Written Lives

Marias holds a cigarette, that is nearly burned out, between the index and middle fingers of his left hand--if he holds it for much longer, he'll burn his fingers, but perhaps he's too intent on the viewer to really care. That burn would also match well with what looks like an insect bite on the back of his hand. However, it's doubtful that he would care about that, either, since he seems to be wearing the kind of clothes worn by a man who wears the same kind of clothes every day: white shirt, neat but not overly well cared for, and a dark blazer. His left eye squints at us, while his right is slightly more open, and his mouth is held in such a manner as to suggest that he is investigating us intently. This could be sinister, but his show more white sideburns and ruffled, longish dark hair give the lie to that--in fact, he's waiting for us to accept his offer of a drink. Sit down--let's talk about writers.

This is a charming collection of jeux d'esprit--biographies and character sketches. It's as if the spies in Your Face Tomorrow were to describe famous writers based on a photograph or two, and some additional biographical information: so, not all that objective, but nonetheless insightful. I was glad to hear that Marias dislikes Joyce, since I dislike him too, but sad to learn that he dislikes Mann, and also to learn that he likes Conrad. I can't help but feel that Marias himself is biased against authors who both i) proclaim themselves geniuses and ii) have elaborate sexual fantasies. Because he dislikes Joyce, Mishima and Mann, but likes many authors who proclaim themselves geniuses (e.g., Nabokov). Maybe if J, M and M had acted more on their sexual urges, rather than writing about them in journals and letters, they would have met with softer treatment.

Anyway, this is for fun, and you should ignore the reviews complaining that it isn't fair, or objective, or scholarly, or wide-ranging enough. It's just for fun. show less

I love Javier Marias, so it wasn't hard for me to read this. There are a number of really interesting entries about famous writers (I didn't know Joseph Conrad was total [but adorable] spazz), but the entries that intrigued me the most were the "Fugitive Women." The exposes on Violet Hunt, Vernon Lee, and Adah Isaacs Menken, reminded me that history regularly glosses over women. I was familiar with Vernon Lee, but I want to seek out everything by Menken and Hunt. Marias makes of his figures seem like sorcerers and jesters, priestesses and captains of the industries of the fantastic.

Written Lives, by the Spanish writer Javier Marias, is a great read. Marias has produced a series of mini-biographies of famous, and not-so-famous, writers including Faulkner, Conrad, Joyce, Di Lampedusa, Stevenson, Turgenev, Lowry, Wilde, Kipling, plus others, and a list of what he calls Fugitive Women: Lady Hester Stanhope, Vernon Lee, Adah Isaacs Menken, Violet Hunt, Julie de Lespinasse, and Emily Bronte. Each piece is no more than four pages long, but Marias has, I think brilliantly, brought each person alive by focusing on quirks of character and deportment.

Each note is a pleasure to read, and one learns some interesting things. I would not have thought, for instance, that both Conrad and Nabokov hated Dostoyevsky. Nor did I know show more that Di Lampedusa's favourite Shakespearean Sonnet was #129. Henry James could be an irascible character. He often judged people, and quite severely, by the way he was received and never forgave Flaubert for having received him and Turgenev in what he thought was a dressing gown. James, "never forgave him: indeed, Flaubert became for him a man who did everything in a dressing gown, and his books were consequently deemed to be failures, apart from Madame Bovary, which James conceded might have been written while Flaubert was wearing a waistcoat". How delightful.

I also rather liked William Faulkner who, when asked if he had read Freud, replied, "I have never read him. Neither did Shakespeare. I doubt if Melville did either and I'm sure Moby Dick didn't".

At the end of the book is a section called Perfect Artists in which Marias examines and interprets the portraits and photographs of famous writers. His eye for observation, description and interpretation is quite remarkable. show less

A thoroughly enjoyable read that held much promise. I was looking ever so forward to the last section being right up my alley with Javier Marías using old postcards and such of authors to gaze at and then muse over what may or may not have been going on that particular day with each of them. But the last section proved to be a bit of a disappointment for me as it did not live up to my perhaps extravagant and unreliable expectations. But I really did like the book as a whole and I shall give it three and a half stars rounded up to four if only because of one very good idea that perhaps needed a bit more fleshing out in order to satisfy me more.

Written Lives is a twisted triptych, composed of disparate elements, forces which may be at cross-purposes. The first section is a series of slim portraits of established authors. Marias tends to judge favorably on those not burdened with self-importance. He likes the quiet ones, those that shunned self-promotion and didn't think of themselves in terms of immortality. this section has a certain commonality with [b:Cultural Amnesia: Necessary Memories from History and the Arts|262762|Cultural Amnesia Necessary Memories from History and the Arts|Clive James|http://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1358748675s/262762.jpg|1126436] but more geekily indulgent than James's masterful assemblage: Marias doesn't profess a moral agenda.

The show more middle section concerns a handful of female authors (there are a number of women in the first section) most of whom I was unaware. Outside of Emily Bronte, most of these people are footnotes in the history of letters. This section proved more evocative, at least to me - it was rather expository.

The final element was an essay on the portraits of authors. This coincides with Sebaldian photographs on every page. This may be the kernel of an abandoned book: an inquiry along the lines of Susan Sontag.

Written Lives was a satisfying diversion, sufficiently steeped with anecdotes for future larding and bereft of anything too harsh. show less

Smartass Marías literally became a “writer’s writer.” Here he sketched some famous and obscure literary lives, in small doses or vignettes, not really in objective fashion, highlighting certain aspects of the writers’ personalities, shattering some myths about them, perpetuating others. The book closes with a chapter on something like “portraits of the artists as portraits.” Marías considers this the most enjoyable book he ever wrote. This enjoyment extends to the reader of this book.

TMI! Are all the great writers weirdoes?

Um, the answer to that question would be ‘apparently so.’ For the last week, my “going to bed” book has been an engaging little work called Written Lives (New Directions Publishing; $22.95) by the deliciously erudite Javier Marías. It is a series of literary sketches of famous writers—treated, according to the author, as if they were fictional characters, “which may well be,” he comments, “how all writers, whether famous or obscure, would secretly like to be treated.” . .read full review