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Ford Madox Ford
Ford Madox Ford wrote nearly 80 books as well as editing two very influential literary magazines - the "English Review" and the "Transatlantic Review". This biography by the author of "Breed of Heroes", which won the "Royal Society of Literature Award", explores his life and work. He discovered D.H.Lawrence, patronised Ezra Pound, publicised James Joyce, employed Ernest Hemingway, and collaborated with Conrad, but nevertheless has been largely neglected in literary circles. Alan Judd regards him as, perhaps, the last large-scale man of letters.
488 pages, Hardcover
First published December 31, 1990
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42 people want to read
About the author
Alan Judd
34 books63 followersAlan Judd is a pseudonym used by Alan Edwin Petty.
Born in 1946, he graduated from Oxford University and served as a British Army officer in Northern Ireland during 'The Troubles', before later joining the Foreign Office; he currently works as a security analyst. He regularly contributes articles to a number of publications, including The Daily Telegraph, and The Spectator as its motoring correspondent. His books include both fiction and non-fiction titles, with his novels often drawing on his military background.
He lives in Sussex with his wife and daughter.
Born in 1946, he graduated from Oxford University and served as a British Army officer in Northern Ireland during 'The Troubles', before later joining the Foreign Office; he currently works as a security analyst. He regularly contributes articles to a number of publications, including The Daily Telegraph, and The Spectator as its motoring correspondent. His books include both fiction and non-fiction titles, with his novels often drawing on his military background.
He lives in Sussex with his wife and daughter.
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
February 19, 2025
Ford Maddox Ford by Alan Judd is a solid biography but fails to provide any foot/endnotes. There’s a useful chronology, bibliography and a brief index, but the absence of endnotes means the reader is in the dark on key sources and how Judd came to his judgements and opinions.
September 2, 2012
Meh. Am strongly considering putting this one down unread.
I haven't read enough FMF to really follow the literary references. I read The Good Soldier in my college days, and remember Hemingway's meeting him in Paris during my Hemingway phase.
My takeaway was that he was an important philosopher of literature, a leader and a commenter on style and scholarship.
But the bio so far portrays a bright but lukewarm personage... Joseph Conrad's gopher/amanuensis/buddy. I'm not getting any real insights into why he thought and wrote as he did. No major mommy issues or daddy issues, no early glimmers of brilliance.
So I'm not sure whether to be satisfied with the Wikipedia bio, or to move along.
I haven't read enough FMF to really follow the literary references. I read The Good Soldier in my college days, and remember Hemingway's meeting him in Paris during my Hemingway phase.
My takeaway was that he was an important philosopher of literature, a leader and a commenter on style and scholarship.
But the bio so far portrays a bright but lukewarm personage... Joseph Conrad's gopher/amanuensis/buddy. I'm not getting any real insights into why he thought and wrote as he did. No major mommy issues or daddy issues, no early glimmers of brilliance.
So I'm not sure whether to be satisfied with the Wikipedia bio, or to move along.
April 8, 2013
This is a very moving testament to a buried literary genius. Judd really brings you as close as you can expect to a writer who revealed little about his personal life because he was so generous and engaged in the life of others and the world around him. Why he has been so neglected and vilified defies logic and I can't wait to read more of his books after reading this. Highly recommended.
July 26, 2020
Long before the end of this biography, I found myself agreeing with Alan Massie’s assessment: ‘a marvellous book … worthy of Ford’. Having read a number of literary biographies, I’d heard of Ford Madox Ford, but never ‘up in lights’. His name intrigued me, which is not a good reason for reading a biography, but … there you are! I have never read any of his novels, though I once owned a copy of the war-time polemic ‘When blood is their argument’ (considering its current dollar value, I regret losing it at some stage). I’ve now bought a copy of ‘Parade’s End’ (over 850 pages!), which is described by Judd as ‘perhaps the best novel in English’ dealing with World War I. I look forward to reading it.
I found myself liking Ford immensely for his sheer humanity, the great good nature which, the author says with typical humour, was ‘as endearing as his ill-luck’ (p.151). I love the thought that when he wanted something he was ‘like a child, filling the sky with a huge ache’ (p.152). He gave to others generously, without counting the cost, emotionally, financially and professionally, but at the same time he had the selfishness necessary for self-disciplined writing. He treated other people ‘as humans first, and labels second’ (p.368), which is why, for example, he got on so well with people like Ezra Pound, with his fascist leanings (not that fascist leanings were rare among the English literary and governing classes!).
