Author, Author

by David Lodge

"A cunning, audacious portait of Henry James."--The Boston Globe

Henry James takes center stage in this brilliant story about literary ambition, creativity, and rivalry as revealed in the public career and private life of this most singular writer. Framed by a moving and dramatic account of his last illness, Author opens in the early 1880s, describing James's close friendship with an illustrator named George du Maurier and his intimate but problematic relationship with fellow American novelist Constance Fenimore Woolson. At the end of the decade, Henry, worried by the failure of his books to sell, resolves to achieve fame and fortune as a playwright, while du Maurier diversifies into writing novels. The consequences that ensue mingle comedy, irony, pathos, and suspense. As Du Maurier's novel Trilby becomes the bestseller of the century, Henry anxiously awaits the opening night of his make-or-break play, Guy Domville. This event, on January 5, 1895, and its complex sequel form the climax to Lodge's absorbing novel.

Genres: Fiction, Historical Fiction, Novels, British Literature, Historical, Contemporary, Audiobook

400 pages, Paperback

First published September 2, 2004

About the author

David John Lodge was an English author and critic. A literature professor at the University of Birmingham until 1987, some of his novels satirise academic life, notably the "Campus Trilogy" – Changing Places: A Tale of Two Campuses (1975), Small World: An Academic Romance (1984) and Nice Work (1988). The second two were shortlisted for the Booker Prize. Another theme is Roman Catholicism, beginning from his first published novel The Picturegoers (1960). Lodge also wrote television screenplays and three stage plays. After retiring, he continued to publish literary criticism. His edition of Twentieth Century Literary Criticism (1972) includes essays on 20th-century writers such as T.S. Eliot. In 1992, he published The Art of Fiction, a collection of essays on literary techniques with illustrative examples from great authors, such as Point of View (Henry James), The Stream of Consciousness (Virginia Woolf) and Interior Monologue (James Joyce), beginning with Beginning and ending with Ending.

Reviews

[Tuti · Rating 5 out of 5]

fantastic! this is the second time i‘ve read this book, with 15 years in between - and it only got better. wonderfully engaging, it tells the story of henry james’ mid-career go at being a playwright, culminating with a disastrous first night experience of his play „guy domville“ at the st. james theatre in london, on january 5th, 1895. this day - every single one of is „tremolous“ hours, is marvellously and painfully reconstructed by david lodge (with own first-hand knowledge of what it feels like to be a theatre author). in vivid detail, we live through these hours with henry james - and even knowing the outcome does not make reliving it easier or less interesting.
the other excellently carved focus of the book is the relationship with george du maurier, his artist friend who, at the same time as „guy domville“ turns out to be a failure, will unexpectadly have a major success with his novel « trilby ».
the writing is perfect, and the lines of these events extend up to the last day of henry james’ life - and well betond that - offering us not only a comprehensive and humane portait of an author - but also a wise and deep exploration of what it means to be human. i couldn’t recommend it more!

[Shane · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book on the life of Henry James is a good foil to Lodge's other biographical novel on H.G.Wells's life "A Man of Parts." Both are structurally similar: begining at the end of each writer's life, then threading through backstory to pivotal events, and ultimately showing the writers fall into irrelevance during the remainder of their lives. The difference here is that while Wells enjoyed immediate literary success and abused his windfall with his many sexual peccadillos, James remained sexually chaste and struggled for validation throughout his life, with success only coming posthumously.

The book hinges on the relationship between James and his friend George du Maurier. The latter, a painter, turned Punch cartoonist turned novelist is successful at everything he turns his hand to, his novel, Trilby, becoming a publishing sensation at the turn of the last century. At the same time, James is trying his hand at playwriting and the London debut of his play, Guy Domville, culminates in a booing from the gallery when the author is brought on stage for a bow at curtain call, an event that mars James's psyche forever. The contrast between James and du Maurier is striking: James is of robust health, the celibate bachelor, intellectual, respected but a low grossing author, and du Maurier is a sickly family man, shallow and insular in his worldview, who finally took his fame and fortune for an inconvenience.

The writing process in James's day is laid bare, and we are lucky to have computers and the Internet today. I chuckled when I read how the author would handwrite, mail the pages to a stenographer who would type them and mail back; the author would then make corrections and mail back, sometimes even sending corrections via telegram when deadlines were tight.

