The Biographer’s Moustache. Kingsley Amis
Читать онлайн.| Название | The Biographer’s Moustache |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Kingsley Amis |
| Жанр | Современная зарубежная литература |
| Серия | |
| Издательство | Современная зарубежная литература |
| Год выпуска | 0 |
| isbn | 9780007393084 |
From the reviews of The Biographer’s Moustache:
‘A mischievous piece of work.’
JAMES WALTON, Daily Telegraph
‘Amis’s characters emerge with a truthful clarity. He knows how to tell a story, and The Biographer’s Moustache is as well-structured as a dance.’
KATHY O’SHAUGHNESSY, Literary Review
‘The Biographer’s Moustache has some splendid and wholly characteristic scenes and observations.’
ALLAN MASSIE, The Scotsman
To Catharine and Tim Jaques
Contents
‘Darling, who else is coming to luncheon?’ asked Jimmie Fane. He spoke in a voice that had hardly altered since he was a young man half a century before, his full head of silvery-grey hair was carefully arranged and he sat up very straight in his brocaded chair.
‘Sorry, darling, coming to what?’ said Joanna, his wife, though she had heard.
Jimmie’s already high voice rose a little higher. ‘Darling, to luncheon. Surely the usual term for the usual meal taken in this country in the middle of the day.’
Joanna said in a slightly patient tone, ‘Darling, luncheon doesn’t mean the same as lunch any more, just food and people and wine and things, it means a great formal do like a City dinner with a toastmaster and speeches, you know, a, in fact a luncheon.’
‘Oh dear, I wasn’t thinking of anything remotely like that. I do hope you haven’t arranged anything frightfully stuffy like that. You know I hate things like that.’
‘Yes, I do, and I promise not to arrange anything frightfully stuffy ever if you’ll help by calling things by their right names.’
‘Right names? I will, I do. Like lunch in what one does and luncheon is what one does it at or with, or …’
‘Was. Was what one did and what one used to –’
‘Oh, was, was, was, I can’t be expected to heed let alone follow these ephemeral fads of speech.’
Joanna Fane, now a thinnish woman in her early fifties who still showed considerable remains of earlier beauty, had once been famous for her clear blue-eyed gaze. Although no less clear than formerly, that gaze at the moment had begun to show some irritation. ‘I thought you were a great one for words changing their meanings,’ she said. ‘Surely this is –’
‘Darling, could I ask you politely not to lecture me about words? I think