According to D.H. Lawrence, he was ‘the kindest man on earth… he keeps the doors of his soul open, and you may walk in’ (p.169). That says it all, a marvellous description. So that it is scarcely necessary to ask why so many women fell for him (according to one count, he had 18 serious and lasting relationships). He was this ‘great grey behemoth’, ‘a garrulous, splay-footed sixteen or seventeen stone’ (p.342), scarcely an oil painting. But he was kind, hugely intelligent and, with it, never ever boring! And as Janice Biala (one of the 18) remarked: ‘I have looked all my life for a man with a mind as old as my own, and what difference does it make if, when I find the man, he has a pot belly?’ (p.395). Not everyone liked him of course. Ever since reading his biography, I’ve disliked Hemingway (who could like an arrogant macho who spent much time killing wild animals?), who was very vindictive to Ford, while also being two-faced. He reckoned Ford ‘smelled’, a curious criticism (as Judd remarks) for an aspiring writer to make of an established author.
Ford was a genius, though not all of his huge output as novelist, poet and editor was of genius quality, partly because he was almost always poor and had to write for his crust. I found his war service poems (especially ‘One day’s list’), and ‘On Heaven’ (which, thankfully, Judd quotes at length) very moving indeed and am pleased that they are still in print. Though his edited journals lasted for only a short time, they were of top quality, and introduced such newbies as D.H. Lawrence to the literary scene, while also generously assisting people like Hemingway (aka Janus).
July 2020
I found myself liking Ford immensely for his sheer humanity, the great good nature which, the author says with typical humour, was ‘as endearing as his ill-luck’ (p.151). I love the thought that when he wanted something he was ‘like a child, filling the sky with a huge ache’ (p.152). He gave to others generously, without counting the cost, emotionally, financially and professionally, but at the same time he had the selfishness necessary for self-disciplined writing. He treated other people ‘as humans first, and labels second’ (p.368), which is why, for example, he got on so well with people like Ezra Pound, with his fascist leanings (not that fascist leanings were rare among the English literary and governing classes!).
According to D.H. Lawrence, he was ‘the kindest man on earth… he keeps the doors of his soul open, and you may walk in’ (p.169). That says it all, a marvellous description. So that it is scarcely necessary to ask why so many women fell for him (according to one count, he had 18 serious and lasting relationships). He was this ‘great grey behemoth’, ‘a garrulous, splay-footed sixteen or seventeen stone’ (p.342), scarcely an oil painting. But he was kind, hugely intelligent and, with it, never ever boring! And as Janice Biala (one of the 18) remarked: ‘I have looked all my life for a man with a mind as old as my own, and what difference does it make if, when I find the man, he has a pot belly?’ (p.395). Not everyone liked him of course. Ever since reading his biography, I’ve disliked Hemingway (who could like an arrogant macho who spent much time killing wild animals?), who was very vindictive to Ford, while also being two-faced. He reckoned Ford ‘smelled’, a curious criticism (as Judd remarks) for an aspiring writer to make of an established author.
Ford was a genius, though not all of his huge output as novelist, poet and editor was of genius quality, partly because he was almost always poor and had to write for his crust. I found his war service poems (especially ‘One day’s list’), and ‘On Heaven’ (which, thankfully, Judd quotes at length) very moving indeed and am pleased that they are still in print. Though his edited journals lasted for only a short time, they were of top quality, and introduced such newbies as D.H. Lawrence to the literary scene, while also generously assisting people like Hemingway (aka Janus).
July 2020
February 23, 2018
A very Fordian biography, of Ford. Full of happiness and sadness, bonhomie, lunches, generosity, strangeness, disappointments. Ans while all human stories end with death, somehow, I guess, I hoped... sometimes you really wish people did have somewhere to go, where they could be in peace. I enjoyed Judd's writing very much, but I wish that he gave references for the quotes - I would very much have liked to read some of the articles/books/essays etc in full. 9/10.
March 23, 2024
This is an adequate but unremarkable biography of the neglected writer that is strongest in its first half, but that succumbs to scholarly lassitude in its second half. It doesn't help that Max Saunders's two volume biography is far more comprehensive (perhaps too much so). It doesn't help that Judd does not offer us any notes and pads out his volume with Ford's poems -- many of which were unpublished for a reason. (While Ford's prose can be spectacularly tight at its best, his poetry feels more like an aimless rambler searching for a tavern in the rain and never finding one.) Judd promulgates the idea that the First World War broke Ford, although I don't think this is quite true. He did, after all, give many Modernist writers their first start and one cannot discount the impact and influence of the Transatlantic Review. Perhaps this volume feels lethargic because Judd eventually gave up on Ford at a certain point or because Ford's pre-WW1 life is better preserved in archives. I suppose this is an acceptable substitute for those who don't want to get bogged down by Saunders, although it still feels more ephemeral of a book than it should, with occasional flashes of insight (such as Judd's theory that Ford wrote PARADE'S END in the wake of Proust's funeral).
June 18, 2022
Ford emerges from this portrait as a deeply generous, kind and endearing person but the biographer is obviously on his side. Found most fascinating exploration of Ford's artistic focus on capturing the greater felt & atmospheric truth over the factual, which the biographer connects to instances in his life as well as art. It definitely resonates in the abundance of feeling, atmosphere and unpinnable truth of The Good Soldier.
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews