Los seres queridos

Por Evelyn Waugh

En el curso de una gira de conferencias por los Estados Unidos, Evelyn Waugh descubrió los peculiares ritos funerarios de las antiguas colonias inglesas de ultramar. El resultado de la contemplación de este submundo delirante, edificado en los márgenes de la sociedad de la opulencia para recibir con babilónica grandiosidad a quienes la abandonan para siempre, fue Los seres queridos, una de las novelas de humor más negro de la literatura inglesa, en la tradición de Swift.

Los cadáveres de seres humanos y de amados animales domésticos son tratados de la misma manera, y su último viaje es igualmente fastuoso; en alguna ocasión, como en el caso de la inefable Aimée Thanatogenos, su cadáver es incinerado con el de sus perros mientras Dennis Barlow, el joven poeta inglés, alter ego de Waugh, recita poemas de Poe.

Los seres queridos, una novela desopilante, es también una sátira radical de un mundo que utiliza el dinero para evitar enfrentarse a la conciencia de la muerte, y maquilla y disfraza a sus muertos hasta convertirlos en ridículas parodias de los vivos.

• Idioma: Español
• Editorial: Editorial Anagrama
• Fecha de lanzamiento: 18 abr 2006
• ISBN: 9788433919779

Evelyn Waugh

Evelyn Waugh (1903-1966) estudió historia moderna en Oxford, donde llevó, según sus palabras, una vida de "pereza, disolución y derroche". Publicó en 1928 su primera novela, "Cuerpos viles", "¡Noticia bomba!" y "Merienda de negros", publicadas en esta colección, que le establecieron como el novelista cómico inglés más considerabe desde Dickens. Después de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, el influjo de su conversión al catolicismose hizo muy acusado; destacan entre las obras de dicho periodo "Retorno a Brideshead", la trilogía "La espada del honor" y también "Los seres queridos", en la que regresó a la veta satírica de sus primeras novelas.

Vista previa del libro

Índice

Portada

Los seres queridos

Notas

Créditos

Dedicada a Nancy Mitford

Durante todo el día había hecho un calor insufrible, pero al caer la tarde se levantó una brisa por el oeste, por el lado de donde apretaba el calor del sol poniente, y del mar, que no se veía, ni se oía, oculto tras los matorrales de las colinas. Estremeciéronse los oxidados dedos de las palmeras y retumbaron los secos sonidos del estío, el croar de las ranas, el chirrido de las cigarras, y la constante vibración de la música que salía de las vecinas chozas de los indígenas.

A la suavidad de esta luz, perdieron un punto de sordidez la sucia pintura, a medias sarpullida, del chalet y los hierbajos del parterre que había entre la terraza y el hueco sin agua, y los dos ingleses sentados en sus mecedoras, con sus respectivos whiskys con soda y revistas de fecha atrasada, especímenes ambos de los incontables compatriotas desterrados también a las más bárbaras zonas del planeta, participaron del breve e ilusorio espejismo.

–Pronto aparecerá Ambrose Abercrombie –dijo el de más edad. ¿Qué querrá? Ha dejado recado de que iba a venir. Ve a por otro vaso, Dennis, si puedes.

Acto seguido añadió con más petulancia:

–Kierkegaard, Kafka, Connolly, Compton-Burnett, Sartre, «Scottie» Wilson. ¿Esos quiénes son? ¿Qué pretenden?

–Me suenan algunos de estos nombres. En Londres se los mencionaba cuando yo me vine para acá.

–¿Se mencionaba a «Scottie» Wilson?

–No. No creo. A ese no.

–Aquello es un «Scottie» Wilson. Los dibujos de allí. ¿Te dicen algo?

–No.

–No.

La momentánea animación de sir Francis Hinsley decayó. Tiró su número de Horizon y dirigió los ojos hacia la mancha oscura y sombría que en otros tiempos había sido la piscina. Tenía el rostro sensible, inteligente, desdibujado ligeramente por la buena vida y el interminable aburrimiento.

