"Peut-être n’éprouverait-il plus jamais de passion comme celle qu’il avait sentie pour Peter, peut-être n’y aurait-il plus d’union parfaite, mais il restait la perfection de l’amitié, la beauté des cyprès sur les collines et la joie que donnait le travail. Et s’il oubliait Peter, s’il réussissait à vivre sans lui, ce dernier ne reviendrait-il pas? Personne n’était attiré par la tristesse et la mélancolie. Mais par la gaieté, la force, le bonheur, oui."
Né en 1937 dans une petite ville du nord de l’Angleterre, David Hockney a dû se battre pour devenir un artiste. Il a vécu entre Londres et Los Angeles, traversé les années sida et secoué le monde de l’art avec une vitalité et une liberté que n'ont entamées ni les chagrins amoureux, ni la maladie, ni les conflits, ni le deuil. Sous la plume incisive de Catherine Cusset, ce livre à mi-chemin du roman et de la biographie dresse un portrait intime, émouvant, habité, du peintre anglais vivant le plus connu.
Catherine Cusset was born in Paris in 1963. A graduate of the École Normale Supérieure in Paris and agrégée in classics, she got a Ph.D in Paris and another one at Yale, and she taught 18th-century French literature at Yale for 12 years. She is the author of ten novels published by Gallimard between 1990 and 2013, among which En toute innocence, Le problème avec Jane (finalist for Medicis prize and Grand Prix littéraire des lectrices d’Elle 2000), La haine de la famille, Confessions d’une radine, Un brillant avenir (Prix Goncourt des lycéens 2008) and Indigo. She is translated into 15 languages. The Story of Jane was published by Simon and Shuster in 2001. After 20 years in the States, Catherine Cusset recently moved to London with her American husband and daughter.
"A compelling hybrid of novel and biography". Compelling is a bit thick. I don't know about the hybrid style, as with also historical fiction, if they're not the same thing. I much prefer solid ground. Either fiction, or researched factual history. This biography focuses predominately on Hockney's personal romantic life, not so much on his painting. An artist's intimate love life doesn't interest me, whatever persuasion it takes. After half-way I lost interest and skimmed to the end.
This was such a gorgeous, joyful and thoughtful biographic novel. I love David Hockney’s work. It fills me with that unnameable wild fluttering in my chest that comes from extreme feeling. This slender translation of his life captured it beautifully, rendering his story into a vivid tableau of color, creativity and life. Thank you to #Edelweiss and #OtherPress for the chance to read this book in exchange for an honest opinion.
Fascinating story about the life of Hockney though the writing style reminds me of one telling a story to a child. This isn’t a bad thing, and is probably partly the result of the book being written originally in French. There is however a simplicity to the writing and the explanative style.
Un ouvrage intéressant, j'ai pu apprendre beaucoup sur le peintre pour me préparer à aller voir l'expo la semaine prochaine. Ceci dit, le ton nous garde un peu à distance.
If stories are inherently false is the best way to write a biography is as a fiction? Catherine Cusset thinks so and does so in THE LIFE OF DAVID HOCKNEY: A NOVEL. At first I thought it was less than both a biography and a novel, seeming to speed through the milestones in the artist’s life with scant detail, like one of those flat biopics that seem no more insightful than a paint-by-numbers picture. But I had to admit I was learning something, not only the trajectory of Hockney’s personal and professional life, that I knew somewhat, but also his inner-life, which at first felt shallow and then intimate and revealing. It might have something to do with Cusset’s prose, which is smooth and simple as it clearly charts a course through an eventful and long life. But that narrative gives the book swift direction, like a river carrying me through a changing landscape. I was enjoying it and towards the end it started to gel for me, the novelistic structure snapped into place and the biography grew from episodes into a series of images like one of Hockney’s famous photographic collages to create a deeper portrait. I’m just not that smart, but thankfully Cusset is patient and let me continue to come around until I was comfortable enough to see what she was doing.
Ce livre est ce que j’imagine être un cours d’histoire de l’art 😆
Est-ce que j’aurais préféré si je connaissais le peintre et ses œuvres? Possiblement. J’aurais aimé avoir un aspect visuel à toutes ses œuvres mentionnées.
