Time Magazine Top 100 Novels

Book 55: Loving by Henry Green (1945)

This is a series of reflections reading through Time Magazine’s top 100 novels as selected by Lev Grossman and Richard Lacayo published since 1923 (when Time magazine was founded). For me this is an attempt to broaden my exposure to authors I may not encounter otherwise, especially as a person who was not a liberal arts major in college. Time’s list is alphabetical, so I decided to read through in a random order, and I plan to write a short reflection on each novel.

Loving is set in an aristocratic household of the Tennants in Ireland early in World War II, but in an unusual manner the main characters are the servants in the household and not Mrs. Tennant who is the matriarch of the household. Mr. Raunce assumes the role of butler at the beginning of the book when the previous butler dies and now, he is responsible for the management of the household. Throughout the story he is balancing his new responsibilities in the household with his budding relationship with Edith, one of the other servants in the household. There are several small and large scandals that are a part of the life of the household: from a peacock killed by a visiting cousin to the affair between Mrs. Jack (the daughter-in-law of Mrs. Tennant) and Captain Davenport (the next-door neighbor) while her husband is at the front, to a missing sapphire ring. The conversations between the servants of the household can be humorous and enlightening but this little world is disconnected from the big events occurring in the world around them.

The plot of Loving proceeds at an unbothered pace as it slowly reveals the scandals underneath the stolid surface of this world which is nearing its end. I can see why many people enjoy the dialogue and the gossip among the household but this world caught in its own little troubles only tangentially aware of the struggle for survival going on in the battle for Brittain. The war and the Irish Republican Army both make occasional appearances, but that is far removed from this world of old ways and old money. Ultimately Henry Green’s gift for dialogue was not able to keep me engaged in the meandering plot of mundane events. Like Anthony Powell’s A Dance to the Music of Time, this one was not for me but others have found this work incredible powerful so please make your own judgments, these brief reflections are merely my consolidation of my thoughts on each work.