The Loved One

In this brilliant little satirical novel, Evelyn Waugh takes on Hollywood, the British expatriate community in Los Angeles, the death care industry, romantic love, filial love, sexism (perhaps without knowing it), and American attitudes toward success, death, foreigners, art, their pets, suicide, morality, newspaper advice columns, and religion (both ancient and new-fangled). No tombstone goes unturned. Rather than summarize the plot, let me just say that the title of the book, which is an obvious reference to the standard funteral director's euphemism for a deceased person, actually takes on another meaning as well, especially as the two main male characters (Dennis Barlow, an British would-be poet newly arrived to Los Angeles, and Mr. Joyboy, a successful local embalmer) vie for the affections of the same young lady, Aimee Thanatogenos. The novel could be seen on one level as the story of her journey from being the men's love object (desired, but never really "seen") to becoming a "loved one" in the death care industry sense of the word. At the same time I was reading the book, I rented Tony Richardson's marvelous all-star film (1965). Both are equally wicked and satirical, but Richardson's film, in its exploitation of American anxieties about nuclear war, has more in common with Stanley Kubric's "Dr. Strangelove" than with Waugh's 1948 novel. In any case, seeing the movie didn't spoil the ending of the book. Both are brilliant and LOL fun.

For those unfamiliar with Waugh, no better starting place than this, a compact volume but one that bursts with creativity, style and pitch black humor. In short, failed British expat poet Dennis Barlow competes with the stiff American mama's boy/mortician Mr. Joyboy for the love of Aimee (get it?) Thanatogenos against the backdrop of both 1950's Hollywood and the funeral industry. A small masterpiece, "The Loved One" showcases Mr. Waugh's wit, here like that of a cat toying with a mouse pre-meal. Anyone whose sole exposure to Waugh is via his classic "Brideshead Revisited" will be shocked by the darkness and gallows humor; those who have read "A Handful of Dust" will see Waugh's imaginativeness toward the macabre and the obscene honed to a razor's edge here.

Looking through the reviews of this book it quickly becomes apparent that the great majority of readers are, in fact, from California. Virtually no one seems to be aware that the very essence of this book's high satire is occurring daily, right in front of them. Death, it's true, is an industry like anything else. And in California, for the wealthy, and for those that desire it, death need never be a simple, natural process. If you've got the cash spend it, you can't take it with you. The book is not a satire on death as such, it's a wonderful pisstake on the ways that people prepare for the great unknown, Through Waugh's highly evolved humor death's sting is lessened. We ought to enjoy life and its absurdities now. Not from any whispering glades. The book is painfully funny. And, fer chrissakes, you people in LA should go out to Forest Lawn in Glendale because that is what the book is sending up. Not the dear departed themselves.