What do you think?
Rate this book
Byron: The Flawed Angel
Co-winner of the University of British Columbia Medal for Canadian Biography
Notable Book of 1997 -- The New York Times
In the decade before he died, George Gordon, Lord Byron, was possibly the most famous and notorious man in Europe. Over forty years have elapsed since the last full-scale biography of one of the greatest and most entertaining poets of any age; Phyllis Grosskurth offers a long overdue reappraisal that draws on significant new material.
Byron (1788-1824) was an outsider all his life. Afflicted by a club foot, deprived of a father, oppressed and humiliated by chronic debt, he emerged as a figure of powerful contradictions – his indolence alternating with bouts of manic energy, his generosity with his parsimony, his kindness with cruelty, his love of life with periods of profound depression, and, as shown in his last and most lasting poem, “Don Juan,” his romanticism battling with his cynicism.
His personal life was equally complicated. Relationships with his half sister Augusta (whom for many years he regarded as the love of his life), Lady Caroline Lamb, Lady Oxford and others were known, but the scandal that arose after his separation from Annabella Milbanke, his wife of only a year, led him to take flight to Europe. His romantic idealism was fostered during his exile, and brought about his final journey to Greece when that country rose up against its Turkish rulers, and a tragically early and unheroic death.
The Flawed Angel is a wide-ranging, clear-eyed biography. Grosskurth uses the great poems adroitly and accessibly; she draws on the wealth of Byron’s letters and has had access to the Lovelace Papers, which document in detail Byron’s disastrous marriage and its aftermath until his death. The result is a compelling portrait of a flamboyant, complex and extraordinary man.
Notable Book of 1997 -- The New York Times
In the decade before he died, George Gordon, Lord Byron, was possibly the most famous and notorious man in Europe. Over forty years have elapsed since the last full-scale biography of one of the greatest and most entertaining poets of any age; Phyllis Grosskurth offers a long overdue reappraisal that draws on significant new material.
Byron (1788-1824) was an outsider all his life. Afflicted by a club foot, deprived of a father, oppressed and humiliated by chronic debt, he emerged as a figure of powerful contradictions – his indolence alternating with bouts of manic energy, his generosity with his parsimony, his kindness with cruelty, his love of life with periods of profound depression, and, as shown in his last and most lasting poem, “Don Juan,” his romanticism battling with his cynicism.
His personal life was equally complicated. Relationships with his half sister Augusta (whom for many years he regarded as the love of his life), Lady Caroline Lamb, Lady Oxford and others were known, but the scandal that arose after his separation from Annabella Milbanke, his wife of only a year, led him to take flight to Europe. His romantic idealism was fostered during his exile, and brought about his final journey to Greece when that country rose up against its Turkish rulers, and a tragically early and unheroic death.
The Flawed Angel is a wide-ranging, clear-eyed biography. Grosskurth uses the great poems adroitly and accessibly; she draws on the wealth of Byron’s letters and has had access to the Lovelace Papers, which document in detail Byron’s disastrous marriage and its aftermath until his death. The result is a compelling portrait of a flamboyant, complex and extraordinary man.
510 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1997
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
April 15, 2018
Biographers have a difficult task: every story should have a narrative, but our real lives often don't fit a good narrative structure. To what extent should a biographer just report the facts, allowing their book to become a list of 'and then this happened, and then that happened', and to what extent should they allow themselves to judiciously choose which facts are relevant and which are irrelevant? I think Grosskurth has done a good job here, laying out the story of Byron's life truthfully, but without getting too bogged down. When it comes to Byron, this means a lot of cutting out a number of minor love affairs!
Grosskurth's background in psychoanalysis is put to good use here. It's not just a question of what happened, but trying to figure out why it happened that really helps. Byron's behaviour towards women is so often exasperating, but Grosskurth really helped me to understand and empathise by highlighting his difficult relationship with his mother and how so many of his subsequent relationships suffer this repeating desperation to by loved and mothered, twinned with fear of being smothered and controlled. Poor Byron, he only wanted what he couldn't have.
Grosskurth also had access to a great many letters between other people about Byron, and to the letters of his wife: Annabella Milbanke. She does a good job of showing how Annabella's own mindset added to the dreadful failure of their marriage. Poor Annabella really believed that she could save Byron's soul; and when she couldn't she retreated into viewing herself as a martyr and saint.
Funnily enough Augusta comes out of this book better (or worse, depending on your position I suppose). Of all the characters in the messy story of Byron's life, she seems one of the few who was motivated, not by personal projections and neurosis, but genuine uncomplicated love for him (or as Grosskurth puts it: cheerful amorality).
I can almost forgive Byron for his terrible behaviour to Annabella, Augusta, Caroline Lamb, and many of the other women who he loved early in life, even for his general misogyny, because of his difficult early years and wild temper. He was good at heart generally, even though he was inconsiderate and lost control of himself. But his behaviour to Claire Clairmont will always be beyond the pale. He was old enough to know better than to take advantage of a naive teenage groupie when she threw herself at him, and he tortured her over their daughter Allegra out of spite, because he felt that Annabella had tortured him. Not cool.
His behaviour to men, on the other hand, was wonderful and brotherly. Not just the way he threw himself into the cause of Greek freedom (which was in its own way, another excuse to flee from himself), but in his personal relationships. He had many close and devoted friends in his life (if only he could have appreciated them! The man did love to wallow in self-pity), and this must've been partly because of his charm, charisma, and generosity. Even when 10s of 1000s of pounds in debt, he could still stump up 1000s to help a friend out.
This was partly due to the strange and wild time that was the regency (despite the fact that we so often remember it as an Austenesque restrained world of manners). For an aristocrat like Byron, it was unthinkable that he should not live the aristo lifestyle just because he couldn't afford it. Every aristocrat kept-up appearances by borrowing vast sums of money they had no intention or ability to repay, and by bankrupting small traders with unpaid bills. To modern eyes it's shockingly irresponsible and immoral; in the regency it was perfectly normal.
We think of Byron as being wild, irrepressible, romantic, free. It's somewhat dispiriting to know that once he finally overcame his money troubles he turned into an absolute penny-pinching miser; refusing to pay debts that he could easily afford and fretting like an old man over the security of his bonds and whether he ought to sell them and buy mortgages instead.
Likewise, we always think of Byron as a great lover: handsome and seductive. It's miserable to think of him in his 30s in Italy, grown hideously fat and boasting that he'd slept with hundreds of common prostitutes in the semi-private courtyards of Venice.
The image of Byron that has come down to us is just that: an image. A mirage. Partly created by him in his own semi-autobiographical poetry; partly built up by others who wanted to believe in the poetry. But it was, at the end of the day, a sentimental facade. However liberal his politics, it was terribly hypocritical of him to speak in parliament in support of struggling impoverished weavers, at the same time that he was ruthlessly raising rents on his own estate. It's hypocritical to be handing out loans and gifts to your own friends, while the tradesmen who supply you go bankrupt. Although Byron has gone down as a great lover, the reality of many of his relationships with women was nothing more than a brief intense infatuation, followed by months of cruelty, recrimination, and contempt. It's all very sobering.
I'm sure I'm sounding like a sour-faced prude. I certainly have never felt such sympathy for the Victorians. We remember the Victorians in contrast with the Georgians, as being far more prudish, puritan, and up-tight. But I can see why they were. If this was the example set by my parents generation, I might very well take a reactionary swing too!
And finally, his poetry, what we chiefly remember him for. It's very surprising to see confirmed what appears in Byron's letters: that he had no particularly high opinion of poets or poetry and didn't view his poetry as anything to be proud of. Most of his poems in early life were written in great haste, just to get his feelings off his chest! And later, they were a way of maintaining a link and a reputation in England while he lived in exile (even as he maintained that he hated England and English society and didn't care what anyone there thought!). Poor Byron, a self-defeating, self-contradicting fellow right to the very end.
Grosskurth's background in psychoanalysis is put to good use here. It's not just a question of what happened, but trying to figure out why it happened that really helps. Byron's behaviour towards women is so often exasperating, but Grosskurth really helped me to understand and empathise by highlighting his difficult relationship with his mother and how so many of his subsequent relationships suffer this repeating desperation to by loved and mothered, twinned with fear of being smothered and controlled. Poor Byron, he only wanted what he couldn't have.
Grosskurth also had access to a great many letters between other people about Byron, and to the letters of his wife: Annabella Milbanke. She does a good job of showing how Annabella's own mindset added to the dreadful failure of their marriage. Poor Annabella really believed that she could save Byron's soul; and when she couldn't she retreated into viewing herself as a martyr and saint.
Funnily enough Augusta comes out of this book better (or worse, depending on your position I suppose). Of all the characters in the messy story of Byron's life, she seems one of the few who was motivated, not by personal projections and neurosis, but genuine uncomplicated love for him (or as Grosskurth puts it: cheerful amorality).
I can almost forgive Byron for his terrible behaviour to Annabella, Augusta, Caroline Lamb, and many of the other women who he loved early in life, even for his general misogyny, because of his difficult early years and wild temper. He was good at heart generally, even though he was inconsiderate and lost control of himself. But his behaviour to Claire Clairmont will always be beyond the pale. He was old enough to know better than to take advantage of a naive teenage groupie when she threw herself at him, and he tortured her over their daughter Allegra out of spite, because he felt that Annabella had tortured him. Not cool.
His behaviour to men, on the other hand, was wonderful and brotherly. Not just the way he threw himself into the cause of Greek freedom (which was in its own way, another excuse to flee from himself), but in his personal relationships. He had many close and devoted friends in his life (if only he could have appreciated them! The man did love to wallow in self-pity), and this must've been partly because of his charm, charisma, and generosity. Even when 10s of 1000s of pounds in debt, he could still stump up 1000s to help a friend out.
This was partly due to the strange and wild time that was the regency (despite the fact that we so often remember it as an Austenesque restrained world of manners). For an aristocrat like Byron, it was unthinkable that he should not live the aristo lifestyle just because he couldn't afford it. Every aristocrat kept-up appearances by borrowing vast sums of money they had no intention or ability to repay, and by bankrupting small traders with unpaid bills. To modern eyes it's shockingly irresponsible and immoral; in the regency it was perfectly normal.
We think of Byron as being wild, irrepressible, romantic, free. It's somewhat dispiriting to know that once he finally overcame his money troubles he turned into an absolute penny-pinching miser; refusing to pay debts that he could easily afford and fretting like an old man over the security of his bonds and whether he ought to sell them and buy mortgages instead.
Likewise, we always think of Byron as a great lover: handsome and seductive. It's miserable to think of him in his 30s in Italy, grown hideously fat and boasting that he'd slept with hundreds of common prostitutes in the semi-private courtyards of Venice.
The image of Byron that has come down to us is just that: an image. A mirage. Partly created by him in his own semi-autobiographical poetry; partly built up by others who wanted to believe in the poetry. But it was, at the end of the day, a sentimental facade. However liberal his politics, it was terribly hypocritical of him to speak in parliament in support of struggling impoverished weavers, at the same time that he was ruthlessly raising rents on his own estate. It's hypocritical to be handing out loans and gifts to your own friends, while the tradesmen who supply you go bankrupt. Although Byron has gone down as a great lover, the reality of many of his relationships with women was nothing more than a brief intense infatuation, followed by months of cruelty, recrimination, and contempt. It's all very sobering.
I'm sure I'm sounding like a sour-faced prude. I certainly have never felt such sympathy for the Victorians. We remember the Victorians in contrast with the Georgians, as being far more prudish, puritan, and up-tight. But I can see why they were. If this was the example set by my parents generation, I might very well take a reactionary swing too!
And finally, his poetry, what we chiefly remember him for. It's very surprising to see confirmed what appears in Byron's letters: that he had no particularly high opinion of poets or poetry and didn't view his poetry as anything to be proud of. Most of his poems in early life were written in great haste, just to get his feelings off his chest! And later, they were a way of maintaining a link and a reputation in England while he lived in exile (even as he maintained that he hated England and English society and didn't care what anyone there thought!). Poor Byron, a self-defeating, self-contradicting fellow right to the very end.
June 18, 2020
A comprehensive story of the life and times of George Gordon, Lord Byron. The author did a splendid job exploring the poet's life and character and connecting the events and circumstances with the poetry. The myth of Lord Byron, the oringinal Byronic (!) hero, is thoroughly destroyed, and what we have left is Byron a man - selfish, cruel, thoughtless, greedy and egoistical, but at the same time immensely charming, talented, generous and loving. He is not the tragic Corsair looking for redemption, but a vain, lonly, self-conscious young man who seeks acceptance from the fashionable society - fame, not notoriety - while professing to scorn it. The author does not try to explain the whys and whereofs of Byron, she just paints his faithful portrait. And this portrait, sadly, leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Other personages in the poet's life also do not come out smelling of roses. The biographer, for example, cannot quite decide how exactly she feels about Annabella and Augusta, vilifying and supporting them by turns. Claire Clairmont is shown sympathetically, Theresa Guicciolli - like a grasping shrew. All in all, they are who they are - complicated women in their own right.