Advertizing worked even then: Rider-Haggard sold 30,000 copies of his book with glitzy commercials while poor James managed 850 copies of one of his better known books, and did not even earn back his advances in many cases. James was a man out of step with his time; his morally fastidious heroes,decorous language, and themes of self-sacrifice and renunciations did not match the tastes of the public who was looking for sentimental comedy and farce (hence the popularity of Oscar Wilde at the time).James puts it down to the spread and thinning of literacy, the levelling effect of democracy, the rampant energy of capitalism, and the distortion of values by journalism and advertizing. If he were alive today, he would be happy to note that those observations are still valid.

The narative style reads like a James novel, elaborate and detailed and does not contain a lot of drama other than on the opening night of Guy Domville, and yet to a writer, James's life is a beacon. His angst is a consolation to us plebes, and his observations on the art of writing are profound: "A second chance - that's the delusion. There never was to be but one. We work in the dark - we do what we can - we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art."

Lodge concludes that James had to believe in an afterlife to have made any sense of his mortal endeavours, that he is among the heavens now watching us reading his work all over the world - an essential text in many universities and colleges - noting that much of his work has been translated to the cinema, and that throughout the world we still continue to discuss his complex literary style

[Gerry · Rating 5 out of 5]

A superb factional account of Henry James' life in England. Brilliantly constructed to begin towards the end of his life, reflecting in the middle his years attempting to become a playwright, and returning at the conclusion to the end of his life and subsequent death.

The book brings to life many of the great literary and artistic people of the day who James mixed with. There is George du Maurier, George Bernard Shaw, a young Arnold Bennett and a young Herbert, H G, Wells and even a glimpse of Oscar Wilde, who James did not take to at all.

The story revolves around James' desire to become a dramatist after his novels had fallen somewhat into the unread category. His trials and tribulations in that direction are heart-rendering and he became more frustrated with his failures when his best friend du Maurier suddenly found fame and fortune with his novel Trilby. But James was stoical and congratulated his friend, even though he seethed underneath!

Beautifully written by a literary expert, it is a book that draws the reader into Victorian and Edwardian London and its environs and the literary and artistic life of the times and one which, when finished, leaves a void in one's reading life. Still, I suppose, it can always be read again and it would be just as good second time around.

[Bob · Rating 4 out of 5]

Despite my admiration for David Lodge, there were points in this longish book where I wondered if should have dedicated 400 pages of reading time to an unread Henry James novel, rather than a somewhat fictionalized biography. On the plus side, I knew nothing about James' unsuccessful theatrical ambitions, and I also did a bit of ancillary reading on his close friends the Du Maurier family, and at some point, I am likely to follow up on Constance Fenimore Woolson, perhaps via Emma Tennant's Felony; hence the daunting but pleasurable feeling that a piece of reading has inspired the need for quite a bit more reading that one previously wasn't aware of!
Just a few of the Du Maurier family highlights, you may know: George Du Maurier was principally an illustrator for the English satirical magazine Punch but also gave us the character of Svengali in his novel Trilby, his daughter Sylvia's children were the inspiration for Peter Pan and his granddaughter Daphne's writing was the basis for several Hitchcock films.

[Jeremy · Rating 3 out of 5]

I love David Lodge. Small World, Changing Places--works of genius. Anyone who has ever darkened the doors of academia should read them.

So, while traveling abroad, I was looking for airplane reading and saw Author, Author. It's a newer David Lodge, and had the appeal of being a novel about Henry James, a literary titan whose work is entirely unknown to me.

But this is a very different Lodge than the one I had known. Gone are the cynical reflections on modern life and its romantic, cultural, intellectual, and sexual absurdities. Gone, in large degree, is the wordplay that made his prose such a joy.

In their place there are alternative rewards, to be sure. One really gets to know, or has the illusion of knowing, the character of Henry James. In writing about a man who was almost singularly without romantic attachment or sexual passion, Lodge faced a challenge, and he more than met it. We root endlessly for James to succeed as a playwright and as a novelist, and we writhe with anguish as he fails and fails again. The book is also an extraordinary work of historical fiction--it places itself in late Victorian Britain with assuredness that never wavers for an instant. You leave the book feeling that you took a course in Henry James and the life of letters in that milieu. As a side benefit, you get brief portraits of William James, Maupassant, Kipling, H.G. Wells, GB Shaw, and other literary figures who pop in and out of the narrative.

