Reading a life

Biographies prove to be one of the best-selling niches in the book industry. There is something about the attempt to capture in one narrative the course of a human life that is always fascinating to those of us who have to live human lives in search of meaning. This is especially the case if the person is remarkable in some way, though the biography of an ordinary person who lived in extraordinary times can have its own fascination.

And how does one encapsulate a life in a single literary narrative and do it justice? Of course, the biographer must always be somewhat aware of the artificiality of the process. They have to weave a coherent story from what is necessarily fragmentary – from such letters that survive, from the eyewitnesses that are willing to speak about the person, from their knowledge of the context of the person’s life. From all this external material, they have to give us what we modern readers want to know – an insight into the motives and feelings of another person. From what is on the outside we try to get at what is on the inside.

This is very much an idea that has a Christian, and especially Protestant, source. The idea of self-examination, of scrutinising motives and temptations, of revealing one’s secrets, of the human self being a coherent whole – these are ideas that enter into Western culture through Christianity. If you read ancient biographies (such as those of Plutarch) the focus is on the character’s outward actions rather than on their inner life.

And, as we know, giving a bare record of a person’s words and actions is of limited interest and makes for a very dull biography! The good biographer gives us an explanation, not simply a description.
That is, a biographer acts as a judge. But how should this be done without knowing everything? What is really the key to summing up a life?
It is not surprising, therefore, that biographies can be extremely controversial. One of my favourites, The Passion of Michel Foucault, caused an enormous stir when it was published and resulted in a number of counter-biographies. Poet Les Murray’s biography, written by Peter Alexander, was originally pulped because of its contentious material.
Here are some biographies that, to my mind, have succeeded the best. The list is limited by my limited reading – guided of course by my prejudices! Which would you add?
Patrick White: A Life, by David Marr. A truly outstanding account of a difficult genius, written with the co-operation of his subject but none the less sparing us none of his faults. It is hard to think of a better model of what a biography should be.
Ludwig Wittgenstein: The Duty of Genius, by Ray Monk. This is a moving account of a truly remarkable man. I learned much affection for this complicated and surprisingly spiritual man from Monk’s work.
Vaclav Havel: A Political Life in Six Acts by John Keane. Keane experiments by trying to narrate the Czech president’s life as a quasi-Shakespearean tragedy – including speculating about his future funeral. It doesn’t quite work, but the journey is filled with grand views on mid-20th century life.
Philip Larkin: A Writer’s Life by Andrew Motion. Fans of Larkin weren’t quite ready for what they discovered in Motion’s work, which revealed the unpleasant private truth about one of England’s favourite literary sons. But it is a humanly true biography: great genius and humanity exists side by side with the sordid and the petty.