–Antes era Hopkins –dijo–; Joyce, Freud, Gertrude Stein. A estos tampoco logré nunca descubrirles la gracia. Lo nuevo nunca se me ha dado bien. «La influencia de Zola en Arnold Bennett»; «La influencia de Henley en Flecker.» Es a lo máximo que llegué en cuanto a los modernos. Mis temas favoritos eran «El párroco inglés en la novela inglesa» o «Las gestas de caballería y los poetas»... y cosas por el estilo. A la gente le gustaba. Luego dejaron de interesarle. Yo igual. Era un cagatintas infatigable. Necesitaba cambiar. Nunca me he arrepentido de haberme ¡marchado. Este clima me sienta muy bien. La gente de aquí es de lo más generosa y no te exigen nunca que los escuches. No te olvides de esto, muchacho. Es el secreto de la vida social de este país. Hablan simplemente por el puro placer de escucharse. No dicen nunca nada para que sea oído.

–Ahí llega Ambrose Abercrombie –dijo el joven.

–Hola, Frank. Hola, Barlow –saludó sir Ambrose Abercrombie subiendo las escaleras–. Qué día tan caluroso, ¿verdad? Tomo asiento, con la venia de la compañía. Basta –añadió dirigiéndose al joven que le servía el whisky–. Soda hasta arriba, por favor.

Sir Ambrose iba vestido con oscuros pantalones de franela y corbata de excursionista etoniano, y llevaba un sombrero de remero con cinta de I Zingari. Era el uniforme de los días de calor; cuando el tiempo lo permitía se ponía gorra de rastreador de venado y una capa de Inverness. No había pasado todavía de lo que lady Abercrombie pretenciosamente llamaba el «buen» lado de los sesenta, pero después de tantos años de hacerse el joven, aspiraba ahora a los honores de la vejez. Lo que más le envanecía últimamente era que la gente le clasificara de «magnífico vejete».

–Hace días que pensaba en venir. El problema de este país es que no te dejan en paz ni un minuto, en cuanto te agarran, pierdes el contacto con la gente. Y eso no está bien. Los británicos tenemos que mantenernos unidos. Y tú, Frank, no debieras esconderte, vives como un ermitaño.

–Me acuerdo de cuando no vivías tan lejos.

–¿Yo? ¡Pardiez, tienes razón! Me recuerdas viejos tiempos. Fue antes de que nos marcháramos a vivir a Beverly Hills. Ahora, como ya sabrás, vivimos en Bel Air. Pero he de confesar que no me acabo de sentir bien en este sitio. Tengo un terreno en los acantilados del Pacífico. Aguardo a que baje el costo de la construcción. ¿Dónde estaba mi casa? En la acera de enfrente, ¿verdad?

En la acera de enfrente, veinte años o más atrás, cuando el barrio, ahora en decadencia, estaba de moda; sir Francis, apenas entrado en la madurez, era en aquella época el único aristócrata de Hollywood, el decano del círculo inglés, principal guionista de Megalopolitan Pictures y presidente del Club de Críquet. Por aquellos años, el joven, o más bien el joven Ambrose Abercrombie, vivía a salto de mata, gracias a la serie de fatigosísimos papeles que le hicieron famoso, como heroico acróbata histórico, y casi cada noche se dejaba caer en casa de sir Francis para tomar un refresco. En Hollywood actualmente había títulos ingleses a montones, algunos auténticos, y a sir Ambrose se le había oído hablar despectivamente del de sir Francis como «un invento de Lloyd George». Las botas de siete leguas del fracaso habían marginado mucho al envejecido anciano. Sir Francis había descendido al Departamento de Publicidad, y, en el Club de Críquet, figuraba en la cola junto a otros doce, que aguardaban el cargo de vicepresidente.

La piscina de su casa, que antaño había sido lucidísimo acuario de muslos de bellezas desaparecidas tiempo atrás, estaba ahora vacía, agrietada y llena de hierbas.

No obstante un vínculo de caballeros unía a los dos hombres.

–¿Qué tal en Megalo? –preguntó sir Ambrose.

–Patas arriba todo. Tenemos problemas con Juanita del Pablo.

–¿Con la «deliciosa, lánguida y lasciva»?

–Confundes los epítetos. La chica es, mejor dicho era, «adusta, fenomenal y sádica». Si lo sabré yo que inventé la frase. Cuajó de maravilla, y significó un cambio de tono en la publicidad de tipo personal.

»La señorita Del Pablo fue, desde el primer día, mi protegida particular. Recuerdo el día de su llegada. El pobre Leo la contrató por sus ojos. Por aquella época se llamaba Nena Aaronson..., los ojos eran espléndidos y tenía una magnífica melena negra. De modo que Leo decidió convertirla en española. Ordenó que le cortaran media nariz y la envió a México a que aprendiera a cantar flamenco en seis semanas. Después me la pasó a mí. Yo fui quien le dio un nombre. Yo la convertí en refugiada antifascista. Dije que la muchacha odiaba a los hombres a causa, de los malos tratos recibidos bajo los moros de Franco. En aquella época fue una gran innovación. Tuvo mucho éxito. Y ella no estaba nada mal en su estilo, esta es la verdad, tenía un espontáneo mohín desdeñoso que te ponía los pelos de punta. Las piernas nunca las tuvo muy fotogénicas pero la hicimos salir siempre con falda larga y en las escenas de violencia, para la parte inferior, utilizamos un doble. Yo estaba muy contento de ella y hubiéramos podido disponer de una buena actriz diez años más, por lo menos.

»Pero ahora resulta que en las altas esferas ha habido un cambio de política. Este año nos dedicaremos exclusivamente a hacer películas saludables para contentar a los de la Liga de la Decencia. De modo que la pobre Juanita debe comenzar otra vez como chica irlandesa. Le han oxigenado el pelo y se lo han teñido de rojo. Yo les he advertido que en Irlanda las mozas son morenas, pero los tipos del tecnicolor se empeñan en que no. Pasa diez horas diarias estudiando el acento irlandés y, para dificultarle las cosas, le han arrancado la dentadura. Hasta ahora nunca había representado papeles que la obligaran a sonreír, y para una risotada de vez en cuando, tenía los dientes pasables. Pero a partir de ahora tendrá que echarse a reír a carcajada limpia cada dos por tres. Es decir, dientes postizos al canto.

»Yo hace tres días que estoy tratando de encontrarle un nombre. Y no hay manera. Maureen no, ya hay dos; Deirdre..., a ver quién podrá pronunciarlo; Oonagh..., suena a chino; Bridget..., demasiado corriente. En fin, la verdad es que ella está de un humor de perros.

Sir Ambrose, haciendo honor a la famosa costumbre local, había dejado muy discretamente de escuchar.

–¡Ah –exclamó– conque películas saludables! Me parece muy bien. Yo ya dije en el Club del Cuchillo y el Tenedor: «Mi vida en el cine se ha regido siempre por dos principios: no hagas delante de la cámara lo que no harías en casa, y no hagas en casa lo que no harías delante de la cámara.»

Se alargó sobre el tema mientras sir Francis, a su vez, se dedicaba a pensar en otra cosa. Y así los dos aristócratas pasaron juntos casi una hora entera, sentados de lado en sus respectivas tumbonas, alternando los arranques de elocuencia con los de ensimismamiento, absortos en la contemplación a través de los monóculos de la bella luz crepuscular, y mientras tanto el joven se dedicaba a irles llenando los vasos, sin olvidarse del suyo.

La hora era propicia a los recuerdos y, en sus intervalos de silencio, sir Francis rememoraba hasta un cuarto de siglo atrás, si no más, los tiempos en que las brumosas calles de Londres se liberaron definitivamente del terrorífico Zeppelin; en que Harold Monro leía poemas en voz alta en la Librería Poética, y Blunden escribía en el London Mercury; recordó a Robert de la Condamine en las sesiones de tarde del Phoenix; los almuerzos con Maud en Grosvenor Square, los tés con Gosse en Hanover Terrace; al grupito de los once neuróticos que vociferaban baladas escocesas en una taberna de la calle de Fleet, antes de partir al Metroland para pasar el día jugando el críquet, al mozo de las galeradas tirándole de la manga; los incontables brindis durante los incontables banquetes en incontables homenajes a incontables...

Sir Ambrose tenía un pasado más accidentado, pero lo suyo era vivir existencialmente. Solo pensaba en sí mismo tal como era el momento presente, rumiaba sentimentalmente sobre sus varias ventajas y se ponía muy contento.

–Bueno –dijo al cabo de un largo rato–, ha llegado la hora de coger el tole. La señora estará esperándome. –Pero no se movió, se giró hacia el joven y le preguntó–: ¿Cómo

Comentarios para Los seres queridos

[jbgusa · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Hilarious satire about the rather disgusting burial industry. It was, from what I remember (I read it about 42 years ago) a parody of Forest Lawn Cemetery in California. I read it in the wake of my father's death at the age of 47 when I was 15. The rather aggressive funeral director corresponded well to the book.

[thosgpetri · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

From 1948, Waugh tears into vulgarities of the funeral industry. Set in 1940's Hollywood it focuses on conspicuous consumption, ego building, and nationalism. The Brits in this story feel above the Americans (culturally) but act no better. Just different. The clash of attitudes demonstrates superficial attitudes and emotions. A call for self-evaluation by individuals and societies. Waugh certainly earned his standing as a author well worth reading.

[jpsnow · Calificación: 1 de 5 estrellas]

I tried to like this, twice, at least enough to finish. I usually like reading books that present a lens from a different time. Maybe this type of satire doesn’t age well. I read enough to appreciate why it was probably more interesting and artful seventy years ago. Today, for me at least, it was repetitive and vulgar, without either being additive.

[john257hopper · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

This is a rather odd short novel about rivalry between two morticians in Hollywood, one a luxury provider of funerary services. the other specialising in pet funerals. It is blackly comedic and bizarre. Not sure if I would say I liked it, but it was short enough to take the risk. This is the first Waugh novel I have ever read - I first heard of it back in the 1980s as there was a Doctor Who TV story that partly satirised this satire.

[azbob1951 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Funerals are a big business

[lamour_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

The novel is a satirical view of America's attitude to death and funeral customs. In the novel, English actors brought to Hollywood to play Brits in American films are critical of Dennis Barlow, a British poet who has not followed the rules of the British emigres and they want to send him home. Barlow accepts a job at Happier Hunting Grounds, a pet cemetery where Waugh ridicules the exploitation practiced by the American funeral industry. Barlow is smitten by cosmetician Aimée Thanatogenos who prepares bodies at Whispering Glades Memorial Park which is based on Waugh's visit to the real Hollywood Forest Lawn. Much of the humour is generated by the over the top expense and preparations of an American funeral and especially when those preparations include pets.

[lethalmauve · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Death has never been this delighted with such saccharine morbidity. Waugh's tragicomic The Loved One dips in little funny musings that don't always land then halfway through makes a 360-degree turn with its mishaps. Set in 1940s Hollywood, Los Angeles, it tells the story of British "poet" hired-then-fired film scriptwriter, duplicitous Mr. Barlow who took a job in the Happier Hunting Ground, a pet cemetery that offers unusual funeral services, thereby being an embarrassment to the Hollywood British enclave. Opposite the Happier Hunting Ground is the lavish and mawkish funeral service provider for humans called the Whispering Glades where Mr. Barlow encounters both its senior and awkward mortician Mr. Joyboy and the cosmetician Miss Thanatogenos after a life-changing event that concerns Barlow's flatmate Hollywood scriptwriter Hinsley. There is tacit rivalry between these two funeral businesses that they deride and insult each other for what they reductively do. One can't help but think of the real value of losing an animal versus a person which I personally think is, of course, subjective to a pet / human's impact on someone.Not only is this a satirical novel about Hollywood but also a superficial look at its stifling and unfair culture that makes and drives the people in its own community bad and mad. Also worth noting that there is a paragraph in the book about (the now debunked belief) how cigarettes help with lung problems ("The cigarettes Mr. Slump smoked were prepared by the doctors, so the advertisements declared, with the sole purpose of protecting the respiratory system" p93). Although I would have appreciated it better if Waugh focused more on these issues instead of resorting to a problematic and strange love triangle I guess this is a little story of how we give more importance to a person's death than the life they lived that their death seems to be the sole definition of their existence. How that John Lennon song rings very true: "Everybody loves you when you're six foot in the ground." I can't say The Loved One did not make me laugh because it did and near its end it is aptly disturbing and devastating.

