Their relationships reveal the shallows of Arrowby's self-knowledge – as well as his ability to manipulate. Other visitors congregate at his new abode, shedding light on Arrowby's past and present: his Buddhist cousin, James (of whom he has always been profoundly jealous), and various theatrical ex-lovers and ex-friends. With nothing to do but "learning to be good", it is inevitable that Arrowby will create some drama even in this isolated spot and this he does by attempting to draw his former lover Lizzie into his new life while trying to destroy the marriage of his childhood sweetheart, Hartley. "How huge it is, how empty, this great space for which I have been longing all my life," Arrowby writes, adding poignantly, "Still no letters." But Arrowby's heart is patently not in the solitary life. These domestic pursuits, along with some tantalising recollections from his former life, keep him – and us – entertained for some time. He details his marvellously revolting meals with the lyricism of a gourmand – salivating over Battenberg cake and prunes, and making quirky declarations: "Kipper fillets are arguably better than smoked salmon unless the latter is very good," and suchlike. Shruff End, as the atmospheric, oil lamp-lit house is named, is where Arrowby aims to become a hermit and reflect upon his life.
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