that we couldn't understand each other."
Roberta's eyes began to expand at the memory of the incident as if she were again trying to quell the Provençal gendarme.
*
The common where we had walked the previous evening was a deserted tract of land, typical of Surrey, looking as if it might be miles from any habitation, while only a few deciduous trees divided it from country studded with bungalows. Some of the land showed traces of heath fires, charred roots and stones lying about on the blackened ground. Walking there was not at all like being in the country. Agriculture seemed as remote as in a London street. This waste land might have been some walled-in space in the suburbs where business men practised golfstrokes; or the corner of a cinema studio used for shooting wilderness scenes. It had neither memories of the past nor hope for the future.
"My brother is a strange fellow," said Bernard, speaking with terrible bonhomie.
*
"I was staying with friends," Roberta said, "in a villa not far from Toulon."
"Anyone I know?"
"I don't think so. Anyway, I took the car into the town to buy some things one day. When I came out of the shop I found I had parked in the wrong place or driven up a one-way street or something. There was a policeman there. I tried to explain what had happened, but he talked such méridional French that we couldn't understand each other."
Roberta's eyes began to expand at the memory of the incident as if she were again trying to quell the Provençal gendarme.
*
The common where we had walked the previous evening was a deserted tract of land, typical of Surrey, looking as if it might be miles from any habitation, while only a few deciduous trees divided it from country studded with bungalows. Some of the land showed traces of heath fires, charred roots and stones lying about on the blackened ground. Walking there was not at all like being in the country. Agriculture seemed as remote as in a London street. This waste land might have been some walled-in space in the suburbs where business men practised golfstrokes; or the corner of a cinema studio used for shooting wilderness scenes. It had neither memories of the past nor hope for the future.
February 6, 2014
This was my last, final, attempt to complete an Anthony Dymoke Powell novel. Having thrice started, and thrice abandoned at different stages, 'A Dance to the Music of Time', I plucked from the dusty unread-modern-fiction shelves of Keele University Library this slender little tome. And quite enjoyed it! A pleasant tale of no great consequence, and refreshingly straightforward in style by comparison with the tediously overwritten pages of 'Dance to the Music of Time'. I shan't bother with him again, but at least I don't loathe him any more.
May 26, 2018
Powell was blessed with far-reaching curiosity. He cast a quizzical, objective eye far and wide. Well, at least as wide as England and as far as the battlefields of WWII. Of that world, he left what seems a nearly anthropological assessment of the Englishman and woman of the 20th century. To say he was snobbish, is a knee jerk response based on the fact that his characters include the titled and wealthy, but most are not. He seemed interested in anything and everyone. His nephew, Ferdinand Mount, in an appreciation written for the NYT remarked Powell’s wonder at the everyday. His books abound in the extraordinariness of everydayness. It truly is amazing how many extraordinary things just seem to happen. At least if you keep your eyes open. Which brings us to What’s Become of Waring.
It would be easy to dismiss Waring along with all of Powell’s novels from before his masterful A Dance to the Music of Time as comical, but slight. Powell does keep it light and breezy. The narrator, a preview of Dance’s Nick, keeps the “ball rolling” at a jaunty pace. He is forever being drawn into other people’s dramas. Ungrudgingly, ever genial (he does make a bit of a fuss at one point about having to wait rather late for his dinner, which he never does get), he goes along for the ride whether that is to the questionable Robinson’s yacht, a military ball or a seance. He listens to everyone’s reports and grievances. He passes no judgement unless asked. A good bit of loopiness ensues. It’s all rather good fun, but there is a serious question. What makes these people undertake choices which lead to such a jumble? As the novel ends, one of his friends reveals an engagement that must have him rolling his eyes at the future muddle that is certain to come. Yet, he has also seen one sensible friend safely on her way to what she wanted. I mention no names since What’s become of Waring is not really so much the point or fun of the story, but what’s to become of this passel of likable but misguided folks.
One final note: in defense of coincidence
England is a tiny island.
London is smaller.