[iansales_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

I asked my mother to keep an eye open for books by Evelyn Waugh – I forget why; I think I’d just watched the TV adaptation of Brideshead Revisited, fancied reading some of his novels and found a couple in charity shops myself… Anyway, I asked her to look out for them, and the next time we met up, she gave me a carrier bag containing a dozen of them. Which was considerably more than I’d expected. Quite a few of them were tatty Penguin paperbacks from the 1950s, which I didn’t mind as these were books I planned to read and pass on. I bought four of them with me to Sweden, including The Loved One. Which is a thin novel, of no great consequence. It’s set in Hollywood during the 1940s, immediately post-war, I think. The protagonist, Dennis Barlow, is a Brit, who worked for a major studio but was let go. He now works for a pet burial service. Which is a career the rest of the British expat community think is diminishes their standing among the Angelinos. This is especially the opinion of Sir Ambrose, who works at the studio which once employed Barlow. And also lets Sir Ambrose go, by simply giving his job to a relative of a manager (this is why employment laws are a good thing). Meanwhile, Barlow has met Aimee, a beautician at Whispering Glades, an upmarket cemetery that could only ever exist in California. And maybe in Florida. Barlow woos Aimee using poetry by assorted great poets which he claims to be his own verse. But then Aimee learns where Barlow works, and she has as low an opinion of the pet burial service as Sir Ambrose. The Loved One is mildly amusing, and Whispering Glades is certainly a good satirical creation, but the Barlow and Aimee are too much the naifs and the rest of the cast are all pretty much caricatures. Still, even second-tier Waugh is pretty damn good prose.

[michaelm42071 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Waugh’s savagely funny anti-homage to Hollywood, Forest Lawn, and Miss Lonelyhearts. The English community in Hollywood that we see is composed of a suicidal has-been, a Colonel Blimp type, and Dennis Barlow, a young poet and amoral opportunist. A love triangle, unconsummated, develops among Barlow, a cosmetician at Whispering Glades named Aimée Thanatogenos, and the head mortician and embalmer there, Mr. Joyboy. Thanatogenos is directed by her Miss Lonelyhearts correspondent, a drunk named Slump, and after she has ignored his advice and been disillusioned by both the mother’s boy Joyboy and the bounder Barlow, he tells her in drunken disgust to kill herself. This advice she follows, injecting herself with embalming fluid in Joyboy’s lab. Barlow, who works at an imitation of Whispering Glades for the disposal of pets, agrees, for the price of a first-class ticket back to England, to get rid of the body and the consequent embarrassment, or worse, for Joyboy.

[brakketh-1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Very amusing satire with tragic and merciless twists.

[marcusbastos-1 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

The Business of Life and DeathThis was my first reading of Evelyn Waugh. His description of the mortician business in Los Angeles is realistic and funny. His prose is fluid and entertaining. His characters are hilarious, cynical and selfish. The result is a story at the same time representative of the period/place it refers (years before WWII) and pleasant for the reader. The irony of the author and the somewhat hypocrisy and superficiality of the characters combined to a great story.

[chazzifrazz · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

A humorous look at the world of death and mortuaries. Set in Hollywood and written in 1948, it is the era of the controlling movie studios, where image is everything.The story revolves around a small group of British expats. Sir Ambrose Abercrombie, Sir Francis Hinsley and Dennis Barlow. Abercrombie and Hinsley work for the studios, but Barlow has a job that is considered below British standard...he works at Happy Hunting Ground, a pet cemetery and funeral service.When Hinsley dies, Barlow is given the responsibility of arranging the funeral. (He is in the business.) While making arrangements at Whispering Glades (this is for humans), he meets Aimée Thanatogenos who is a cosmetician there. He becomes interested in her and starts courting her by sending poems. He had told her he was a poet and she assumes he is the writer of the poems.Meanwhile the senior mortician, Mr. Joyboy, expresses his interest in Aimée. Barlow now has competition. But all comes to a head when something is discovered about Barlow's poetry.The comments and views of the characters are along the tongue-in-cheek style. Comments about the studio system, the mortuary world and being an ex-pat in Hollywood. There is a little gruesomeness, but then....I enjoyed this read. It is not a long one but it is a good one.

[mamashepp · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

The sarcasm drips from the pages. But so many books that really on sarcasm are so depressing and negative. This one is actually funny. Perhaps it helps to be cynical to enjoy this--that would explain why I like it so much!

