The Sound and the Fury

I've been busy proofreading the book--a rather pernickety business. I'm coming to the conclusion that maybe it's quite a good book after all. The early chapters are heavy on concentrated fact, because that's where I've found a lot of new material and I want to make sure it all gets published. I'm now checking the final chapters, where Gilbert's story is almost done and I have felt able to relax a little and concentrate on a few enjoyable moments. The chapter on his letters to women will, I think, be particularly enjoyable for the reader, as it shows his most charming and humorous side.

Proofreading the book has also reminded me of one of the more troubling problems I had whilst writing it. Gilbert had a knack of quarrelling quite viciously with everyone he had dealings with. This is well known, and there are plenty of books out there which will provide the details.

I could have filled the book with details of all his squabbles and arguments. But I didn't; partly because there would have been no room for any other aspect of his life and character, and partly because it really distressed me to copy out Gilbert's more aggressive letters. If I could, without feeling guilty, I would ignore that side of his character altogether. But obviously that would be wrong. I need to show Gilbert from all sides, and that includes his least pleasant side. I have included precises of most of his major quarrels in the book, though I have not gone into huge detail as a rule, and I have attempted to provide an explanation of some of the wilder accusations that have been pointed at him (e.g. that he thought he was better than Shakespeare).

There is a danger that I will be perceived as an apologist for Gilbert, glossing over all his faults and presenting him in whitewashed form. Certain writers have levelled this accusation against previous biographers, and I am especially anxious to make sure it isn't levelled against me. But I can only provide an honest portrait of Gilbert according to my own perceptions, and I can't afford to write only according to what other people want me to write. Gilbert, for all his faults, was a literary genius, with all the sensitivity of perception that implies. A certain writer has argued forcibly over many years that Gilbert was a monstrous personality with an all-consuming ego and no redeeming features. I contend that such a personality could not at the same time have had the perceptive nature that is necessary to write the works that Gilbert wrote.

For this reason I have had to look very closely at the most extreme attack on Gilbert that was written during his lifetime--an attack written by the actress Henrietta Hodson, who asserted that he was arrogant, bullying, selfish, and persecuting--and attempt to show that the attack was written from a partial perspective, and that the portrait of Gilbert that she paints is impossible as a portrait of a real human being. Parts are exaggerated. I don't deny that he treated her very badly; but I do say that this was the result of his lack of consideration for others, and his peculiar sense of humour, and his low opinion of Shakespeare, among other things.

Gilbert's aggression was the product of anger against the world that he felt had treated him badly, possibly also of his perception that he was not well liked. He was ambitious, and he was determined to express his own distinctive view of the world. These are some of the qualities that enabled him to reach the top of his profession. Imagination and humour and a perception of the absurd are among the other qualities that took him there.

I don't know if any of this will make sense to someone who doesn't already know Gilbert's life inside out. But, well, let's take a chance. If you don't like this posting, try one of the others.

The Proofs of the Pudding

fter, what, sixteen months, seventeen, the contract has been signed, the book has been started, finished, and accepted by The History Press as the fulfilment of my side of the bargain, and today I received the proofs for me to correct. Hallelujah! The story isn't over yet, of course; I can see there are details to adjust, and there is the index to prepare. But the end is in sight. What a relief it will be to see the dam' thing pushed into the world and... and then to wait with ever-increasing anxiety to hear the world's reaction. Oh, is there no end to it all?

I am writing a short essay for the Gilbert Society Journal attempting to explain what I was trying to achieve in the book. I am finding it harder than expected to set it down in words, even though it is clear enough in my head. I think part of the problem is that I don't want to offend my more conventional readers. Because the fact is that, much though I love the Gilbert and Sullivan operas, I feel that in the context of Gilbert's life they form a semi-tragic culmination. That is to say, at the start of his career, say from 1861 to about 1877, he was an enfant terrible, a shocking and somewhat wearisome cynical observer of his society forever seeking to pull down the sacred icons and show them to be clay. Audiences responded sometimes with enthusiasm and sometimes with boos and hisses and disgust. Victorian theatre audiences in general wanted their society's values validated, not questioned. His plays, and his conduct in the theatre, made him lasting enemies. He became accepted as the best and most interesting playwright of his day, but his journey to the top of the tree was a never-ending battle. This first half of his life saw him kicking against the pricks (to use a vivid Biblical phrase) every step of the way.

But then he met Sullivan and D'Oyly Carte, and together they started to create a sequence of comic operas that would be attended and appreciated by all ranks from the lowest to the highest. The Savoy first nights were social occasions for the nobility and the gentry, and they were characterised by polite, genteel enjoyment, rather than raucous immediacy on a knife-edge between cheers and hisses. The operas made Gilbert rich and respected, but from a modern point of view it might seem that something of the real Gilbert died. He was, perhaps, destroyed by success. I exaggerate for effect. However, it doesn't matter, because all this is simply me writing to myself, and no one else will ever read it. Apparently.

I've got till the end of the month to complete and return the proofs. I will have to reverse the habits of a lifetime and be efficient about the business and get them returned on time. There must be no delays.