Long banned in the United States and England, My Life and Loves is one of the most notorious autobiographies ever written. Famous for its erotic passages, it is also one of the richest and most entertaining views ever of fin-de-siècle literary and social life.
In this unexpurgated chronicle, we come to see Frank Harris (1855-1931) in all his glory. This is the tale of one of the great editors of his day, a man of vision, vanity, and ambition who gave many writers, including H. G. Wells, George Bernard Shaw, and Stephen Crane, their early opportunities and recognition. There are also Harris’s startlingly candid and often controversial observations of the great voices in the literature and politics of the day, men such as Oscar Wilde, Walt Whitman, Lord Randolph Churchill, and the Prince of Wales (the future Edward VII) to name only a few. And throughout are Harris’s zestful if infamous descriptions of his sexual experiences, passages that have earned this one-of-a-kind book its lasting reputation.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the Goodreads database with this name.
Frank Harris was an editor, journalist and publisher, who was friendly with many well-known figures of his day. Born in Ireland, he emigrated to America early in life, working in a variety of unskilled jobs before attending the University of Kansas to read law. He eventually became a citizen there. After graduation he quickly tired of his legal career and returned to Europe in 1882.
He travelled on continental Europe before settling in London to pursue a career in journalism. Though he attracted much attention during his life for his irascible, aggressive personality, editorship of famous periodicals, and friendship with the talented and famous, he is remembered mainly for his multiple-volume memoir My Life and Loves, which was banned in countries around the world for its sexual explicitness.
One winter evening after school in early 1967, my longtime chum Ian and I started talking about girls. We were in the middle of the Long Haul - the old time Ontario Tory government’s mandatory two years of Senior HS Year back then - and school, other than that year’s analysis of Hamlet, was boring.
Ian was a boisterous genius, outranked socially by his preppy peers, and I was a more quiet clone.
So, talking about girls as the shadows deepened, he asked me if I knew Frank Harris. Frank WHO? I rejoined. An NHL player?
No, said Ian. He was a socially repressed Edwardian, as his own Dad was to this day! Only he had a VERY active secret libido. And before you could say Fanny Hill, Ian had raced upstairs, softly on his sock feet - for his mom ran a clean ship - and all her progeny’s guests left their shoes at the front door…
***
Moments later he was back. Doubtless this was a precious touchstone, well the best tool for all Ian’s brothers of defining the pre-Hippie-Era double standard in their family.
For his parents were very active members of our church. Nuff said?
And Frank Harris was eminent in his time.
***
So I read.
I skimmed.
I blanched.
Here was a man deeply ashamed of his urges. As we had been. Or rather, were soon to have been, after that summer’s brazen Woodstock love-fest!
***
When I got home that night, my bro was wide awake and reading, probably Vonnegut.
I asked him if he knew Frank Harris? He laughed, and led me downstairs to Dad’s lab…
I have just begun reading this, my customary four pages a day, which will make me around seventy by the time I am finished with it, that is if I keep reading. So far, as a young child and adolescent, Frank has made it further with a girl than I ever had the good fortune (or courage) to, and surprisingly came away basically unscathed with his rather audacious attempts to put his hands where they had not been invited. It is interesting for me to read this sort of thing as I do believe heterosexual young boys all share the same sexual fantasies, but some of us are exempt from having them manifested due to back luck, environment, upbringing, religious beliefs, or deference for the female sex. All my life I have maintained a devout respect for women while secretly wishing to be either on the receiving end of a good ravaging, or invited to be the one initiating it. But I am not so much a lover of men however, and my own "bullshit" flag may well wave if I ever have any suspicions Frank is making up his sexual adventures.
The start of the book so far has, importantly, not all been sexual adventure but rather the typical abuse and bullying of young boys attending grade school. And as predicted, the bullying is stopped when young Frank, instructed on how to fight properly and given the confidence to at least hold his own in fisticuffs, takes on his nemesis. The result is a pummeling of the awful bully and a new respect and station of honor bestowed upon him by all his fellow schoolmates. Perhaps a precursor to the sexual conquests purportedly to be forthcoming.
Any advances young Frank made on the opposite sex are detailed as courageous attempts to learn the wiles of love, or at the least, seduction. Someone this novice would hardly know the difference, but what any advancement made only resulted in further enchantments and delights in everything the natural world has to offer. His food tasted better, scenery burst with a vividness of wonder, and a simple walk alone with one’s illicit thoughts proved exciting. It is understandable how a female is first made an object of desire, and how love and sex are separate from each other, and should be. What is lost in sex for love is the immense gratification of animal lust and surrender. The giving of oneself for another’s pleasure.
