John Stape

I love it when the lives of seemingly monstrously competent people are revealed to be as untidy as one's own.

The unlikeliness of Conrad: Polish kid who goes to sea on a French ship, learns (eventually) English, becomes a master mariner, and then one day--what? --writes a wonderful book, a most literary book, which at the same time is fresh and concrete, intimate and frank . . .

this bio is a bit pedestrian, bit of a slog, but that is maybe its virtue--the unlikeliness of Conrad can maybe only be understood as a constellation of thousands of particulate fact, a succession of days, a life lived, more than most maybe, in real time. In Conrad ordinary temporality is always charged. So a bio, like this one, that trails you along through real time may be a bit punishing but it is revealing.

No biographer-falling-in-love-with-subject here. Stape treats Conrad a bit like a famous younger sibling who he's memorializing for the last time. Testy at constantly being upstaged by the subject, trying to be fair, recording a life for history, and seeming a bit relieved to be rid of it.… (mehr)

I picked this up because Stape intentionally wrote a short biography, rather than one of those 900 pages behemoths that are becoming popular; because he's the man when it comes to Conrad scholarship; and because it looked like it wouldn't be too psychologistic. Unfortunately, I have now learned that biographies are long and psychologistic for a reason: because otherwise they're just a listing of facts and factoids. Stape probably wasn't helped by Conrad's life, which sounds exciting - exiled from Poland! sails the world! tragic illness! - but turns out to be immensely dull: Conrad tries to write. He leaves the house, gets gout. His wife is ill. He has no money. These problems are solved. Next chapter, Conrad tries to write, gets gout, ill wife, no money... Which would all be much less absurd if Stape had done a little less work; but thanks to this book I know now that Conrad was at one point in his life spending - not just making, but spending - over a million dollars per year, adjusted for inflation, price of living, pound dollar conversion etc... Imagine the trained carpenter next door complaining about money while also *never getting a job,* and refusing to do any exercise ever at all, and you'll get a flavour of the immense 'tragedy' of Conrad's life. He comes off like Joyce, except that Joyce sees to have lived more or less in genteel poverty, not as a grand country gent.

But you can't lay the dullness of the biography at Conrad's life's door. Stape has to take some blame: why not talk, at least a little, about Conrad's thoughts and books? If nothing else, this book proves that those thoughts and books are what is valuable about the man's life. But they're barely mentioned, except as meal-tickets. This is all very strange, since Stape knows the books and thoughts better than almost anyone. Too bad this book wasn't twice as long and psychologistic. Wouldn't have taken me as long to read as this did. Quite a drag.… (mehr)