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TIME: Almanac 1995
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TIME Almanac 1995.iso
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090693
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09069926.000
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<text id=93TT2190>
<title>
Sep. 06, 1993: Reviews:Books
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
Sep. 06, 1993 Boom Time In The Rockies
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
REVIEWS, Page 69
BOOKS
The Grouch From Hull
</hdr>
<body>
<p>By CHRISTOPHER PORTERFIELD
</p>
<qt>
<l>TITLE: Philip Larkin: A Writer's Life</l>
<l>AUTHOR: Andrew Motion</l>
<l>PUBLISHER: Farrar Straus Giroux; 570 Pages; $35</l>
</qt>
<p> THE BOTTOM LINE: The biography of England's unofficial laureate
of gloom makes surprisingly lively reading.
</p>
<p> In 1974 two leading British poets appeared together on a platform
at Hull University. One was Ted Hughes, the widower of Sylvia
Plath: intense, leather-jacketed, trailing a romantic aura.
The other was Philip Larkin, an overweight, bald, bespectacled
and partly deaf figure in a dark suit who later described himself
as providing the "sophisticated, insincere, effete, and gold-watch-chained
alternative."
</p>
<p> Larkin made a life's work of offering the unfashionable alternative--joking about it but meaning it too. His verse, unlike Hughes',
was resolutely un-modernist; he clung to the notion that poems
should be clearly written in everyday language and should avoid
posturing and pretension at all costs--though, in his hands,
that left plenty of room for craft and eloquence. He steered
clear of London and the literary life, spending his career as
a librarian in provincial cities. Formidably shy, he never married,
remaining deeply attached to a burdensome mother until her death
at 91, when he was 55. He was a drinker and a jazz buff, but
he habitually cloaked himself in a grave manner (when he turned
60, Alan Bennett asked, "but when was he anything else?").
</p>
<p> Drab as this existence may sound, it was the essence of Larkin's
poetic impulse. The calculated isolation, the lack of commitment
were what enabled him to write what little he did (four volumes
in 40 years), just as the fate of the mockingly ironic outsider
was his persistent subject. As he put it, "Deprivation is for
me what daffodils were for Wordsworth." Characteristically,
he declined the post of poet laureate, but by the time he died
of cancer at 63 in 1985, he had become a sort of grumpy unofficial
laureate of all that was middling, thwarted and humorously stoic
in the contemporary psyche.
</p>
<p> Andrew Motion, a fellow poet and younger colleague of Larkin's
at Hull, gets close to his subject, but not too close, in this
finely nuanced book. The biographer is as shrewd and sympathetic
in sorting out Larkin's surprisingly energetic sex life as in
parsing his poems. Larkin's longest attachment (38 years) was
with Monica Jones, a lecturer at Leicester University. About
halfway through this affair he took up with Maeve Brennan, a
library staff member at Hull, and a few years later he added
his secretary, Betty Mackereth. The point was to play one woman
off against another, sometimes callously, to keep them all at
a certain distance.
</p>
<p> Motion maintains a non-p.c. perspective about the crotchets
that caused such an outcry when this biography, along with Larkin's
collected letters, was published in England last year: the private
man's coarseness, his penchant for pornography, his blasts against
women and "niggers." Much of this, Motion makes clear, was boisterous
role-playing, especially in matey letters to friends like Kingsley
Amis and Robert Conquest.
</p>
<p> In his later years Larkin's gift all but dried up. "I used to
believe," he told Motion, "that I should perfect the work and
life could f itself." Now, he lamented, "all I've got is a
f ed up life." But that wasn't all he had; he still had the
poems, and now we do too. Over and over, Motion reminds us that
Larkin's memorably plangent way of proclaiming his own futility
was in fact his triumph over it:
</p>
<p> Life is first boredom, then fear.
</p>
<p> Whether or not we use it, it goes,
</p>
<p> And leaves what something hidden
</p>
<p> from us chose,
</p>
<p> And age, and then the only end of
</p>
<p> age.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>