What is truly lacking is a compelling throughline to the narrative. Lodge's other books are plotted with such care that they build to a comic climax with ease, where you care about the resolution even as you marvel at its complexity. Here, that is lacking. And the greatest flaw is the inartful ending, in which you get James' meditation on immortality word for word, with the author injecting his modern sensibility in his own voice in an epilogue on sources.

This is a book by an English professor, and while many of Lodge's other books showed a knowledge of the profession that was keen and biting, this one is similar to taking a class in Henry James with David Lodge. That's great, for what it is, and I benefited. But it was not as enjoyable as the typical Lodge...

[Stela · Rating 4 out of 5]

I always found the biographies (romanticized or not), memoirs, diaries quite fascinating. To see authors become characters but also to see an era revived with its artists that (often) struggle and (sometimes) succeed it's a tribute to our (righteous?) curiosity. But it's also an invasion of their so human weaknesses not always justified by the controversial theory that the person behind the oeuvre can make the oeuvre better understood.
However, Author, author was more to me than a biography. Even if I hadn't read any of Henry James' books, I would have enjoyed it for the finesse of the main character building, his elegance and discretion comparable to his own characters.
Of course, I learnt quite a few things about the literary life of the period I knew nothing about: that HJ's best friend was Daphne du Maurier's grandfather, Kiki for his friends, who enjoyed a mondial glory refused to Henry James with the novel Trilby (that I never read and I probably never will); that he also befriended Edith Wharton and Fenimore Cooper's daughter; and of course, that his unfulfilled ambition was to become a great playwright.
The book is round: it begins and ends with the glimpse of the last days of Henry James, and the final pages include the author's respectful praises. The final words, "Henry, take a bow", add another signification to the title: after describing how many times James waited in vain for the success of his work to be recognized by the public crying Author! Author! in the end of a play. the final words show, once again, that masterpieces resist time and fashion and public taste even if oh so often a genius is not understood in his own time.
So, Henry, take a bow.

[diario_de_um_leitor_pjv · Rating 4 out of 5]

[COMENTÁRIO]
⭐⭐⭐⭐
“Autor, Autor”
David Lodge
Tradução de Ana Maria Chaves

Integrado num percurso pessoal de leitura, e releitura, da obra de Henry James este romance biográfico escrito por David Lodge foi uma simpática companhia, pois estando centrado num momento em particular da vida de James nos mostra a tensa e complexa personalidade deste.

(continua aqui)
https://www.instagram.com/p/C2-cnedsh...


[Li de 27/01/2024 a 03/02/2024]

[Colin · Rating 5 out of 5]

David Lodge is one of our most prolific and completely enjoyable comic novelists. His satires of campus life, Catholic faith and personal experience have been dependably entertaining and thought-provoking over a long career. His last two novels though have taken a different turn: sympathetic and expansive fictionalised biographies of two great characters of English letters, H. G. Wells (A Man of Parts) and this novel, a touching account of the latter part of Henry James’s career in England, and particularly his friendship with George Du Maurier, the Punch cartoonist and author of the literary sensation of 1894, Trilby.
Although James has always been a literary blind spot for me, his sentences so long, convoluted and multi-claused that I’ve often forgotten their beginning by the time I reach their end, Lodge does a great job in Author, Author of demonstrating just why he deserves his place in the pantheon as a literary great and an early outrunner of modernism. This is a rich, complex and leisurely-paced novel that digs deep into James’s many relationships with family, fellow writers, household staff and the literary establishment. The story hinges on his disastrous attempts to make a name for himself as a writer of plays for the lucrative late-Victorian West End stage, a reaction to (among other things) the flagging sales of his novels. The sacrifices required of his art to meet the highly commercial demands of the theatre nearly break him, and culminate in the appalling opening night of his play Guy Domville, an experience that marks him for the rest of his life.

