The neo-Gothic country estate Hetton, Tony Last’s ancestral home, symbolizes empty nostalgia, and it acts as a kind of analogy for Tony himself. Though the estate in fact dates back hundreds of years, Tony’s grandfather had it remodeled in the 1860s in a garish pastiche of medieval Gothic architecture—a popular trend at the time. By the 1930s, Hetton has gone wildly out of style, and it inspires disgust and contempt in the hip London crowd who favor slick modernism. Tony, however, is confident that all tastes are ephemeral and that Hetton will come back into fashion, and this belief supports his unflagging devotion to the house where he grew up. Tony’s attachment to Hetton points to a symbolic kinship between him and the house: they share a veneer of civility that’s well-intended but is simply inauthentic by nature. Just as the 19th century witnessed a fad for medieval aesthetics but without a revival of the chivalric social order and religious values that they originally embodied, Tony enjoys the superficial trappings of civilization—essentially class etiquette—without the hard-won faith and social obligation it once implied. Hetton’s redecoration was a sham, and it has already gone out of favor. Tony’s commitment to it puts him at odds with modernity, and this puts Tony in the unfortunate position of nostalgically defending what was a fake to begin with, while being too naïve to recognize it as such. Like the house, Tony’s own silly and antiquated habits provoke derision from cutting-edge London socialites. The estate’s claim on his imagination stays strong even when he tries momentarily to flee it in the Amazon, where he imagines the lost Amazonian city he seeks as “Gothic in character, all vanes and pinnacles, […] a transfigured Hetton, pennons and banners floating on the sweet breeze.” His failure to see through this aesthetic reflects his lack of self-reflection generally.
Hetton Quotes in A Handful of Dust
“But don't you like the house?”
“Me? I detest it... at least I don't mean that really, but I do wish sometimes that it wasn't all, every bit of it, so appallingly ugly. Only I'd die rather than say that to Tony. We could never live anywhere else, of course.”
He hung up the receiver and went back to the smoking-room. His mind had suddenly become clearer on many points that had puzzled him. A whole Gothic world had come to grief... there was now no armour glittering through the forest glades, no embroidered feet on the green sward; the cream and dappled unicorns had fled...
For some days now Tony had been thoughtless about the events of the immediate past. His mind was occupied with the City, the Shining, the Many Watered, the Bright Feathered, the Aromatic Jam. He had a clear picture of it in his mind. It was Gothic in character, all vanes and pinnacles, gargoyles, battlements, groining and tracery, pavilions and terraces, a transfigured Hetton, pennons and banners floating on the sweet breeze, everything luminous and translucent; a coral citadel crowning a green hill-top sown with daisies, among groves and streams; a tapestry landscape filled with heraldic and fabulous animals and symmetrical, disproportionate blossom.