In a bit of a surprise for me I have found the beginning of the book ripe with details regarding the male authoritarian experiences inflicted on young Frank, and the methods he employed in making a new life for himself in the USA. Of course his eventual impetus will focus on the women in his life, but for the most part his personal struggles and achievements in the world of work for now take precedence over the sexual adventures that are purported to follow in his rendition. Though dated and representing a time early in the twenty-first century that would prove to advance industry and technology to fantastic and previously unknown degrees, young Frank pushed on, intent on making something exorbitant of himself. Stereotypical of men of small stature, the little man obviously designed his voluminous published model to be more grandiose than normal. But in matters of sex and conquest that is generally what we expect. It is straining to me, however, how much focus instead is detailed in his efforts for good employment and making his way in the world of commerce. But there are a numerous bulk of pages left for Frank to verbosely expound on his scandalous trysts and sexual conquests.
As I plow my way through this rather verbose extravaganza I am at times dissuaded to continue on due to Frank’s need to prove himself an able lover. The mere fact that he beds women with ease and then gets invited back would be enough proof for most people regarding his talents, leaving no need to add the sordid details over how he either rams or slowly pleasures these women with his developing gift for lovemaking. But the century Harris conveys regarding the history of our country is interesting enough for me to continue suffering through his sexual bragging. Salacious events, intermingled with Harris being humbled as he scratches out a living and a way of life, may in time prove inadequate enough to engage me in any further reading. And just over one hundred and fifty pages into this thousand page slop, I abruptly stop, as Frank simply fails to do me in.
He always reminds me of Henry Miller. I expect both of them to be short - it's hard to understand their behaviour otherwise. Checks that, and yes, little men who had to find ways to make themselves look bigger. Sexual conquest it is, then. But whereas Miller hated women and had to make it all literary, Harris was content with a straightforward enthusiastically pornographic approach in the Victorian tradition.
I can only assume it was all in their dreams. It's impossible to imagine anybody wanting to shag either of them...
I can't decide between the 2 and 3 star rating. I'm reading the annotated edition, immersed in the second book of it. His life is amazing if what he writes is true. He's a typical guy, sexually, but his Life is astonishing, if true. So far I can't get past the "if true". It would be helpful to know if he was hyperactive.
In book two he's older, slowing down a little, and his life is much more believable. I found it sad that he succumbed to the griping sourness of The Reformed, Aging Libertine, in life and in his writings, but it's easy to understand. Ageing and being relegated to the backburner are difficult realities to face gracefully. His writing style is of the period.
Scalliwag comes to mind. Or rogue, better yet. If you wanted your reputation slandered by lies the best man to have known was Frank Harris. Then, if you wanted bawdy and prurient reading about the famous, he was also your man, however untrue his exploits. A man of the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Century Harris was an egotist who considered himself a great litterateur and claimed to have made love to more women then could be laid end-to-end around the world. If I take a little license with that image it is a trifle compared to the license he took in recalling men and women he befriended.
I found the book interesting in its atmosphere of the epoch, and Harris is good at deftly positioning himself, either in a woman's bed, or as the cynosure of social attention. Either way it is fun to read the jottings of a very minor literary light of his time.
Victorian publisher Frank Harris's hobby was deflowering girls. "He loves first editions, especially of women," said his frenemy Oscar Wilde. In his autobiography, banned in the United States until the 1960s (along with "lady Chatterley's Lover" Frank takes us on a wild ride that proves Victorian England was only prudish to the prudes. Everybody else marveled at their sexual prowess. Frank could also be a great raconteur, if at times repetitive. Oscar again: "Frank has been invited to all the great homes of England---once."
All Right, All Right already, this aint literature but to a young man in the sixties this is about as good as it got. When I found this sitting on my parents book shelf next to The Sound and the Fury I bought into it, hook, line and sinker. Let me tell ya it did feed my dreams and imagination. Thanks Mr. Harris, particularly for the stories of building the Hudson Tunnel and being inside the diving bell. (no metaphor intended)
Not long after, and a few times since, I did read Sound and Fury and enjoyed it also.
Even if it is exaggerated, as some said, it’s an interesting examination of Victorian mores with some wild adventure thrown in. Enjoyed it but I’d like to see an unbiased account of his exploits from another source.
Long winded forward bashing society. uggh boring neverending references to jesus. The main sreason I loaded this from Project Guten berg was a reference made to it in The Splendid and the Vile. According to that book the war created a freer attitude towards sex and people were coupling up and also reading this banned book. I was almost curious enough to wade through it to find out what the heck triggered the ban but it was too boring.
Well what can you say Frank did it all except unlike Sinatra he did it anyway. For an excellent list of people from history of the time it's a gem. For his sexual escapades If you got it flaunt it. I enjoyed it although it was a bit long, but a very rich source of books & people an excellent read quite memorable.
Led to this by Joan Wyndham's passing mention. Led to Wyndham via Beethoven's fifth and Rochdale...it's a long story. Like this book(s). A very long read in deed. Deeds of devilish delight, derring-do, and dull dissertations.
