This book is a phenomenon.
It seems, at times, less like a biography, and more like an encyclopedia. It will surely be used as a vast resource of information for people who are studying or performing or directing Stoppard’s plays. Or who just want some context to a play. (Early in the book, I was disconcerted by the level of detail – “the day started early, with a six-thirty breakfast, and religious assembly taken by the chaplain. The younger boys had a break in the morning, with milk, and the rest upstairs in the dormitories after lunch. They wore a blue school uniform with a striped tie.” However, while that particular detail seemed – and still seems – inconsequential, by the end of the book I was grateful that so much had been included. At times, I felt no need for the information, but in the sense of the book being an encyclopaedic resource, I was happy to have it for later reference.)
There is a certain benevolence to the work, evident in the fact that Lee has either interviewed, or received reflections from, Stoppard’s children and others who had varying levels of closeness to him, and none of these imply anything uncomfortable or sensational. Part of this may be attributable to the fact that Stoppard is still alive; that he chose Hermione Lee as his biographer and since the interviewees are all likely to encounter Stoppard post-publication, any negative comments would likely be seen as combative. Lee respected his privacy to the extent that she mentions that he noted “he ‘got upset about something’. But that ‘something’ was not anything he would tell his biographer.” This can be seen as leading to a sanitised story of his life. But personally, I am happy to read a biography that does not seek to uncover garish secrets and expose them to the world.
One of the clear conclusions from the work is that Tom Stoppard is a thoroughly likeable, good person. His New York producer, for example, “noted that he knew the name of the backstage doorman and the doorman’s wife, asked them how they were, was never rude, and had no snobbery and no narcissism in him.”
This is not to say he is perfect, but I don’t have any desire to scrutinise his diversions from perfection. In view of his scoresheet of five intimate relationships over his life, he could be viewed as a philanderer; perhaps he is. However, I am not interested in pursuing the question. All too often, I read biographies of writers and find myself dragged to windows on their lives and forced to look at things I have no interest in seeing.
In recent months I have read biographies of Patrick White and James Joyce, both writers whose lives – and whose humanity, to be frank – were severely flawed but whose writings and public utterances implicitly claim a profound insight into the human condition.
By contrast, here is Stoppard, earnest in his attempts to lead a good life and to understand the human condition, and modest.
The vital thing about Tom Stoppard, however, is the fact that he is an outstanding dramatist, and a very clever intellect. Because of that, it is fascinating to watch, in detail, his development as a mind, as a writer and as a person.
The family history and Tom’s (and his brother Peter’s) childhood are not extraordinary for 1930s central Europe but, one way and another, Tom only realised how exotic it all was much, much later, and his primary outlook for a long time was simply to be grateful to have landed in the world he did – a variety of conservatism which seems to have had a profound durability, although it has possibly started to abate in his later years. (It is fascinating that, for many years, the Royal Court Theatre apparently had a policy not to perform his work.)
Stoppard’s life almost suggests that some people do have a pre-ordained destiny awaiting them in the cosmos. Having had a successful schooling in his new country, he decided not to bother with university, but to head straight out into the world. This would be more radical and more difficult these days than it was then. However, it seems to have been a sound decision; one suspects that what he learnt in the journalism world he entered was far more valuable than what he would have encountered in a university. Good fortune provided him with a job on a newspaper in Bristol, a city which was small enough to allow him to make a mark, but wide enough to be inhabited by some interesting characters, and by an energetic theatre scene. His cleverness and skill with words, his surrealist thinking and his playful sense of farce, quickly became apparent; the pre-destiny then started to move into gear as he attended some plays, having previously had no interest in drama. He was smitten by Beckett and Shakespeare, became friends with Peter O’Toole, the first in a remarkably long line of friendships with notable people, and he evolved some personal theories and values in his drama and film reviews. He was lured by the prospect of fame and decided to take the chance of writing full-time. At the age of twenty-three!
This was an era of remarkable creativity and inventiveness in British arts, with John Osborne, Arnold Wesker, Harold Pinter, Sam Beckett, Peter Cook, Alan Bennett, Dudley Moore, Jonathan Miller, David Frost, Barry Humphries and Clive James, Morecombe and Wise, Just a Minute , the Goons. all active and interacting. Not to mention assorted rock artists, directors and actors.
I mentioned earlier that Hermione Lee’s book is comprehensive. It is ordered more or less chronologically around the writing of the plays. For each new play she examines Stoppard’s thinking that led to the work, and his subsequent reading and research (and she distils much of the thinking with great lucidity). She describes its writing, then the process by which it was taken on by a theatre company, and the contracting of production staff and actors. There is description of the early performances with some reference to audience response, and finally a look at critics’ responses. Later significant productions are also described. It has always been important to Stoppard that he have some involvement in the pre-performance development, doing some editing of his text; and he usually carried out further re-writing for later productions, so that scripts rarely remained stable, evolving from one production to the next. This approach by Lee means that Tom Stoppard. A Life offers a compendious multi-dimensional perspective of each work. And each work is shown in relation to Stoppard the man.
In view of the centrality of examination of language in Stoppard, it is not surprising that his biography offers a catalogue of his pithy and witty aphorisms.
• “ Mailer may one day be admired despite his opinions, which is the test of a writer, instead of because of them, which is the test of a propagandist.”
• Death is “the absence of presence, nothing more.”
• “When I’m talking about my own work to somebody, my relationship with them is rather like that of a duped smuggler confronted with a customs officer. I truthfully declare that I am indeed responsible for this piece about two specific individuals in a particular situation. Then he starts ransacking my luggage and comes up with all manner of exotic contraband like truth and illusion, the nature of identity, what I feel about life and death – and I have to admit the stuff is there but I can’t for the life of me remember packing it.”
