The Military Philosophers: Book Nine of A Dance to the Music of Time (by Anthony Powell)

These books are each divided into quarters, and at the end of the first quarter I put a note in my Kindle: "boooooring." Yep. This one was boring. I wrote about Volume Eight after I'd started this one, and basically all my complaints are articulated there. You'd think the war volumes would be exciting, but I'm more excited to get back to the post-war years and see how things have changed.

Still some amazing writing, though. Such as this, when Nick runs into an old lover at the end of the book:

Like so many things that have actually taken place, the incident was now wholly unbelievable. How could this chic South American lady have shared with me embraces passionate and polymorphous as those depicted on the tapestry of Luxuria that we had discussed together? Had she really used those words, those very unexpected expressions, she was accustomed to cry out at the moment of achievement? Once I had thought life unthinkable without her. How could that have been, when she was now only just short of a perfect stranger?