Felt like an obvious September pick, but this wasn’t the effortless read I expected. I’ve enjoyed Bowen before, yet I found myself wading through a slightly disjointed narrative, with many characters weaving in and out.
Still, once you settle into its rhythm, The Last September is a fascinating, gossipy novel with a threatening undertone. Set in a grand Anglo-Irish house in Cork during the 1920s, the book reflects Bowen’s own heritage, capturing a society hosting endless summer tennis parties as unrest grows all around them. There’s a mournful, almost gothic air: that sense of change coming, of a world about to collapse, and everyone politely ignoring it, with a few shots fired somewhere in the distance every now and again…
The novel is also about Lois, a young woman living with relatives, navigating desire through her uncertain courtship with Gerald, a soldier stationed nearby. Bowen captures so well the disquiet of youth: the feeling that something is just slightly off, that you’re not quite convinced by the person you’re with, or the place you’re living in. It’s insecure, unfulfilled, and relatable. Lois is always comparing and analysing people. Does she feel more for this man than she did for the other? Why are some people so hateful? Why must the glamorous Marda leave? Does she want to marry or go to art school?
The novel is sharp too: full of catty observations about Anglo-Irish society and the English visitors who pass through. There’s even a touch of Austen about it: soldiers arriving, excitement brewing, family tensions simmering in an old big house. Yet beneath the lightness, Bowen layers in longing, fragility, and an elegy for youth and a kind of deluded innocence. There is not enough actual realpolitik in the book (unsurprisingly), but it does make for an atmospheric read, perfect for September’s mood of change.
One word: buttoned-up.
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