[John · Rating 5 out of 5]

Was concerned for the first 50 pages or so that I wasn't going to enjoy this but David Lodge, as ever, came good. It became an absorbing account of Henry James' dealings with the world of the theatre and it's interesting to see how little change has actually taken place in many respects. Also made me think I really ought to go back and revisit him as a novelist. Having been put off by studying "Portrait Of A Lady" at the tender age of 17 he's someone I've tended to avoid. This novel, however, left me wishing I knew more. Might also be fun to have a go at Du Maurier's "Trilby" which also features heavily and allowed Lodge to take some significant swipes at the modern obsession with media and product endorsement/franchising. So not an obvious winner but in the end a thoroughly riveting read

[Richard Pierce · Rating 4 out of 5]

A sort of biography written as a novel, this is a really interesting piece. The writing style is quite dense, as if to emulate James. At its heart, it's about more than one author, though; it's a meditation on the demons all writers face, on the writer's fear of failure, on how difficult it is for writers to manage friendships with other writers and not feel envious of those perceived to be more successful. It's also a reflection on how writers create their own immortality.

[The Frahorus · Rating 3 out of 5]

Lodge ci romanza, su fatti storici, la vita del grandissimo scrittore inglese Henry James, del quale fino ad oggi ho solo letto "Giro di vite" ma celebre per "Ritratto di Signora". Davvero un'ottima e alta lettura, Lodge riesce a farti immedesimare nella faticosa vita di uno scrittore consapevole di essere ai massimi livelli ma che non riesce, in vita, a diventare celebre come si augurava (e aggiungerei si meritava), infatti venne riscoperto solo alcuni decenni dopo, e rimane fino ad oggi uno dei più grandi scrittori inglesi. Non vedo l'ora di leggere tutte le altre sue opere, e voi?

[Pablo]

En la nota final, el autor cuenta sorprendido como, al entregar el manuscrito, descubrió que Colm Toibin había escrito una novela sobre Henry James también. Hay muchas cosas en común en ambas obras: se presta atención a su sexualidad, a si sintió o no amor, y se le presenta también al final de su vida.

Si estas comparaciones suenan generales, es deliberado ya que, en todo lo demás, no podían resultar más distintas. The master es una novela de fantasmas deliberadamente tensa con la importancia literaria de James y que busca una forma de representar el océano de su conciencia. En cambio, El autor, el autor no tiene demasiados problemas con adaptarse a lo que podemos llamar un cierto pastiche del estilo de James, que a mi juicio no le resulta fácil, ni natural, a David Lodge, puesto que el mejor escritor jamesiano en lengua inglesa es Alan Hollinghurst, por su quiebro, humor y finura, y Lodge está más cómodo, en cambio, con el humor situacional, la cultura, la situación o la acumulación de peripecias, características que al menos en esta novela insinúan a un par que viene del gran Charles Dickens.

La obra empieza con un James moribundo y se va justo en el momento en que el maestro se encargaría de escribir, y representar desastrosamente después, su Guy Domville, el fracaso teatral que le haría volver con una energía y un estilo tardíos, tan injustamente criticados, distinta a la escritura de novelas.

Lodge no me parece, ya digo, un escritor particularmente jamesiano, pero hace un montón de cosas divertidas y briosas aquí. La primera es que trata de algo que rara vez se representa cuando se escribe sobre artistas, y no digamos ya sobre vidas ajenas, que es el poder motor de la envidia. El relato es la historia de dos amigos, James y George Du Maurier, el segundo ahora olvidado, pero entonces, y en las fechas en las que transcurre la historia aún más, el autor del exitazo de novela y después de los escenarios, Trillby.

También es la historia de ese desastre. Y Lodge, a partir de la tercera parte, de las cuatro que componen el libro, es cuando se permite ser más atrevido, con un capítulo, escrito claramente aparte de este proyecto, donde solamente se propone narrar el fracaso, en tiempo real, de la primera función, la célebre y ya desastrosa noche del estreno, de Guy Domville jugando con la perspectiva, el extrañamiento y el consenso. Es una escena virtuosa, como siempre deudora del genio de Toltsói y la visita de Anna a la ópera hacia el final de Anna Karenina, pero aquí tiene un sentido distinto, disonante, puesto que el resto de la obra, escrita en estilo indirecto libre, no se ha movido demasiado de James, con la excepción del prólogo inicial donde son los trabajadores o "la casa" del James enfermo quienes "narran y sienten" esa parte.

El final de la obra se permite otro desvelo más, rompiendo con lo sabido y documentado, no sin antes pasar por un episodio encantadoramente inventado, en el que James coincide en su casa con la niña Agatha Christie (que ambos vivieron en la misma casa es un hecho, pero que lo hicieran a la vez no sucedió).

Esta novela menor ofrece al lector una buena comedia, un gusto muy divertido por los detalles y esconde una revelación muy triste, quizás paradójica, y es que de James no aprendemos nada necesariamente nuevo sino que son Constance Fenimore Cooper (cuyo suicidio es el episodio más flojo de la obra, seguramente porque Toibin lo trató de un modo profundo y delicado en su obra) y George Du Maurier, cuya imagen final, del al autor divorciado de ese éxito que le da toda clase de riqueza, bienes y prestigio en vida deviene olvido para el pronto entendimiento del atemorizado James. Son los grandes personajes de esta novela, que me ha dado descanso en días difíciles y más de una sonrisa.

[Sam Dupont · Rating 4 out of 5]

Il existe de nombreuses raisons d’écrire ou de lire une biographie. La plus courante étant la fascination de la personne que l’on y fait vivre (même si cette personne est soi-même dans le cas de l’écriture d’une autobiographie). Tout dépend de ce que l’on espère y trouver, des anecdotes sur un personnage aimé ou détesté, des informations sur son auteur ou encore un petit reflet de soi.

Il est cependant plus rare de lire la biographie d’un individu dont on ignore tout.

C’est pourtant ce que j’ai fait en lisant « L’auteur ! L’auteur », la biographie de Henry James.

Si je me suis aujourd’hui offert « Le tour d’écrou », un des romans majeurs du maîtres, je dois confesser que je n’ai jamais lu une seule ligne de son œuvre, n’avait jamais entendu parler de ses tentatives en tant que dramaturge et qu’au mieux son nom me semblait familier.

Alors pourquoi lire sa biographie ?

Pour son auteur, bien sur !

Si David Lodge décidait demain d’écrire un livre sur la culture de la betterave, il est fort a parier que je me plongerais immédiatement dans sa lecture (ou alors que je conserverais précieusement cet ouvrage pour un moment de creux où un livre de grande qualité est requis).

David Lodge est un des auteurs majeurs de notre époque, qui ne cesse de surprendre par ses pirouettes narratives, ses changements incessants de styles et son humour, sa maîtrise du nonsense qui en font un des auteurs les plus honnêtes que j’ai jamais lu (si ce n’est pas déjà fait, lisez n’importe lequel de ses romans, par exemple « Nouvelles du paradis » ou « Changement de décors »).

Avec « L’auteur ! L’auteur ! », il se lance dans la tâche délicate de raconter une vie bien réelle en choisissant la prose, présenter une réalité sous une forme romanesque (surtout en sachant avec quel mépris Henry James considérait les biographes, détruisant une part substantielle de sa correspondance pour éviter que l’on puisse plus tard récupérer sa vie : « Je déteste penser que des gens pourraient les lire quand nous serons mort. (…) les publier, et en tirer de l’argent. Il en va ainsi à cette époque affreuse, américanisée qui est la nôtre. Il n’y a plus d’intimité qui tienne, plus de décence. Journalistes, biographes… Ce sont des parasites. »).

Malgré un début déroutant, il réussit à embarquer le lecteur dans un voyage fascinant dans la vie d’un homme en quête d’absolu et ne récoltant au mieux qu’une reconnaissance tardive (parsemée de déception et d’une humiliation particulièrement cuisante).

Mais comme souvent dans les lectures, on se perd en chemin et dans cette biographie de Henry James, c’est un autre personnage qui m’a fait un clin d’œil, une icône du nonsense : George du Maurier.

George du Maurier, « Kiki » pour sa famille et ses amis, a été un des maîtres à penser de cet âge d’or du nonsense qu’a été le 19e siècle de l’Angleterre victorienne. Il était un des meilleurs amis de Henry James et là où James était en quête de gloire, du Maurier n’était qu’un artiste humble, plein d’humour et créatif. Si aujourd’hui le nom de James éclipse largement celui de du Maurier pratiquement tombé dans l’oubli, ce n’est pas sans une certaine ironique que de leur vivant, du Maurier connaîtra la gloire convoitée par son ami Henry et ce, presque par accident.