The pre-war English gentry is a microcosm
The publishing world is famously small enclave
It would be easy to dismiss Waring along with all of Powell’s novels from before his masterful A Dance to the Music of Time as comical, but slight. Powell does keep it light and breezy. The narrator, a preview of Dance’s Nick, keeps the “ball rolling” at a jaunty pace. He is forever being drawn into other people’s dramas. Ungrudgingly, ever genial (he does make a bit of a fuss at one point about having to wait rather late for his dinner, which he never does get), he goes along for the ride whether that is to the questionable Robinson’s yacht, a military ball or a seance. He listens to everyone’s reports and grievances. He passes no judgement unless asked. A good bit of loopiness ensues. It’s all rather good fun, but there is a serious question. What makes these people undertake choices which lead to such a jumble? As the novel ends, one of his friends reveals an engagement that must have him rolling his eyes at the future muddle that is certain to come. Yet, he has also seen one sensible friend safely on her way to what she wanted. I mention no names since What’s become of Waring is not really so much the point or fun of the story, but what’s to become of this passel of likable but misguided folks.
One final note: in defense of coincidence
England is a tiny island.
London is smaller.
The pre-war English gentry is a microcosm
The publishing world is famously small enclave
June 29, 2019
Only Anthony Powell could have written this book, a thinly-veiled precursor to the brilliant 'Dance to the Music of Time.'
The story is set between the wars. The narrator works in a publishing house run by two eccentric brothers who are constantly at loggerheads. Like most (if not all) of Powell's characters, he is comfortably affluent and his social circle is made up of the almost-aristocracy of London. He expects to holiday in France every year, dine out most nights, go to the theatre, frequent gentlemen's clubs. Like Nick in the 'Dance', he is essentially amenable and easy-going.
The publishing house's most popular author is an elusive travel writer. No-one has ever met him or even knows his true identity. Powell's books are always full of slightly odd social occasions, and it is at a seance that a medium purports to announce that the writer, TT Waring, is dead. Or is he? And did he ever exist in the first place?
Through a series of 'coincidences' the narrator eventually unravels the mystery, but although the plot is cleverly constructed, as ever the chief joy in this novel is the array of characters, from a socialite journalist to a womanising captain, a distraught fiancee, a stamp-collecting general and various disgruntled authors, one of whom is a man called Shirley. It's a rarified world that is not only long gone, but one that was never accessible to the majority of the population - for example, the captain describes himself as 'just off the starvation line' but manages to spend his summers in Toulon, where he not only lives in a hotel but also keeps a boat. And they're all like that. To enjoy Powell you have to accept his world - and you can, because he writes about what he knows, and his writing is always pitch perfect.
'What's Become of Waring' is a very funny book, and in a way it is also poignant, as it was published in 1939, just as the world began to change in ways that none of these characters could have imagined.
The story is set between the wars. The narrator works in a publishing house run by two eccentric brothers who are constantly at loggerheads. Like most (if not all) of Powell's characters, he is comfortably affluent and his social circle is made up of the almost-aristocracy of London. He expects to holiday in France every year, dine out most nights, go to the theatre, frequent gentlemen's clubs. Like Nick in the 'Dance', he is essentially amenable and easy-going.
The publishing house's most popular author is an elusive travel writer. No-one has ever met him or even knows his true identity. Powell's books are always full of slightly odd social occasions, and it is at a seance that a medium purports to announce that the writer, TT Waring, is dead. Or is he? And did he ever exist in the first place?
Through a series of 'coincidences' the narrator eventually unravels the mystery, but although the plot is cleverly constructed, as ever the chief joy in this novel is the array of characters, from a socialite journalist to a womanising captain, a distraught fiancee, a stamp-collecting general and various disgruntled authors, one of whom is a man called Shirley. It's a rarified world that is not only long gone, but one that was never accessible to the majority of the population - for example, the captain describes himself as 'just off the starvation line' but manages to spend his summers in Toulon, where he not only lives in a hotel but also keeps a boat. And they're all like that. To enjoy Powell you have to accept his world - and you can, because he writes about what he knows, and his writing is always pitch perfect.
'What's Become of Waring' is a very funny book, and in a way it is also poignant, as it was published in 1939, just as the world began to change in ways that none of these characters could have imagined.
July 22, 2019
2,5 stars from me...
This book would probably work better as a play than it does as a novel. It is competently written, but lacks what I would call "spirit". At times the story rises above mediocrity and some sort of brilliance shines through. However, these moments are rather rare. Mostly, indifference prevails. Not a book anyone would or should hate by all means, it is certainly professional writing, but hardly ever in any way gripping, which is a pity. Maybe this is because the story is told from the perspective of a first-person narrator who seems pretty disinterested and is not emotionally involved in what's going on. I also felt that there were a few interesting themes (e.g. "interracial" relationships/marriages, seances) that should have been developed further because the way they were presented it seemed they were only used as a means to an end or for humorous effect. I used to think I like "English" humor, but "What's become of Waring" only occasionally worked for me in that regard, for example when it comes to describing the characters and their excentricities. Unfortunately, those descriptions were often not fully fleshed out (because some of the characters played pretty irrelevant roles) , and therefore one is left with a sense of incompleteness. Oddly enough, the novel was in some ways too long and in other ways much too short.
This book would probably work better as a play than it does as a novel. It is competently written, but lacks what I would call "spirit". At times the story rises above mediocrity and some sort of brilliance shines through. However, these moments are rather rare. Mostly, indifference prevails. Not a book anyone would or should hate by all means, it is certainly professional writing, but hardly ever in any way gripping, which is a pity. Maybe this is because the story is told from the perspective of a first-person narrator who seems pretty disinterested and is not emotionally involved in what's going on. I also felt that there were a few interesting themes (e.g. "interracial" relationships/marriages, seances) that should have been developed further because the way they were presented it seemed they were only used as a means to an end or for humorous effect. I used to think I like "English" humor, but "What's become of Waring" only occasionally worked for me in that regard, for example when it comes to describing the characters and their excentricities. Unfortunately, those descriptions were often not fully fleshed out (because some of the characters played pretty irrelevant roles) , and therefore one is left with a sense of incompleteness. Oddly enough, the novel was in some ways too long and in other ways much too short.
September 6, 2024
Not as substantial as Dance to the Music of Time, but the canvas is much smaller. The wit is still there, and the astonishing dexterity with many characters who at first seem only tangentially connected but who turn out to be satisfyingly essential to the plot. I loved the way that the story involves a fictional character in a Robert Browning poem—Waring—and that is why, apart from my love for Dance to the Music of Time, I bought the book. I find myself wondering if Anthony Powell knew the real childhood friend who inspired Browning’s poem, and if he knew how that person, Alfred Domett, came back into Browning’s life after a career in New Zealand and resumed their friendship in a somewhat unrequited, earnest way that would make a good novel—a good Anthony Powell novel, in fact. But what I found awful about the book is Powell’s treatment of Black and Indian characters. The characters are minor but (or should I say and?) they are given no dignity or specificity. I cannot, therefore, recommend the book. If anyone out there is a Powell expert and can offer context (and by context I do not mean excuses), please do share. Is he, or the book, to be cancelled? Is it worse than or better than what we see in Huck Finn or The Sun Also Rises?
February 26, 2023
This reads exactly like any random volume of Dance to the Music of Time. Same tone, same type of narrator, same subject, same preponderance of coincidence, same prose style, etc. Powell is an odd writer, in that he has obvious shortcomings, but those shortcomings are largely what I like about him. His work is virtually conflict-free; anything that looks like conflict will be resolved in the least dramatic way possible. Humor too, oddly. He’s usually classed as a comic novelist, but his work is almost completely jokeless (and any humor is just in the nature of the situations the characters find themselves in). He seems to intentionally veer away from anything that would normally be the draw of other novels, and steers towards one thing: exacting descriptions of social interactions. And I like it. I like his detailed yet concise prose and his entertaining descriptions of stodgy Brits. This stuff is like candy to me. He can write the same novel over and over and I’ll keep reading it.
August 5, 2022
I'd probably give it 3.5 stars but I'll round up. Enjoyable read, light comedy, with conflicts that don't seem to really upset anyone all that much. A good break from heavy-hitting, high-stakes material. There's not really any serious sign of social or economic strife or awareness that Europe was heading toward WWII, except for one joke about Mussolini. Doesn't demand a lot from the reader, which is nice once in a while, especially during the summer.
November 6, 2024
Always a great joy to reread an Anthony Powell novel.
File this one somewhere between R.F. Kuang's Yellowface, George Gissing's New Grub Street and Bruce Chatwin's In Patagonia.
"By the way, here is that American novel I told you about. Let me know what you think of it."
"Anything special?"
"I don't feel happy about the chapter where Irving and Wayne listen to the whip-poor-will."
"I'll study it."
I took Lot's Hometown and went back to my room.
File this one somewhere between R.F. Kuang's Yellowface, George Gissing's New Grub Street and Bruce Chatwin's In Patagonia.
"By the way, here is that American novel I told you about. Let me know what you think of it."
"Anything special?"
"I don't feel happy about the chapter where Irving and Wayne listen to the whip-poor-will."
"I'll study it."
I took Lot's Hometown and went back to my room.
July 21, 2025
Pretty funny stuff about publishing and fraud and Orientalism in Britain between the wars. Pre- "A Dance to the Music of Time" but betraying zero ambition with respect to undertaking that epic. I mean a compliment when I say a lot of it reads like Wodehouse on mood stabilizers. Warning: as was the custom of its time (1938), the characters will casually drop racist epithets.
July 23, 2018
Funny, dark, sharply observant. Easy to see why he divides opinion but I am a fan of most of Powell’s work. The role of the narrator here is very similar to that of Nick Jenkins in ‘Dance...’. Also a remarkable period piece of a slice of London life just before the second world war.
September 9, 2017
Period social comedy, a light read unlikely to be remembered.
July 6, 2019
A delightful little read - happy end
April 4, 2022
What can I say – very good and very funny!
April 28, 2024
Very light but quite refreshing comic novel. The plot isn't much and I saw the two big twists coming a mile away but that didn't lessen my enjoyment any.
September 3, 2025
Quintessentially Powell: witty, clever, acutely observed. A joy.
June 10, 2026
Great writing about weird characters but very dated.
August 15, 2011
I had to read this one really quickly to get it back to the library in time, but I don't think my experience suffered too much as a result. The novel is a meditation on identity; the narrator works for the publisher of the eponymous Waring, a mysterious author of travel literature who dies suddenly. The publishing company wants to get a biography out about Waring ASAP while they can still make money off of it, and the question of who should write the biography, and then the chosen author's research into Waring's background drives the novel. Meanwhile a lot of thematically meaningful plotless stuff happens -- a weekend in the country, a trip to a seance, some time in France. All of this serves to highlight the questions of Waring's identity, how he wrote his books & why people love (or hate) them, and these open up into still larger questions about authorship and identity, publicity vs. privacy, family ties and family dislikes. I liked it very, very much and am now eager to start Powell's ginormous novel sequence as soon as I can get back to the library to get the first one.
March 13, 2009
Having come to this earlier work after I read
A Dance to the Music of Time
, it was pretty easy to see where all of the characters would end up and how the plot would unfold. But, it was still an enjoyable read. It hasn't really aged well -- like most Brit Lit written between the two world wars -- but that doesn't really matter. It's Anthony Powell.
January 5, 2015
Whilst perhaps not quite of the same calibre as the twelve novels of the Dance to the Music of Time sequence, Powell demonstrates his great talent here in crafting a thoroughly enjoyable tale. The truth about Waring and its ramifications make for a good twist.
January 20, 2015
T.T. Waring is the nom de plume of an elusive travel writer in Powells' very funny novel. A British comedy of manners involving the publishing industry- I don't think this book is for everyone, but I enjoyed the setting and the search for Waring.
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December 3, 2016Not crazy about this book but a member of the my book club who grew up in England said it was satire. I really didn't get it but am going to give it a try with the understanding it is like Punch or Monty Python.
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August 19, 2009The beginning of an interest in Anthony Powell. The title's from the poem that begins "What's become of Waring since he's given us the slip/Chose land travel or seafaring..."
Displaying 1 - 30 of 31 reviews