This is a pretty fabulous novel that kind of creeps up on you. It begins in a fairly light and humorous way, its tone dry and pithy; at first I thought, "Ah, a clever spoof of British bachelors" (certainly as the opening chapter's tone and the title would lead one to believe), but, as the novel's plot develops, more and more layers of public persona are stripped away from the characters until we see everyone's dirty underwear and it all gets quite sordid and rather more serious than I had at first imagined.

The main event driving the plot is a court case involving a medium and a letter he perhaps forged to cover having fleeced a wealthy window of her savings--which functions exactly as does the novel's ever deeper investigations into the lives of its characters, following their encounters with one another, their conversations, and other events in their various human relationships until all of the secrets of their inner lives are revealed. And what lies at the heart of a character that no one takes very seriously is pure, yet delicate, psychopathy--wait, really? Well, that was unexpected.

The theme turns out to be not so much bachelorhood per se, but perhaps the various deviations from the mean (psychopathy, homosexuality, frivolity, mothering, nymphomania, Catholicism, and epilepsy) that dissuade both men and women from marrying. In the end this was also a bit scary as most of the characters here were fairly recognizable (even from a non-Londoner some 50 years later) and one leaves this narrative all but convinced that coupling is impossible given all of our individual quirks, hang-ups, and madness.

This is the first novel I've read by Ms. Spark--and I believe I have Fionnuala to thank for the indirect recommendation. But I've been enjoying The Bachelors so much that, whilst I read, I picked up a copy of the author's more famous The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. Having great luck so far this summer both in reading and book shopping despite my favorite second-hand book shop having shut down over the winter.

3.5 really, I really enjoyed this particular social circle of superstitious spiritualists through the trial of a corrupt fake medium stringing along multiple women, and the epileptic graphologist on the periphery, but the satisfaction of the final chapter ended too soon, it felt like an unfinished landscape.

Probably the least I have enjoyed a Muriel Spark novel. Amusing in places but I didn't like any of the characters - indeed some are exasperating - and the plot didn't hold my interest much either, ah well!

I picked this up more from duty than anything else; it is not a Spark novel that gets a lot of attention. Even in 2018, her centenary year, when one couldn't set foot in Edinburgh without hearing her name, it received scant mention.

And what a shame that is, because, in true fashion, Spark managed to produce a novel which, though published in 1960, feels written for today, for this very moment.

Her skewering of toxic masculinity is not subtle, and why should it be? It's tempting, maybe, to call this satire, but shouldn't satire contain some element of exaggeration? I can find very little exaggeration here. You'll laugh, but you may also see yourself laughing at your own reflection.

I really do hope this novel has a renaissance.

diabetics and epileptics and homosexuals and spiritualists, i love her . what fun and only reminds me of things. (shortcuts?) (patricia's clary, he should be in this, that confirmed bachelor) (euphoria...) ("and now i ought to...") - the murder plot did seem a bit phoned in at the end but i'll forgive it