Il y avait un aspect très factuel au livre. J’ai l’impression que l’autrice ne voulait pas interpréter plus qu’il faut ses actions. Ce qui fait en sorte qu’on lit des faits sans explications sous-jacentes. Ça manquait d’émotions pour moi.
Probably anyone who reads this would be at least a fair weather fan of Hockney and I suspect many more people are familiar with his work-- the swimming pools are probably most famous. I also was totally blown away by his early 2000s research into the paintings of old masters (I read Secret Knowledge a few years ago and learned a lot).
So the writing for this book has kind of a flat affect-- it's a lot of, "and this happened, then this, then this happened" which normally doesn't make for a great story. Maybe it's the translation. But actually it does move things along and the writing really shines when describing Hockney's inspiration for his work.
There are a LOT of characters in this book (as one would expect in the life of a very famous extrovert artist now in his 80s) and they aren't all well developed, but it certainly is a positive reflection on the artist the sheer number of relationships he has (family, friends, lovers, work associates). And I hadn't put together previously the number of friends he would have lost to AIDS in the 1980s and 90s.
By the end I found this to be a short yet instructive account of a life of a favorite artist.
I seem to be at odds with almost everyone here. I have long been a fan of Hockney's art, and, oddly, after reading this book I like him less. Maybe that's not a criticism of the book, since a biography, even a fictionalized one, is meant to portray the subject character realistically. But the Hockney in this book is devoid of humor, self-indulgent, controlling, and borders on a sexual predator in his relationships with much younger men (though I have to admit the relationships seem to be consensual). He also seems to be a man with one emotion at a time, which strains credibility.
I mention having been a fan, and realize that I was a fan of the art, and knew little about the man. Somehow the descriptions of the art in the book are faintly repellent to me. I have never thought of him as derivative, but critics certainly say that. And his later work sounds repetitious and I can't see myself liking it. But it is a problem of the book that it, by design, lacks illustrations. To me, descriptions of art without actual depictions is bound to fail, or at least it did here for me.
Maybe the book reads better in French, since the French comments are all very happy with it. It is, of course, hard to gauge a writer's style from a translation. However, to me this book read like its target in terms of reading ability were English-speakers in middle school. The book I just read before this was also a translation from French ("Exposed") and I found the prose lovely, so it is certainly possible for literature in translation to impress me.
It is always a downer for me to read a work of fiction in which I like few of the characters, and that is what happened here. The men are all gorgeous (the women are less glowingly depicted in terms of appearance), but seem to have similar personalities (and bodies, for that matter). I was also uncomfortable with Cusset making it clear that a number of Hockney's friends and lovers were Jewish. It's never discussed beyond stating the fact, which makes me wonder why this seemed important enough to include.
When I started reading this, I fully expected to like it and learn interesting things. Other readers clearly did, but I have to record here that I was disappointed. I expected more, but maybe that was inappropriate given how short the book is. Oh well.
Le style de Catherine Cusset est d'une grande simplicité, j'ai dévoré ses livres sur l'identité personnelle (La Haine de la famille, Un brillant avenir) et je n'ai aucun souvenir du Problème avec Jane. Donc une biographie de David Hockney, peintre que je connais à peine ? Pourquoi pas ?
Je ne suis pas déçue du voyage, entre Royaume-Uni et États-Unis... C'est un livre plein de sentiments. Pour sa mère, pour ses amants et ses proches. Pour moi, c'est un livre sur l'inspiration, le souffle créateur. Une lecture qu'il ne faut pas hésiter à interrompre pour aller voir les oeuvres mentionnées. C'est un livre qui fait aimer l'artiste.
« L'art, comme la religion, ne devait exclure personne. Il devait être universel.[…]
Il y avait une seule certitude : l'enfant, dès qu'il savait tenir un crayon, faisait une marque. Depuis le début des temps, l'homme tentait d'exprimer en deux dimensions son émerveillement devant un monde en trois dimensions. Ce n'était pas près de s'arrêter. »
Es un libro malo, el original está escrito en francés por Catherine Cusset que no sé si siempre escribe así o es cosa de la traducción al inglés que he leído yo pero el estilo se puede describir como David hace cosas. La vida entera del pintor inglés en presente "David coge entonces el lienzo, ve una piscina y pinta". "David conoce a mengano, son amantes, todo bien...hasta que se enfadan", "David cambia de estilo" "David está triste", "David se droga"... y así todo. En inglés lo he terminado, en español creo que me hubiera dado un ictus pero me ha servido para conocer paso a paso su carrera y el paso de una etapa a otra y para ir mirando en internet los cuadros que se mencionan y saciar mi curiosidad. Prescindible completamente.