On the minus side, the work could do with a more thorough editing with regard to date and names (the memoirist Captain R.H. Gronow is cosistently called Count Gronow, John Edleston's name is spelled Edelston, the timeline of death of Edward Long is mixed up). In other respects, this is a solid 4-star work.
Other personages in the poet's life also do not come out smelling of roses. The biographer, for example, cannot quite decide how exactly she feels about Annabella and Augusta, vilifying and supporting them by turns. Claire Clairmont is shown sympathetically, Theresa Guicciolli - like a grasping shrew. All in all, they are who they are - complicated women in their own right.
On the minus side, the work could do with a more thorough editing with regard to date and names (the memoirist Captain R.H. Gronow is cosistently called Count Gronow, John Edleston's name is spelled Edelston, the timeline of death of Edward Long is mixed up). In other respects, this is a solid 4-star work.
October 12, 2014
Byron: The Flawed Angel is a highly enjoyable biography of the most famous English writer of the nineteenth century. Phyllis Grosskurth the author does not particularly like Byron as a writer. Thus what you get is a fascinating story of an incredible personality who would play a major role in European history and who would inspire poets for the next one hundred years to live in a Byronic fashion.
This biography exceeded my expectations. I wanted to know and got the story of how Byron would die a martyr's death fighting for Greek independence from the Ottoman empire and thus shame the British government into finally intervening on the side of the Greeks.
I was similarly curious to know why Byron's personal life was always described with euphemisms and arched eyebrows. Again, Grosskurth delivers the goods.
Grosskurth also captures the personality that awed other writers including Stendhal, Mickiewicz, and D'Annunzio and inspired composers to write works on his themes including Berlioz, Verdi, Liszt, and Tchaikovsky.
All in all this book is great fun if want and highly satisfying if one is not looking for an insightful analysis of Byron's poetic works.
This biography exceeded my expectations. I wanted to know and got the story of how Byron would die a martyr's death fighting for Greek independence from the Ottoman empire and thus shame the British government into finally intervening on the side of the Greeks.
I was similarly curious to know why Byron's personal life was always described with euphemisms and arched eyebrows. Again, Grosskurth delivers the goods.
Grosskurth also captures the personality that awed other writers including Stendhal, Mickiewicz, and D'Annunzio and inspired composers to write works on his themes including Berlioz, Verdi, Liszt, and Tchaikovsky.
All in all this book is great fun if want and highly satisfying if one is not looking for an insightful analysis of Byron's poetic works.
May 1, 2009
A solid, useful biography. A pity books about Byron always leave me a bit jaded about the subject; Byron's more interesting as a cultural figure than as a writer, but so much less interesting as a person than the image of the Byronic hero he self-created and projected would suggest. As Grosskurth suggests, it seems quite likely he was bipolar; his behavior seems symptomatic. None of this is, of course, Grosskurth's fault; she's done an excellent job.
April 13, 2026
This is as much for me, to help sort out and remember the book, as for anyone. If you feel offended, or whatever, just stop reading, for heaven's sake.
The title is apt. This is the third bio of Byron I've read, so I'm pretty well saturated. Grosskurth is probably the warmest and the most matter-of-fact about Byron. Jekyll and Hyde hadn't been written yet, but LB could have been a model. In either state he had considerable charisma, that mysterious element; in the angel state he was utterly irresistible, to men and to women, really, to everyone. In the, I hesitate to call it, devil state, he was terrifying but the inner unhappiness on display was heart-rending to those who loved him. He was, above all, COMPLICATED. Also a genius, make no mistake. Grosskurth doesn't outright condemn anyone--except perhaps his 'friends' who, cowards, burned his memoirs. They could have put them in a bank vault for, say, 200 years and that would have been acceptable. Nothing shocks us now, does it? And it would help to know more about his sexuality, which I suspect was, as with everything else about him, complicated. Everyone wants clarity around someone's sexual identity and leanings, which strikes me as so much nonsense. It's got to be this or that in too many minds, when obviously, it rarely is.
