Present Indicative

The Autobiography #1

by Noël Coward, Sheridan Morley (Introduction)

"I was photographed naked on a cushion very early in life, an insane, toothless smile slitting my face and pleats of fat overlapping me like an ill-fitting overcoat. Later, at the age of two, I was photographed again. This time in a lace dress, leaning against a garden roller and laughing hysterically. If these photographs can be found they will adorn this book."

Thus begins the life story of one of the most celebrated characters in British theatrical history, in the first of Coward's autobiographies, first published in 1937. Displaying an early dedication to the theatre, Present Indicative hints at the success that would come to Coward as actor, playwright, novelist and performer. Each line is punctuated with his trademark effervescent wit, making this book a comic tour de force in it's own right, as well as a "must read" for anyone with an interest in the British stage.

 

Genres: Memoir, Biography, Autobiography, British Literature, Nonfiction

352 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1937

About the author

Sir Noël Peirce Coward was an English actor, playwright, and composer of popular music. Among his achievements, he received an Academy Certificate of Merit at the 1943 Academy Awards for "outstanding production achievement for In Which We Serve."

Known for his wit, flamboyance, and personal style, his plays and songs achieved new popularity in the 1960s and 1970s, and his work and style continue to influence popular culture. The former Albery Theatre (originally the New Theatre) in London was renamed the Noël Coward Theatre in his honour in 2006.

Reviews

[Michael Joe Armijo · Rating 4 out of 5]

Noel Coward was quite 'the thinker'. He was always thinking about his next write-up for a play that would work. His success paid off and his plays still continue to play and re-play. I learned a lot about him from this book (his autobiography) that I never knew before. I even included him in one of my short stories in my new book, Secrets Inside the Orange.

This book was worthwhile for these tidbits that caught my eye from Noel's genius eye:

Too much detailed accuracy makes dull reading.

Mother had fostered in me a spirit of independence, realizing with remarkable foresight the valuable experience I should gain from learning to grapple early and alone with small adventures.

I acquired the insatiable habit of being completely happy alone. I also found that conversation with casual strangers was stimulating to the imagination.

There was nothing to do but bathe and go for bicycle rides (in the summer of 1913 @ Isle of Wight at Lee-on-the-Solent).

I was never completely happy when I wasn’t working.

Very soon I began to write short stories, beastly little whimsies.

I was happy to be by myself in those days, a habit which I mislaid in later years but have fortunately regained since.

The construction of a play was as important as the foundations of a house, whereas dialogue, however good, could only, at best, be considered as interior decoration.

Never, in any circumstances, would he lend money to anybody ever again; it was too dangerous a commodity, he said, to pass between friends.

Although I was the same age, if not younger than many of them, I felt suddenly old and experienced and quite definitely out of the picture. This is not exactly an unhappy sensation.

My dancing was rusty, but of course that could be remedied by hard practice.

A sensation that every traveller knows when his ship steams away from a place to which he is sure he will never return. All part of living TIME, never to be known again, the closing of a phase.

He knew all the makeshifts of a struggling author.

...without any quibbling

I have been a little stingy with my gratitude.

A social intermixing of comparative strangers automatically imposes a certain strain, an extra politeness, which is not entirely real. This, I think, may be described simply as good manners. I could play the game as well as they could.

My mind needed a great deal more solitude and a great deal more time before it could safely be guaranteed to function as I intended it to function.

From now onwards there was going to be very little energy wasted, and very little vitality spilled unnecessarily.

It was a good moment for retrospection, so I put my feet up and relaxed... a self-conscious peace descended upon me as I lay there looking up at the stars.

Solutions and answers would fall into place in time. Nobody, however well-intentioned, could find my own truths for me, and only very few could even help me to look for them. In moments of private chaos, it is better to be alone. Loving advice merely increases the chaos.

I came out onto the sand and saw the enormous waves advancing endlessly like rolls of blue velvet, unfilled and unruffled, until they broke in thunder on the reef, sending smaller editions of themselves to splay the beach with foam.
(Noel Coward, Describing Mokuleia Beach, Honolulu!)

I had learned the wisdom of not welcoming a new idea too ardently, so I forced it into the back of my mind, trusting to its own integrity to emerge again later on, when it had become sufficiently set and matured.

My body has certainly wandered a good deal, but I have an uneasy suspicion that my mind has not wandered nearly enough.

I can catch this elusive quietness when moving, but it is certainly the reason above all others that I go away, not to get anywhere, not even to return, just to go. I can sleep, wake, write, read, and think in peace.

[Elsie · Rating 4 out of 5]

I think as an actor and playwright Noel Coward is essentially an expert on mental breakdowns, and that this book could easily be labeled as the anthology of mental breakdowns. At one point during a depressive episode in New York a policeman lends him a gun that he never returns??? During another depressive episode he makes plans to go to Hong Kong alone on a whim, but only makes it as far as Honolulu where he stays on some random ranch until he recovers??? Anyway what I have learned is that when a dramatic man gets rich, his meltdowns remain just as dramatic as before, but they move to more tropical locations.

