"Tennyson has always weighed on me as the original National Heritage Poet - all that is bogus, empty, self-parodic, dishonest, false and dead-as-doornails in the culture is epitomized by his verse. Alfred Lawn Tennyson, as Joyce called him. His cadences remind me of cheap firetongs, flat clangy tin trays furred with velvet, the boring sonorities of Gielgud's voice. But I can't let go of 'In Memorian VII', one of the saddest love lyrics in the language ...
"The simple-minded patriotism, the deep racism, the professional Angst and gravid sonorous chill of the verse all remind me of a solemn Victorian statue of King Alfred which I once saw in a dreary market town somewhere in the south of England."
(Tom Paulin, TLS, 2 October 1992)
Wantage, coming back to haunt me.
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