Frank - not his birth name did one Christopher Collins take inspiration? - is a mass of contradictions. He would probably be in prison nowadays for his sex with teenaged girls, but seems genuinely keen to give his partners the best experience he can, describing how he learned to give them orgasms. (I can't believe he made most of it up, as some say. There's too much detail, too much in the book against himself such as his waning powers, and he suffered in his career and financially by publishing it.) At one stage he declares for the Tories and seems to want to prop up the British Empire, yet a lot of the writing is about trying to improve humanity through a type of socialism. Assumed to be American, he's actually from Ireland and struggled to get US citizenship. He both is and isn't racist, depending on which passages you read. He hates puritanism, but is very offended by gluttony. I think he comes round to tolerating homosexuality but still can't really accept it, despite his own hedonistic standards.
Harris opens his memoirs promising to be completely honest, promising no prudery, and he does deliver. The thing is, this is a very long work, and he grows up all through it. So you get a rambling mix of (from memory) the early school of hard knocks, first sexual experiences, running away, hard labour, cowboying, business, further education, journalism, politics, war, writing, theatre, the literary world, travel...all interspersed with his enlivening sexploits. There is genuine regret for growing old and he was rather obsessed with his health. Maybe he found the answers that were right for him. I was left feeling he hadn't quite finished; I was expecting a bit more about his last relationship and his daughter. But then, I'm a woman!
Something I wasn't really expecting was his passion for literature: love of Shakespeare, partiality for certain writers over others. I clipped out some of the poetry he quotes as much of it was new to me and I liked it so much. Also there are extensive tracts of history and politics, which I bet is not the reason most pick up the book! It's more than just scene-setting for the rude bits. But I did enjoy that, too. I wouldn't go back over it like I would some other bits, though!
Because it was published in volumes, he allows a critical voice into the sequence - a woman who tried to make him see that his partners may not have come out uninjured on the other side. Certainly, I hope no young person reading this seriously believes douching is a reliable contraceptive. One wonders if there were any unfortunate outcomes. Like the hippies he may have partially inspired, did he pursue freedom too far and end up ignoring other people's hurt?
So, a typical Victorian - the closer you look, the more atypical Frank is. I'm glad I completed the book as it's a work that must have been an underground influence on more than one generation.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Frank Harris erzählt eine schöne Lebensgeschichte. Der Mann reißt mit 15 Jahren von zuhause, England, aus, kommt nach New York, arbeitet als Cowboy, dann als Rechtsanwalt. In Europa studiert er in Wien, Göttingen, Berlin, Athen. In London bringt er eine Tageszeitung zu hohen Auflagen, indem er sie seinem eigenen Geschmack anpaßt, wie er mit 15 gewesen ist, sprich Sex & Crime. Dann bringt er angesehene Literarische Magazine heraus. U.a. arbeiten Shaw und Wells für ihn. Er kennt alle Welt, besonders aber Shakespeare. Sein Freund Wilde sagt von ihm, er habe sich mit jedermann in die Haare gekriegt, außer mit William. Und: er wurde in jedem Haus empfangen, einmal. Harris schrieb eine wohl sehr gute Wilde-Biographie und eine engagierte Shakespeare-Studie. Dazu Kurzgeschichten und Portraits. Zweifellos hielt er sich selbst für ein Genie. Und der Autobiographie nach zu urteilen, war er mindestens ein sehr ungewöhnlicher Mann. Sein Gedächtnis war ganz und gar fabelhaft. So sagt er, daß er allein hunderte Verse Shelley auswendig kannte, obwohl er den nicht einmal besonders schätzte. Seine Lieblinge außer Shakespeare sind Heine, Keats, Meredith und tausend andere. Mark Twain und Henry James kommen dafür sehr schlecht weg. Wie er meint, gebe es unter 12 Millionen Lesers nur eine Handvoll, die Genie erkennen. Er ist sich darum auch seines Nachruhms ganz sicher. Wie es aussieht, erinnert sich die Welt bis jetzt aber nur an dieses Buch, und auch das wohl nur wegen der schmutzigen Stellen. Tatsächlich wirken einige Stellen besonders in der ersten Hälfte ziemlich pornographisch. Die aber stören mein sittliches Empfinden kaum. Dagegen sind die Andeutungen im zweiten Teil, wo er endgültig zum dirty old man geworden ist, sehr ärgerlich. Ich möchte den Knaben schon mögen, aber jemand, der 14jährige fließbandmäßig entjungfert, muß denn doch einen zu großen Knacks haben. Außerdem betont er zu sehr, wieviel pleasure er den Damen angeblich verschafft hat. Interessant auch, daß er völlig humorlos zu sein schien.
I read this decades ago. As a slice of history, it is a nice bit of dessert. As an insight into how all women one meets can be the most beautiful and wonderful, it is a main dish.