[Nisha-Anne · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved this book so much I dawdled on reading the last third just because I didn't want it to end.

Through it, I kept wondering if reviews of the day or now would describe it as arch. Because it was nothing of the sort to me. Maybe I had expected that? A sort of affected distance? Nothing of the kind. Certainly there was a careful veil drawn over the sexual aspect but even that, if you knew the names before you came to the text, was clear enough between the lines.

What took me aback was the clear-eyed openness of it, the frankness that was always witty of varying degrees but never ever insincere. If anything, sometimes the writing was almost achingly heartfelt and I did hurt for him even as I admired his unrelenting drive and determination that was so many times frustrated before The Vortex and even after. That really did help, to see that it's okay to be ambitious and that yes, even a legend like Noel Coward had his awful soulcrushing moments of anonymity and obscurity.

It was utterly charming to see New York of the 20s through his eyes, to see how entranced he was with it even though I will never feel the same. And I laughed so many times out loud, not just at the acidity of his wit but also the sheer joy of his joy, the pleasure of pure absurdity, the fact that his is not just the highbrow humour but of all kinds. And no one takes the piss out of Noel as well as Noel, no one as willing or ready to see the absurdity of himself.

If you're quite fond of Noel Coward, you're going to utterly adore him after this book. He's so dear to me now.

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a paperback version of the 1947 first edition published by Doubleday in NY. This is Coward's earliest autobiography, covering his life and career through 1931. Amazing, dazzling early success, followed by a down period in the mid-1920s, and then a huge come-back with "Private Lives" and "Cavalcade." Very funny!

This was a spur to read more by and about Coward. But it all started with my 2011 reading of "The Letters of Noel Coward," edited by Barry Day, a spectacularly well-put-together book.

[Adam · Rating 4 out of 5]

Amazing story told by Noel Coward up to his succesful stage play Carnival... wondefully told we meet all his friends & family & go through some of the trials of his acting & writing carreer - first paragraph states that truth can sometimes get in the way of a good story so if you get to read it you will have I believe a lot of fun & enjoyment.

[Tary · Rating 4 out of 5]

Even though Coward wrote this autobiographical account of his first 30 years as actor, songwriter, playwright almost 100 years ago, I still found it an interesting read. His account of his struggles to break into the world of theatre, his development of his talents, the creative process, and account of surviving failure all had the ring of truth. Growing up in genteel poverty, Coward rises to success and fame, making friends along the way with the great names in theatre, some of whom I didn't know--Gertrude Lawrence, i.e., and others, John Gielgud, the Lunts, Eva LaGallienne, whom I did. His self-deprecating sense of humor carried through the book, and I only felt the lack of inclusion of his love life, a feat almost impossible to do for a gay man in 1930's London.

[Muaz Jalil · Rating 3 out of 5]

I was reminded of Noël Coward while watching the latest Downton Abbey movie, so I finally picked up Present Indicative. I went in expecting something closer to Wilde—razor‑sharp maybe even a touch profound. Coward is certainly witty, and the writing is pleasant enough, but the autobiography didn’t quite live up to my hopes.

It’s neither Wilde nor Waugh; instead, it leans toward the self‑absorbed and the superficial. After a while, it began to feel like a string of anecdotes about his shows, with very little deeper reflection or analysis—something I usually look for in a memoir. I’m sure Coward was tremendous fun to be around, but on the page, I was left a bit disappointed.

That said, I also picked up a collection of his plays, and I’m planning to read those over the Xmas break.

[Nicholas Beck · Rating 3 out of 5]

Flashes of brilliance when Noel Coward writes about himself or his travels. Occasionally dull and lacking his famous wit when regaling us with the various travails that beset him and his cast members as he attempts to establish himself in the upper echelons of the New York and London theatre world. Self-deprecation mixed with self-assurance ensure that ego is kept within bounds. In fact he is quite forthright and honest about his bouts of self-doubt and depression even as success rears its welcome head.

[Peter Schutz]

Should probably stop reading autobiographies/biographies. Too professional. Wish there was more about his personal life.

[Carolyn · Rating 4 out of 5]

I rescued this book from the recycle bin at the library sale - I couldn't bear to think of having it discarded. It's not everyone's cup of tea - indeed, there are undoubtedly many younger readers who have sadly never heard of him, but I found it interesting and absorbing. As a Noel Coward fan for as long as I can remember, I enjoyed reading the details of his early life.

[Elizabeth · Rating 5 out of 5]

Noel Coward's early years related in his inimitable voice. A wonderful depiction of the London theater world in the early 20th century.