[mizpurplest · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Excellent satire; amusing characters you never really like, which in this case is a good thing. Quite a few highly entertaining moments. Fun, fast read.

[behemothing-2 · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

I really liked Dr. Joyboy, but this book left me unsatisfied.

[stillatim · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

In which Waugh again proves that the satisfactions of 'realistic' fiction are pretty pale compared to the satisfactions of vicious, spiteful, hate-filled satire. The characters, plot and setting are all paper thin, but that helps the book with it's main point, which is to make you laugh out loud and recognize the ugliness, stupidity and vanity of the world in general. There's nothing and nobody redeeming here. The Brits are snobs and/or morons; the Yanks are James-lite innocents with none of the charming homeliness of actual innocents in James novels. If nothing else, reading this book will give the this please: next time you hear an American conservative complain about a 'culture of death,' you'll be able to remember 'The Loved One,' smirk, and take pleasure in the fact that a genuine conservative would consider the American conservative to be a repulsive boil on the arse of humankind.

[leslie398 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Absolutely love this satire of mid-1940s Los Angeles and the English ex-patriot community! The mortician Mr. Joyboy and his colleague Aimée Thanatogenos are a wonderful contrast to Dennis Barlow in Waugh's parody of Henry James' stereotypes of the Innocent American and Jaded European...

[becky221_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Very funny sarcastic look at Hollywood life and death. Evelyn Waugh pokes fun at both Americans and Brits. An enjoyable read, but lacking in depth.

[schmerguls · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

This was not funny except in a grotesque way. Well, it was funny as a whole - it's very writey - pouncey and arty. if you know what I mean. Enjoyed it.

[auntieknickers · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

WOnderful satire. Read along with [b:The American Way of Death] for another British look at the American funeral industry.

[dmsteyn · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

In The Loved One, Evelyn Waugh has employed his usual wit to satirise the American funeral industry. Dennis Barlow, a young English poet, has come to California with hopes of working in the film industry. These aspirations quickly go down in flames, and Dennis is forced to take a job at a pet cemetery, “The Happy Hunting Ground”, where he mostly incinerates the dead pets of the L.A. jet set. The diaspora community of English expatriates, especially those in the film industry, view Dennis’s new career as somehow “letting down the side”, and try to convince him to leave the country. Meanwhile, Dennis’s only real friend in this community, an elderly English screenwriter, is fired by his studio, and shortly thereafter commits suicide.The actual story begins here, with Dennis having to organise the funeral of his once-eminent friend. Dennis goes to “Whispering Glades”, a funeral parlour-cum-theme park, where he is introduced to the bewildering array of new-fangled funeral plans and arrangements. Dennis is, however, more interested in a young mortician, Aimee Thanatogenos, whom he meets there. Although she initially shows little mutual attraction, Dennis will use his poetry to win her over. I say his poetry, but Dennis actually scours the verse anthologies for appropriate poems to impress Aimee, while presenting them as his own scribblings. Of course, it is not long before she finds out that Dennis has been deceiving her…I really enjoyed this book. It’s the first Waugh that I’ve read, though I do own an omnibus edition of some of his other works. The satire was excellent, with Waugh revealing his dislike of both the stiff-upper-lip attitude of the English and the ostentatiousness of the American way of death. Although a product of its time, the book still has important things to say about people’s approach to death. It is very funny, too. One might claim that Waugh is whistling beside the graveyard, but this is his intention. The book is, surprisingly, life-affirming, despite its subject matter. Waugh is a bit of an iconoclast; he is not afraid to slaughter the sacred cows of both the English and Americans. The book is very short, and only took me about three sittings to get through. It is also eminently readable; Waugh’s style is pared down, and never gets in the way of enjoying the story.

[bookworm12_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Dennis Barlow is a poet by night and works at a pet cemetery by day. The British man lives in L.A. and falls in love with Aimee, a woman who does the make-up at a local mortuary. She seems smitten with her co-worker at the funeral home, Mr. Joyboy. This satire never quite gets off the ground. The characters are sketches of people who never have any depth. It combines comedy and tragedy, but manages to do so in a way that’s neither funny nor touching. It was a big disappointment to read something so stale from the man who wrote Brideshead Revisited. I know it’s one of his lesser known novels and next time I’ll try one of his more popular ones like Scoop or Decline and Fall. BOTTOM LINE: A swing and a miss from a great author. We all have our bad days and I’ll chalk this up as one of his.  

