Reviews for The World in the Evening

The average rating for The World in the Evening based on 2 reviews is 3 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2014-04-28 00:00:00 Plummer Ronald There's an unsettling quietness in Isherwood's writing and narration that continues to fascinate me. He shares Shirley Jackson's gift for turning mundane every day life events into life-defining moments, minus the chilling effect that settles in afterward. This story here, like all Isherwood stories, is much more than the sum of its parts, and is particularly difficult to describe without going off on all sorts of tangents. Mostly because it's one of those great-impact novels that touch on so many aspects of life and identity. There's lots of nostalgia and introspection mixed into the writing to give it that unsettling quietness that I can't get over. The story takes place in Hollywood at a glamorous party in which Stephen Monk attends only to see his wife there with another man. Finally realizing there's nothing left to salvage of his marriage, he descends into a depressive state and takes refuge at a relative's home in the county to get away from it all. While there, he has an accident and injuries himself seriously enough to need bed rest, which gives him what he's afraid of most: time to think and reminisce. It takes him back to his days spent on the Canary Islands shortly before WWII and the affair he had with a younger man. The rest of the story is him reminiscing about this time period. In the end, he comes to an understanding, of himself, of life in America, of his failed marriage. Things don't tie up neatly like that, but Monk seems to have a grasp on his life again. Isherwood's writing, though not read much outside of literary circles when he had been alive, helped define a new consciousness in an era when people didn't talk about certain things and instead would much rather ignore anything they thought threatened the mainstream consciousness, like homosexuality. Isherwood's voice was one of the first to speak of queerness openly--we don't see such writing until much later, the late 80s at least. He had a way of showing gay relationships as being just another way of living; another facet of life, although a very quiet, hidden life. The subtlety in his prose makes his stories stand out and stand the test of time, I think. I got this book through a GR giveaway (yes, another one!), and I'd like to thank the people at Farrar, Straus and Giroux for the book and the little attachment. Seriously, that was really sweet. Cross-posted at

Review # 2 was written on 2017-04-04 00:00:00 Cindy Davis ...As I emptied my glass, " I really do forgive myself, from the bottom of my heart?" Hmmm... I can't say I enjoyed this. I wanted to. I expected to. My first Isherwood and perhaps I should've started with The Berlin Stories. I'm trying to forgive myself, from the bottom of my heart. As I hydroplaned over the surface I kept thinking, the next page I'll start to dive and submerge, stop thinking about why I'm not enjoying it. But after the halfway point I decided, it's not me, it's you book. I don't plan on shunning Christopher, but our first outing was rough. Why you never asked? The problem of the three saintly ladies... There are three saints in this book. Sarah is the I'll-help-anyone-in-a-jam-heart-of-gold-Quaker Saint. Gerda is an earthier version being the refugee-thick-ankled-I'll-help-anyone-too Saint. And then there's Elizabeth the humanist-lettered-city-mouse Saint. (No spoilers but Elizabeth could be canonized.) They are all incredibly forgiving of our main character Stephen. Poor Steve is always forgiven. Most of the time they end up blaming themselves for his misdeeds. In many ways they are fully-fleshed, but this idealization of their pure hearts made them all seem like different reflections of the same character. Part of never diving deep was that I could never really buy these characters flaccid motivations. Sarah yes, but when the other two were added, they lessened Sarah's impact on the story. Bob and Charles wander in... Why are Bob and Charles in the story? As a gay man, I was intrigued to read about a gay couple living, somewhat openly together in the late 30's, but as a eager reader, I kept wondering, why are you here? They served no purpose to the plot (other than to give a great definition of 'camp' that is illuminating and hilarious.) I read that this was the first? time that a gay couple was depicted in this way, so it's innovative. But innovation has a fleeting shelf life. Once the rules of what one can write about are broken, all we are left with is how do these two affect the story. I had a hard time figuring out, as delightful as they would be to have over for brunch, why they sashayed their way in the middle of the novel. Stephen's charmed life... Were there any consequences for Stephen? As mentioned before, the women in Steve's life forgive him everything. He never has to face reality because the women end up blaming themselves for the most part. Everything can be solved over a cocktail. He is like a spoilt child but not in an illuminating ironic way, just in a boring way. Money to burn, aimless, interested in nothing. Really, what does this guy want? What is his motivation? What are his dreams? Can your main character not have a 'I want' moment? If this was a musical his opening number might go something like: Look at this life, it's rather neat? Wouldn't you think my collection's complete? Wouldn't you think I'm the guy, The heir who has everything? Look at this trove, treasures untold. How many wonders can one townhouse hold? Looking around here you'd think, Sure, he's got everything.(Takes a drink.) I've got gadgets and girlfriends a plenty. My bungalow's next to Zsa Zsa Gabor. (You want Charles and Bobs? He's not yet twenty! Shh.) But who cares? No big deal. I want, ...Meh. (Song clangs to a halt.) Here, have some money... Which bring me to: Everyone has money. No problem. Novelist many times focus on the wealthy right? Austen, Eliot, Fitzgerald. They treat it as a central part of the plot, philosophy and symbolism of the book. But here, Isherwood never deals with the effect of money on his characters. Money doesn't really play into the plot except to let them have no constraints. It never becomes a real symbol that makes a philosophical point. It's taken for granted and joked about, as when Elizabeth and Steve laugh that they are like the poor rich because they aren't interested in yachts and excess. Ok, I get it, you're the relatable rich, so we're done talking about money. Money talk is so boring. Another martini darling? The Forster problem... Just finished a biography of Forster and I read that Forster was a mentor to the cute, fresh-faced Isherwood. Maybe this is where I got off-track. Expectations are the enemy of direct experience. I wasn't expecting Isherwood to be like Forster exactly, but the beautiful hangover I had from reading Forster made me judgmental, so TWITE suffered in comparison. In a Forster novel, each character is essential to the plot, like a bumper, slingshot or kicker in a pinball machine making the steel ball of plot bounce in unexpected but "of course!" directions, based on what that character symbolizes. I felt like so many of Isherwood's characters were dispensable; they weren't integral to driving the journey of the book. Even the setting of pre-WW II had no real consequence to the story except as a backdrop/setting. Stevie's bumpers lamely respond, letting him drop through - game over. Was this the point? If so, then for me, it wasn't done in a great thematic way to explore this ennui. It just made me not care about him or his journey. Oh Michael... Who had consequences? Who was interesting? Who had drama and a journey? Michael! Oh Michael. What a fantastic character. That's the novel I would like to read. Michael's story. "A Matterhorn for Michael." "Michael: Matter-horny." From boy figuring out his sexuality, to love and heart-break, to war correspondent. A gay Hemingway! My first review and I'm such a bitch! (One of Isherwood's favorite words in TWITE.) But I'll forgive myself because Stephen does. The question mark at the end of that quote is ironic? Yes? If so, the last punctuation mark in the book is a little too late for irony. Let's have a drink, shall we?