• “I’m not impressed by art because it’s political, I believe in art being good art or bad art, not relevant art or irrelevant art.”
• “The important truths are simple and monolithic. The essentials of a given situation speak for themselves, and language is as capable of obscuring the truth as of revealing it.”
• “Skill without imagination is craftsmanship and gives us many useful objects such as wickerwork picnic baskets. Imagination without skill gives us modern art.”
• “I’m not trying to make the plays difficult, God help me. Nobody could think that one would just be mischievous or perverse and try to make life hard for the audience.”
A quintessential feature of Tom Stoppard is his abiding sense of his family’s extraordinary good fortune in having escaped Nazi Europe, and then subsequently, having escaped Singapore just before the Japanese took it. Tom Stoppard was born Tomás Sträussler, in what is now the Czech Republic, with lapsed Jewish heritage. His father died trying to escape from the Japanese, his mother took the boys to India where they established yet another life. She met an English serviceman, Major Ken Stoppard, and they married and travelled to England where the young boys had their surname formally changed to Stoppard. Tomás, now Tom, became enamoured of all things English, especially its 1950s values. Their mother sought to smooth their new life, leaving behind all the complexities of Czechoslovakia. This was as Ken Stoppard also wanted. It happened much later that Tom pursued the details of his family background, and as he did so, his personal image and politics were both adjusted. Tom and his brother later described the step-father as a “bitter, disappointed man, bigoted, xenophobic and anti-Semitic.” Lee explains the man’s opinion “that five years in the army ought to have earned him a better life, and becoming increasingly curmudgeonly. His prejudices – against foreigners, non-whites, Jews, Irish, Yanks, homosexuals, the urban working class and ‘arty’ types – got more and more entrenched.” Yet Tom seems to have experienced remarkably little resentment or hostility.
This is even more remarkable given that shortly after Tom and Peter’s mother died in her eighties when Tom was almost sixty, Ken Stoppard told Tom, both face to face and in a letter, that he should stop using the Stoppard name. This pathetic, cruel late gesture is explained as being because of the determinedly English Ken’s resentment of his stepson’s fame and public attachment to Jewish causes and to European culture.
Tom’s innate good sense and unschooled critical acumen, independently developed in the real world and outside the academy, are apparent in an early comment on a Becket production he saw: “‘It’s so awful you have to laugh. When I saw it, hardly anyone did – they had come for punishment, as a misguided tribute to Becket. He would not thank them for it.‘”
When he started writing plays, his primary focus was on language and entertainment, not on social issues, rather putting him out of step with arts movements of the sixties. This did not mean that his plays were lightweight or superficial: far from it. As Lee explains,
In what became a lifelong habit, he grafted onto a dramatic event a hard problem in philosophy, history or science: language games, particle physics, chaos theory, consciousness, unlikely subjects for theatrical entertainment. It became one of his hallmarks.” And “the essential link between all this work was language: its use, its censorship, its distortion, its relation to truth.
Stoppard was and remained instinctively conservative, still persuaded by the values of his haven, 1950s England. And his awareness of the horrors of the land his life could have been lived in, gave him a dislike of the far left, both domestically and internationally. Then, the Soviets invaded Czechoslovakia, which horrified Stoppard, although not so that he became a strong activist. His personal commitment began after he investigated the punishment of a group of Russians who protested about the invasion. This was followed by a visit to the USSR and secret meetings with dissidents, and by writings on totalitarianism. However, his focus then also adjusted to include Czechoslovakia, with familiar comparisons: “Václav Havel, a playwright whose mother didn’t marry into British democracy, has been charged with high treason.” Then The New York Review of Books sent him to Prague. “He learned about the weird upside-down world’ ‘where you can find boilers stoked by economists, streets swept by men reading Henry James in English… and third-rate time-servers are chauffeured around in black, bulbous, chrome-trimmed Tatra 603s straight out of a Fifties’ spy film’. And he met and engaged with Havel. “Havel seemed to him like an alter ego, the person he would have liked to have been if he hadn’t been lucky enough to be an Englishman.” Out of these encounters, and the cogitations attached to them, came Professional Foul , surely one of Stoppard’s very finest plays, with its moral and political searchings, but still with its word-play skipping about reality and logic.
Hermione Lee’s biography is a superb work. For the reader who has known of Stoppard and wants to know him, this is the vehicle to lead to him; for someone who knows the plays, and wants to know how one came to be written, and then how it travelled from there, and how it was received, or who has often wondered about a particular passage, this is the filing cabinet, and it is the magnifying glass that have been needed. The book comprises 865 pages of the biography, 2 of a chronology of the works, 5 of a bibliography, 2 of acknowledgements, 70 of notes, and 30 for the index. And 24 pages of photographs.
Lee writes, in the last chapter,
“You try to bring the person to life as fully as you can on your page, your stage of written words. But in the end, this person, Tom Stoppard, will vanish into the darkness, and all those things that made this person who he was will vanish with him. He will live on in his work: you will find him there, as he has always wanted you to. Once he vanishes, he becomes his admirers. His life turns into the work he has left behind, and into other people’s stories, legends, anecdotes and versions of him – of which this book is one. What I have tried to capture will only ever be one aspect of him. The relation of the written to the lived life can only be partial.
It is unsurprising that she is so thoughtful about her task; it is surprising that she has been so unintrusive.
This is a wonderful book.