Tag: #Biography

  • Thoughts on the Philip Roth Biography

    I don’t know if you have heard, but there is a new biography on Philip Roth called, “Philip Roth: The Biography” by Blake Bailey. It’s not the most original title, but not unlike a well worn club, it gets the job done. That having been said, I will read Bailey’s Roth biography, and I will also read his biography on John Cheever as well.

    Over the past couple of weeks, as this biography was about to be released to the public, the W. W. Norton & Company marketing department went into overdrive promoting this book, as they should. There was an article in The New York Times, one in The New Yorker by David Remnick no less, and even one on CBS Saturday Morning. I am sure there were more out there, but I stopped with three. They all did their job; made me want to get the biography, and to reread Roth’s work.

    I did notice that all three of these stories on the Roth biography had the same through-line; Roth didn’t want a biography written about him. In one form or another, each piece detailed Roth’s troubled relationship with past biographers, and his tendency to lash out, through unpublished books, defending his reputation after he felt attacked. And, that somehow, either through Roth reaching the end of his life, or by Blake Bailey’s ability to mine the information out of Roth, this biography came to be. And all of that might be completely true. Or a narrative created by the marketing department to increase sales.

    But, then I had this wacky thought that, what if this was Roth’s plan all along? Such as, he denied that most of his work was auto-biographical, but it turns out it was auto-biographical. Roth sure didn’t like the book his ex-wife wrote about him, which painted him as a misogynist. This led Roth to write one of the unpublished manuscripts where he attacked and attacked her, which in the end, sort of confirmed his ex-wife’s book. So, what if Roth created a narrative of “not wanting” a biography, while at the same time leading the biographer to “water?” Wouldn’t that give Roth the final say?

    I will add this; Philip Roth did write a memoir (Patrimony: A True Story) so if he wanted to tell his own story, he could have. In fact, he tried twice, but was persuaded, and it sounds correctly, not to publish. Also, choosing a biographer for your life while you are still alive, does come off as sounding subjective, especially after you had already fired one biographer. Finally, Roth was the best storyteller in the room, so why would he let someone else tell his most important story?

    Just a thought. I mean, I will still buy the book.

  • New Tom Stoppard Bio, And Personal Reflections

    In a quest to look for things in the news that are not political, I saw today in the New York Times a review of a new biography on Tom Stoppard. The book is entitled “Tom Stoppard: A Life” by Hermione Lee, which feels rather blunt for a subject as witty as Stoppard. The review seemed to be lukewarm to the biography, but the article does illustrate that this book contains new insights into the subject, as this is the second biography on the famed playwright and screenwriter. I have a feeling a will read it.

    In college, Stoppard was a favorite of several professors, and his works were taught extensively. In fact, my department presented “The Real Thing” and I was lucky enough to take on the lead role of Henry. I spent a great amount of time going over Stoppard’s words, not only in that play, but many of his others. I remember many late nights, over beers with friends, debating what aspect of his plays were autobiographical, and what role does philosophy play as character motivation, or is it just used as a joke?

    When I was doing my research on Stoppard, I took a trip down to Austin to visit the Harry Ransom Center at The University of Texas. The Center is great because they will let you handle original papers and manuscripts for research purposes. There are a few hoops to jump through, but nothing detrimental to one’s ambition. (I still keep my Ransom Center card in my wallet.) I went to the reading room having requested the earliest draft the Center had of “The Real Thing,” and I was given a manila folder that contained a typed draft of the play. And there, on the first page of the draft, was coffee/tea ring stain on the paper. There was a thrill in me, knowing that I was holding the same paper that Stoppard put his mug down on. It wasn’t exactly bridging time, but it was a nice reminder that he wasn’t the “god” I was taught in school, but just a guy who is sloppy with a beverage.