Zuleika Dobson, by Max Beerbohm. Beerbohm was associated with the Victorian aesthetes, and knew Wilde, so I hoped it would be another Dorian Gray, with beautiful dialogue, etc. I had such hopes for this. I love anything about the Oxford aesthetes (Walter Pater, John Ruskin, Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited etc). But I just did not like it at all.
Oliver Twist. I worship Dickens, and David Copperfield is my all-time favourite novel, but I was disappointed by Oliver Twist. It has too many of Dickens’ faults.
Thomas Hardy’s Jude the Obscure was just too bleak for me. Again, I love Hardy, especially his poetry.
The final part of Evelyn Waugh’s sword of honour trilogy was a let down, especially as the first two novels are among my favourites.
Mani, by Patrick Fermor. I love A Time of Gifts, but found Mani too long-winded.
Joy in the Morning by P G Wodehouse. I worship Wodehouse almost as much as I worship Dickens, but this was another disappointment. People call it his masterpiece. Not for me. His true masterpiece is Right Ho Jeeves.
Siegfried Sassoon: Memoirs of A Foxhunting Man. I so admire that WW1 generation, and love anything about people like T E Lawrence. I love Robert Graves’ Goodbye to All That, and Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom. But no, another disappointment.