One thing that stands out in all three biographies is that Byron, considering himself a gentleman, states more than once that he only ever has had consentual relations. Anything else would be distasteful to him. Of course, with a prostitute provided there is the monetary transaction the thing has a consentual appearance but I won't quibble. I suspect in his teens he had an encounter (Lord Grey, renting Newstead Abbey) where he was either raped or almost raped and was shocked and furious and was a determining factor in his sexual relations. My feeling is he mostly stuck with women for sex, men for friendship. As such, I'd say Grosskurth, as do the others, come down firmly on the side of a kind of bi-sexuality of intention, active but that Byron, the older he got, worshipped the innocence and beauty of young boys on the cusp of adolescence and turned to women for sex. Were any of the boys willing to do more than be admired? Who knows? Probably? But consent was the crux of the matter. At Harrow apparently everyone buggered everyone (although I doubt they all indulged, but who knows?) and no doubt Byron knew all about the pleasures and problems.
Then the three women with whom he had longer relations: Augusta his half sister, Annabella his wife, and Teresa Guicoli, the Italian countess. LB was likely more comfortable confining intercourse to women as then he did not have to bother with worshipping them or taking them too seriously. Women were truly problematical for him, I think. Kurth provides balanced portraits of all the women. Did he sleep with Augusta? Well, yes, obviously. Not to excuse it, but they had none of the taboos that seem to fall in place for people who grow up together--they met as young adults and both had endured complicated childhoods and loneliness, and recognised something in one another that felt familiar and safe so I can't be surprised. Annabella was another matter. In some ways she might have been a good partner for him, stabilising, it they had let the sexual side go, lived mostly separately and managed to become and remain friends. But, maybe Annabella was too smart and insightful for him? He really had trouble with being too close, too known. All the women he was drawn to were of the 'difficult' variety (Caroline Lamb being the most famous) --not afraid to make demands and scenes--none of which Byron could easily withstand.
Probably the hardest thing for me was his dislike of 'bluestocking' women (ironic given that his daughter, Ada, was possibly the ultra-bluestocking in her time. As a protegée of Babbage, she helped invent the first algorithm-crunching machine, e.g. computer prototype). His take-for-granted/dismissal of Mary Shelley is also hard to endure.
Anyhow Grosskurth doesn't condemn anyone--she has the sense to look at his family and friends within the context of the customs and experiences of those involved and in the constraints on their lives, so not his mother, not Annabella, not Augusta or Teresa, or Hobhouse or Murray are portrayed negatively. Her thought is that he was impossible to live with perhaps, but also impossible not to love.
Moving on -- I think Byron had to categorise people--he also had trouble being close to anyone who was of a lesser social status as himself--and he made that easier to do by eliminating pretty much all women. Anyone you could have sex with? Or had sex with? He didn't think sex and friendship mixed well, perhaps he kept those two modes of relationship fully separate as a bid for some kind of privacy? A need? This is all speculation on my part, reader. Another interesting thing that has occurred to me given my two-year crush previously, on Wellington -- they both relied on very very intelligent, attractive women (whom they had little desire to bed) as confidantes and advisers.
Re writing -- there is something so refreshingly candid, witty, self-aware -- almost always the angel was writing, but an angel with a 'side'. As his work is very autobiographical, it is also interesting as a window into his state of mind. I'm reading/listening to his poetry so more on that as I go.
I am thrilled overall to have encountered Byron!
The title is apt. This is the third bio of Byron I've read, so I'm pretty well saturated. Grosskurth is probably the warmest and the most matter-of-fact about Byron. Jekyll and Hyde hadn't been written yet, but LB could have been a model. In either state he had considerable charisma, that mysterious element; in the angel state he was utterly irresistible, to men and to women, really, to everyone. In the, I hesitate to call it, devil state, he was terrifying but the inner unhappiness on display was heart-rending to those who loved him. He was, above all, COMPLICATED. Also a genius, make no mistake. Grosskurth doesn't outright condemn anyone--except perhaps his 'friends' who, cowards, burned his memoirs. They could have put them in a bank vault for, say, 200 years and that would have been acceptable. Nothing shocks us now, does it? And it would help to know more about his sexuality, which I suspect was, as with everything else about him, complicated. Everyone wants clarity around someone's sexual identity and leanings, which strikes me as so much nonsense. It's got to be this or that in too many minds, when obviously, it rarely is.