[katherine_ashe · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Having spent my early childhood in Los Angeles, where my best friend lived at the Utter McKinley Funeral Home and arrived at school in a hearse, this book offers more to me than hilarity, it offers a brilliant insight into the place of my birth. And anyone who has ever buried a relative at Forest Lawn will know it's all true!

[mojacobs · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

This was the first ever book I read in English - and I was hooked from the moment the central character is preparing for lunch and takes his sandwiches out of the fridge where the dead cats and dogs are kept. Waugh opened a new world for me with his satirical take on a vast range of subjects - quite an eyeopener for a girl from Antwerp in the sixties.

[madmouth_1 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

A grim and funny discourse on the death of England-as-we-knew-it and mad America's ominous ascendancy, perhaps his grimmest and funniest. His absurdist portrait of Los Angeles and Hollywood cuts just as keenly as those of Dear Old Blighty in his other novels.

[emhromp2 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Funny and ironic book. Very easy to get into, very easy to put away halfway through and pick it up half a year later, as I did. Nicely written.

[danajean_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

The beginning of this book was slow going for me and I wasn't sure I was going to like the story. But, the further into it I got, the more absurd and humorous it got. I loved the mirrored funeral industries. The characters were all flawed and shallow. A much more enjoyable read than his Brideshead Revisited which I did not enjoy at all.

[literarytiger · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

This is a dark novel. It is the first Waugh I have read (although when I met Mr Joyboy I was sure I had read this sometime in the past) but I am not sure I was prepared for the cynical observation of a society which is truly absurd. I enjoyed it, but it certainly wasn't uplifting. Not one single character came out looking good. Waugh's choice of the bizarre funereal rituals of Hollywood in the 1950s was inspired. Because of the macabre subject matter, each person came out as doubly as absurd. Are these people true to life, or are they skewed caricatures reflecting Waugh's own unhappiness at his time in America? It is difficult to tell, but I couldn't help be amused in a dark kind of way.

[jburlinson_3 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Curious how the book, while being much more restrained, goes so much further than the movie.

[ficusfan · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

I found this to be an odd book. I realize it is supposed to be a black comedy, and a satire skewering social mores, I am just not sure who is being raked over the coals.One the one hand Waugh takes lots of shots at the whole British myth, and then he takes on superficial life in Southern California. Perhaps both are being lambasted. Its hard to tell, because the writing is very sketchy, and there are obscure references to people or events that were current in Waugh's times. I am fine with the older literary references, I am just not that familiar with Waugh's times or those of WWII and the aftermath.I also didn't find it all that funny, not because of the darkness or the suicides, I like black comedy, it just didn't work for me. I don't see anything wrong or blackly humorous in trying to ease the pain and fear of death, for either humans or pets. I don't see the harm in giving the Loved One (again human or pet) dignity and a good send off. If at times the actual event fails to rise to the proper level (or misses the mark and goes over the top), then it should be remembered that its the thought or attempt that counts.Waugh compares the factory Hollywood studio system of the time to the factories that turn out the dead, using the same type of fake sentiment we have since come to call Disney-fication. While Hollywood sends out mind-numbing, dumb, comforting pap, that lowers the common denominator both then and now, mortuaries are doing a service in helping people get through a difficult time. Those that don't need the help, will pick something more austere, but those that do need it are comforted by it. I suppose the connection is that fuzzy thinking and a preference for a comforting myth around death, can translate into the same mode of dealing with the real world and actual life as well as death. Both UK and US culture partake of the use of myths and fuzzy thinking, they just do it differently. Who is to say which is best ?I think he is comparing English culture to Hollywood (the grand important techni-color myth ) and US Culture to the mortuary industry (fake, schmaltzy, myth that glorifies stupidity, safety, and pre-packaged sameness).In any event I didn't find it all that funny, or insightful, and it certainly wasn't well written, nor did the story or the characters interest all that much.