One of the many things I enjoy about Francophone literature is the strong appetite for experimentation and genre crossover - from historical reimagings like Eric Vuillard’s ‘L’Ordre du Jour’, to semi-autobiographical works like Annie Ernaux’s remarkable ‘Les Années’ to quasi-auto-fiction like ‘L’Art de Perdre’ and ‘Un Certain Paul Darigrand’. This novel is another fine example - biography meets fiction. Some make their way into English, but many don’t.
What a pleasure it is - sensitively written and hugely empathic. It’s a fascinating portrait of the creative process and the artist’s mindset. The channeled reflections on colour, light, perspective are so interesting. Witnessing the magical role in the brew of coincidence and random inspiration is also great. Take that wonderful portrait of Hockney’s parents, for example (dad fussing over an exhibition catalogue) - and the influence of ideas from other categories.
In execution, it’s all pretty linear and smooth and eminently readable- not taking huge risks or making what seem like grand assumptions - so in a way it flows like a simple account. As a result, I found myself almost adoring Hockney. The fondness for his mother. The child-like excitement and the sheer, hungry, urgent love of painting. I have no idea how accurate it is or what he made of it, (I can imagine him glumly saying ‘But I hated my dad!’’, then lighting a cigarette in the studio). But here’s a rounded, admirable character, I guess.
It’s also a reminder, for me, of how giving anyone a contextual, human wrapper and story - flesh and bones and thoughts - can bring so much more meaning and literally raise the recall levels - I’ve seen it happen with Thomas Cromwell (thanks to Hilary Mantel) and I’ve seen it done with the most torpid, yawnsome Greek mythology by Madeleine Miller. Such and such a deity born of the congress of some fucking dolphin and some sky bore who throws forks (himself the progeny of, I dunno, a swan and someone in a togo with three heads) has a stand off with Yawnocles at the palace of Zopiclones and I’m fast asleep within minutes. But get inside the head of Zopiclones and I’m won over. The magic of novelisation. And so it is here with contemporary art and the silly world that surrounds it. Bravo, Catherine Cusset. A ‘shedevre’, as the Russians say.
Read this because I am especially interested in the life of David Hockney. His retrospective at The Met was perfect. But this book based on his life is not a novel for me - there’s no descriptive language or dialogue. We get little sense of who Hockney might be as a person. I admire the goal of writing fiction that closely hews to the life of a living historical figure but this reads an an extended Wikipedia entry.
Rather than be told so much about it, I would like to see some of Hockney’s counter-cultural vibes in the novel: what did they eat, what time did they wake up, what did they talk about? I do appreciate the extreme amount of research that must have gone into writing this.
Mon deuxième livre de Catherine Cusset, après L'autre qu'on adorait, dévoré ce printemps.
Une autre biographie d'un européen expatrié aux États Unis.
Je l'ai terminé en deux jours. Ne connaissant pas du tout cet artiste peintre (shame on me) j'ai marqué une pause dans ma lecture pour explorer les résultats d'instagram pour la recherche #davidhockney
Ensuite, les mots étaient chamarrés de couleurs empruntées à Matisse, de bleu piscine et de teintes Californiennes.
La vie de David Hockney est fascinante. Au delà de son talent d'artiste, j'ai été troublée par la description de son chagrin d'amour, son obsession pour Peter et sa résilience inespérée.
L'auteure y développe également le débat de l'accessibilité de l'art moderne, et la manière qu'a Hockney de s'en départir en résistant aux atours des artistes et critiques perclus de snobisme.
Hâte de digger la prochaine rétrospective qui lui sera consacrée à Paris ou ailleurs.