One thing that stands out in all three biographies is that Byron, considering himself a gentleman, states more than once that he only ever has had consentual relations. Anything else would be distasteful to him. Of course, with a prostitute provided there is the monetary transaction the thing has a consentual appearance but I won't quibble. I suspect in his teens he had an encounter (Lord Grey, renting Newstead Abbey) where he was either raped or almost raped and was shocked and furious and was a determining factor in his sexual relations. My feeling is he mostly stuck with women for sex, men for friendship. As such, I'd say Grosskurth, as do the others, come down firmly on the side of a kind of bi-sexuality of intention, active but that Byron, the older he got, worshipped the innocence and beauty of young boys on the cusp of adolescence and turned to women for sex. Were any of the boys willing to do more than be admired? Who knows? Probably? But consent was the crux of the matter. At Harrow apparently everyone buggered everyone (although I doubt they all indulged, but who knows?) and no doubt Byron knew all about the pleasures and problems.
Then the three women with whom he had longer relations: Augusta his half sister, Annabella his wife, and Teresa Guicoli, the Italian countess. LB was likely more comfortable confining intercourse to women as then he did not have to bother with worshipping them or taking them too seriously. Women were truly problematical for him, I think. Kurth provides balanced portraits of all the women. Did he sleep with Augusta? Well, yes, obviously. Not to excuse it, but they had none of the taboos that seem to fall in place for people who grow up together--they met as young adults and both had endured complicated childhoods and loneliness, and recognised something in one another that felt familiar and safe so I can't be surprised. Annabella was another matter. In some ways she might have been a good partner for him, stabilising, it they had let the sexual side go, lived mostly separately and managed to become and remain friends. But, maybe Annabella was too smart and insightful for him? He really had trouble with being too close, too known. All the women he was drawn to were of the 'difficult' variety (Caroline Lamb being the most famous) --not afraid to make demands and scenes--none of which Byron could easily withstand.
Probably the hardest thing for me was his dislike of 'bluestocking' women (ironic given that his daughter, Ada, was possibly the ultra-bluestocking in her time. As a protegée of Babbage, she helped invent the first algorithm-crunching machine, e.g. computer prototype). His take-for-granted/dismissal of Mary Shelley is also hard to endure.
Anyhow Grosskurth doesn't condemn anyone--she has the sense to look at his family and friends within the context of the customs and experiences of those involved and in the constraints on their lives, so not his mother, not Annabella, not Augusta or Teresa, or Hobhouse or Murray are portrayed negatively. Her thought is that he was impossible to live with perhaps, but also impossible not to love.
Moving on -- I think Byron had to categorise people--he also had trouble being close to anyone who was of a lesser social status as himself--and he made that easier to do by eliminating pretty much all women. Anyone you could have sex with? Or had sex with? He didn't think sex and friendship mixed well, perhaps he kept those two modes of relationship fully separate as a bid for some kind of privacy? A need? This is all speculation on my part, reader. Another interesting thing that has occurred to me given my two-year crush previously, on Wellington -- they both relied on very very intelligent, attractive women (whom they had little desire to bed) as confidantes and advisers.
Re writing -- there is something so refreshingly candid, witty, self-aware -- almost always the angel was writing, but an angel with a 'side'. As his work is very autobiographical, it is also interesting as a window into his state of mind. I'm reading/listening to his poetry so more on that as I go.
I am thrilled overall to have encountered Byron!
August 10, 2017
Loved reading about this man's life. However, this particular biography is only recommended from me due to its recency. Grosskurth adds an excessive amount of detail to the point of boring me about ever little aspect of Byron's life. The use of poetry and letters is at first helpful to understanding Byron's character but rapidly becomes superfluous. Finally, the author adds her own little one liners throughout the biography. To some, these would be charming, to me irritating. I still say read about this man's incredible life, read his poetry and appreciate the times that he lived. If it must be through this book so be it. It's not terrible by any means.
May 20, 2020
What a character
Read
May 23, 2021The book should have been called Byron: The Total Jerk
December 21, 2023
Wat een treurig, irritant type.
Read
May 4, 2013Biog B996g 1997
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews