Path of Dalliace

by Auberon Waugh

The Honourable Guy Frazer-Morrison and Jamey Sligger have come up to Godolphin Hall, Oxford from their Roman Catholic school, Cleeve. Rumours concerning their sexuality start when they share a college room. Waugh expertly describes the dons, the students, the relationships, intrigues, snobbery, politics - and Guy and Jamey's desire to get laid and get on in life.

Genres: Fiction

298 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1964

About the author

Auberon Alexander Waugh was a British journalist and novelist, and eldest son of the novelist Evelyn Waugh. He was widely known by his nickname "Bron”.

Waugh's career spanned journalism, fiction, and editing; he authored five novels, including The Foxglove Saga (1960) and Consider the Lilies (1968), and contributed political columns to outlets such as The Spectator from 1967 and The Daily Telegraph. His most enduring satirical work was the "Diary" column in Private Eye, which he wrote from 1970 to 1986, often provoking outrage with its parodies and polemics. From the 1980s until his death, he edited Literary Review, shaping its profile through his editorial leadership and "From the Pulpit" essays.

Waugh's defining characteristics included an acerbic wit and a penchant for vendettas, leading to notable controversies such as a 1970 libel suit against The Spectator that he won and a 1979 parliamentary candidacy for the fringe Dog Lovers' Party. Despite health setbacks, including a spinal injury from National Service in 1958, he maintained a prolific output, earning two What the Papers Say awards for his influence in British journalism. His memoirs, Will This Do? (1991), encapsulated his irreverent worldview

Reviews

[Dr G · Rating 1 out of 5]

This is an abysmal book. It is one of the few which make me deeply regretful of my decision to always read through to the end of any book I start. I started to regret this one after just a few paragraphs. My only hope is that I can save someone else from the terrible waste of time involved in reading it.
There were the lamentably unfunny names Waugh fabricated (Sligger, Alec Scroton-Wise, Rapey Rawley, MacGhastly, and so on). I suspect he saw himself as some neo-Dickens. Then there were the cack-handed attempts at satire. Very, very little of it was remotely humorous and none of it incisive. Even allowing for the fact it was written sixty years ago, the satirical punch would have been embarrassingly weak if created by a fourteen-year-old.
As bad as the weak satire are the weird attempts at slapstick humour such as when Jamey drives over a duck and then plans to give it as a gift to the woman after whom he is lusting; or the ridiculous sex-play between the Price-Williamses. How did publishers’ editors allow this tosh to get through and consume paper-stocks?
I am afraid I could not get rid of the picture of Waugh giggling to himself over the wit of his writing. It seemed odd that he did not want to use his father’s name to promote his writing; yet he called an army unit in this book the same fictional name, Halberdiers, as his father had made up for The Sword of Honour , which felt a little like clinging to his father’s coat-tail.
Supposedly, he gave up novel-writing for journalism because he thought he would be compared unfavourably with his father. To be fair, he would be compared unfavourably with many a ten-year-old. His fiction-writing prowess is comparable to the machine gun repair prowess he showed when, in the forces, he shot himself, front on, trying to correct a fault in a loaded weapon.

[Dulcie · Rating 2 out of 5]

Oh dear.

[Judi Moore · Rating 1 out of 5]

Heavy going: sub-Wodehouse, sub-Porterhouse Blue, sub-early volumes (and no 10) of A Dance to the Music of Time. It is sepulchrally slow and has an odd relationship between singular group nouns and plural verbs which I find extraordinary from an author who was so picky about 'proper' English. Either that of House Of Stratus have failed him in the editing department. I admit defeat.

[Richard Thomas · Rating 4 out of 5]

Worth reading for the nascent style and blackness of his humour.