Légèrement déçu par ce livre puisque le précédent de l'auteur ( L'autre qu'on adorait) avait été un coup de cœur, ce qui n'est absolument pas le cas ici. Le principal reproche que je pourrais faire est le style, l'écriture. Elle ne m'a pas semblé très agréable, fluide ou plaisante. Je l'ai trouvé un peu lourde et redondante par le quasi constant emploi de l'imparfait. En dehors de cela, c'est un réel plaisir de découvrir la vie d'un peintre de cette envergure sous cette forme. Le livre me paraît bien documenté et assez complet. Je recommande pour les intéressés de peinture qui y verront une source de savoir, pas spécialement pour ceux qui cherche un bijou littéraire (orientez-vous plutôt vers son précédent livre).
I never thought I would enjoy an art biography as much as I enjoyed this book. Cusset is a superb writer, managing not just to tell a man's life story, but to bring to life his work, give you a sense of it and enable you to see things from the artist's eyes, feeling his wonder of the beauty of landscapes and people, of life. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been to find the right words to describe Hockney's art, but Cusset definitely did. She also helped me understand why this man's life and art were so groundbreaking and brave, and I was thoroughly engaged and enthralled throughout the book, which was surprisingly easy and fast to read. I would recommend this book with all my heart to anyone, not just art fans.
I liked David Hockney’s work before this book, now I like it much more because I’m able to understand him better. Beautiful research, so well written. An engaging reading for everyone who wants to know more about the guy who finally left California because he wasn’t able to smoke in public spaces anymore. That was something I’ve read a while ago in a local newspaper, now I know that was more like a funny punchline :)
Le livre n’est pas mauvais, il est assez court et donc un peu « simple ». L’objectif de faire découvrir David Hocnkey est plutôt réussi. Disons que ça fait office de biographie rapide, moins de roman.
Le parfait compagnon pour la visite de l'exposition à la Fondation Vuitton, les œuvres enfin rencontrées comme des amis dont on a entendu parler et que l'on a hâte de découvrir, car l'absence de visuel est ce qu'il manque à ce livre (l'ajout de reproductions, en annexe comme dans "Les Yeux de Mona" par exemple, aurait été une bonne idée, laissant le choix au lecteur de les regarder pendant ou après la lecture).
Je n’ai pas l’habitude de lire des biographies mais celle-ci me tentait particulièrement, surtout après avoir lu « l’autre qu’on adorait » de la même auteure, que j’avais beaucoup aimé. Je n’ai vraiment pas accroché à ce livre, je ne me suis pas laissée embarquer par l’écriture, je n’ai pas trouvé de fluidité dans la lecture, et n’ai pas réussi à percevoir des traits de caractère de David Hockney. J’ai eu le sentiment d’assister à la description d’évènements de sa vie, mais d’un point de vue trop distancié. Cela donne quand même envie de découvrir davantage l’œuvre de David Hockney!
David Hockney a fait une exposition à Bxl au Bozar, je suis tellement triste de ne pas avoir lu son livre avant d’aller sur l’expo … j’aurais mieux compris ses œuvres. J’ai adoré ce livre :)
J’ai découvert David Hockney il y a plus de 10 ans au Centre Pompidou, et depuis, ses piscines et son univers coloré me sont restés en tête. Je me suis attachée à l’artiste sans vraiment connaître sa vie. Je n’ai pas trop accroché à l’écriture, un peu plate à mon goût, mais ça ne m’a pas empêchée de la lire avec intérêt. Contente de mieux connaître l’homme derrière les toiles.
I'm fine with a biography presented as a novel, but if that's the case I'd like more of a narrative structure. This one really falls apart at the end, with seemingly dozens of minor characters dying off at the same time and then a few pages later the author saying that no one close to Hockney had died in twelve years. At least it was short.
I’m not sure why this book has garnered praise. It’s easy to read, a linear and superficial account of the artist’s life put together from secondary sources using generally simple sentences and often seeming like a book written at the middle school level. Because it’s told from the subject’s point of view, I suppose, there’s no sense of judgment about his having been a predator. Rather, his going to California in his 20s to teach with the express intent to sleep with underage students, which he then does, is presented without any sense of its being a problem. There’s also no reflection about his hosting parties with freely flowing alcohol and drugs, even when someone dies. With little insight or growth on the part of the subject or most other characters, the book is unsatisfactory as either a novel or a biography.