Well, it turns out the BL-opoly gods are insistent on re-bestowing on me the "cat" novelty card I just used for my last read, plus another "dog" card for good measure.  If things go on like that, I'll end up with a whole menagerie ...

I'm minded to stay in the region I just visited courtesy of part 2 of Patrick Leigh Fermor's exquisite memoir, and the lovely copy of Olivia Manning's Balkan Trilogy that BT gifted me -- thank you again! -- has been sitting on my shelves unread for way too long.  So, off to Bucharest we go at last!  (And since I can't resist the pull of Harriet Walter's narration, I'll do another audio + print book double dip ... )

The moves:

After my last update at around the 41% mark, I eventually grabbed my physical copy of the book last night and skim-read a bit.

The narrative finally picks up at around the 75% mark. Too late, but at least we now get a sense of the greater picture of people trying to deal with the impending invasion. 

The thing is, when Manning has something to write about, she's great at it, but for most of this book she's not had anything to write about.

I don't know how to say this, but this third installment of the Balkan Trilogy is utterly, utterly boring. 

It's all about the ex-pats bickering among themselves about such trivial matters that it makes me look forward to finishing the book for the sake of finishing it rather than to see how the characters will fare by the end of their time in Greece...presumably they have to move because of the advance of German troops.

But yeah, I really could not care less about anything in this book so far, and we certainly do not get to know anything about the Greek people that ex-pats are interacting with. Or are they interacting with any of the local population? 

When Guy came in, Harriet was impatient to talk about Codreanu, but he showed no interest. He had heard all the stories before.

“You must admit,” she said, “that the Iron Guard concepts are not so very different from your own.”

Guy glanced up sharply and, with a gesture, indicated that here and now, in the absurdity of this statement, he could pin down the root trouble of the world.

“Codreanu,” he said, “was a murderer, a Jew-baiter and a thug. He had a following of nonentities who wanted only one thing – power at any price.”

“But if, having power, they could remake the country . . .”

“Do you imagine they could? The incompetence of Carol’s set would be as nothing compared with the incompetence of Codreanu’s bunch of thugs.”

“Well, one could give them a chance.”

“Before the war there were quite a lot of sentimentalists like you. They did not realise that while they were being mesmerised and misled by the romantic aspects of fascism, they were being made to sell their souls . . .”

Having used this phrase inadvertently, he paused, and Harriet, feeling ignorant and something of a fool, leapt in with: “If the fascists make you sell your soul, the communists make you deny it.”

Guy grunted and picked up a newspaper. She knew he had no use for religion, seeing it as part of the conspiracy to keep the rich powerful and the poor docile. He was prepared to discuss very little that did not contribute towards a practical improvement in mankind’s condition. Harriet’s own theories, of course, were too simple-minded to matter.

Gaaaaaahhhh....!!!! Why are we still having these same conversations?!?!?!

Before moving to another Woolf or Lawrence, I'm taking a break and return to Manning's Balkan Trilogy. If on has to write a story without a real plot, I guess Manning has mastered the challenge for me. There is something about her writing that just works, and it is not just that the characters are all brilliantly fleshed out. Maybe it's the sad knowledge of knowing how the hopes of the characters will be disappointed by history in the end? Maybe it's being able to have sight of a snapshot of life at the time that Manning describes - beginning of WWII, when Rumania is being threatened by invasion from the west and the east and the division this causes among people as to which is the greater evil, and thus which side to support, Germany or Russia. 

While they were talking, the sound of the last post came thin and clear from the palace yard. The sunset clouds had stretched and narrowed and faded in the sky, leaving a zenith of clear turquoise in which a few stars were appearing. The square below was lit not only by its lamps but by a reflection from the sky that was like a sheen on water.

   She thought she had made Sasha talk enough and Guy might soon be back. She slid down from the wall and said: “I must go, but I’ll come again.” Before she left, she handed Sasha the paper. “It says your father’s trial starts on August 14th. The sooner it is over, the better. After all, he may be acquitted.” Sasha took the paper, which could not be read in this light, and said: “Yes,” but his agreement was simply politeness. He knew as well as she did that the law required Drucker’s conviction before his oil holdings could be forfeit to the Crown. What hope then of an acquittal?

   As she set out across the roof area, Sasha went to his hut. When she turned to descend, she could see he had already lit his candle and, kneeling, was bent over the paper that was spread on the ground before him.