Né à Paris en 1834, c’est à Londres que du Maurier se fera un nom. Il se lance d’abord dans la peinture mais la perte d’un de ses yeux lui fermera à jamais la possibilité de devenir un peintre digne de ce nom. Il laissera derrière lui la vie de bohème parisienne pour devenir caricaturiste à Londres, succédant au célèbre John Leech dans le journal Punch.

Toute sa vie sera guidée par la crainte de perdre son deuxième œil et avec lui la capacité de s’exprimer à travers son art. Mais c’est sous la casquette de romancier qu’il deviendra probablement l’auteur le plus vendu et le plus lu de toute son époque (causant des sentiments contradictoires chez son ami Henry James).

Son premier roman, « Peter Ibbetson », n’a connu qu’un succès limité, mais son second livre « Trilby » dont il fit également toutes les illustrations, connaîtra un succès mondial marquant le début de cette récupération dysneyenne qui est devenu la règle aujourd’hui : des adaptations au théâtre mais aussi des chaussures, des glaces, des chapeaux, des balayettes et même des saucisses se verront étiquetées « Trilby ».

« Trilby » est l’histoire d’une jeune fille, devenue modèle nu pour les artistes, et qu’un hypnotiseur réussi à faire chanter comme un ange (alors qu’elle est dépourvue de tout talent en son absence). L’origine de son succès est quelque peu obscure et jamais du Maurier n’arrivera à renouveller son exploit. Il mourra en 1896, juste après avoir mis le point final à un second roman illustré « La martienne » qui ne connaîtra que bien peu de succès et se verra railler par les critiques.

Du maurier vivra mal sa renommée, étant le premier étonné du succès (et un peu énervé aussi puisque si le livre lui assurera une confortable fortune, ce ne sera qu’une goutte d’eau par rapport à ce qu’il aurait pu gagner s’il n’avait d’abord cédé ses droits pour 2000 livres.)

Si aujourd’hui du Maurier a laissé son empreinte dans l’inconscient collectif anglais (tout le monde sait ce qu’est un chapeau « Trilby », ce qu’est un « Svengali » du nom de l’hypnotiseur du roman ou encore l’expression « full monty » pour désigner un nu intégral), peu peuvent en retracer l’origine et son auteur. Il garde cependant une place de choix dans l’histoire du nonsense, grâce à ses illustrations et limericks.
Un petit exemple de ses « vers nonsensiques à l’usage des familles anglaises » publiés en français dans le magasine Punch en 1877 :
« Il naquit près de Choisy-le-Roi ; Le latin lui causait de l’éffrois ; Et les mathématiques ; Lui donnaient des coliques, Et le grec l’enrhumait. Ce fut moi. »

« Il était un gendarme à Nanteuil, Qui n’avait qu’une dent et qu’un œil ; Mais cet œil solitaire ; Etait plein de mystère ; Cette dent, d’importance et d’orgueil. »

Un auteur á découvrir en filigrane dans la biographie de Lodge ou au milieu de ses pairs dans « Les dingues du nonsense » de Robert Benayoun.

[Richard Smith · Rating 3 out of 5]

"This is a cheat in that I haven't just read this book, rather I read it years ago and have just remembered that I've read it. I thought that I would read it this time because I've much enjoyed "Therapy" by David Lodge, which I've just finished reading, and because "Author, Author" is about enry James, an author who interests me.

When I read a day or two ago about "Author, Author" I read that it had been eclipsed by being published at the same time as another book about Henry James, Colm Toibin's "The Master," a book I greatly enjoyed and thought the best of Toibin's novels until I read "The Magician," which stands along side it.

As I thought about "Author, Author," it slowly dawned on me that I had read it. I remembered that James's relationship with George Du Maurier featured prominently in the book; and I remembered how Du Maurier's novel "Trilby" sold far more copies that any of James's books at a time when James's play was a flop.

This all makes me think of Pierre Bayard's excellent and philosophical book "How to talk about books you haven't read." In the book Bayard describes different levels of interaction with books you have read--from vivid memories through to completely forgetting that you have ever read the book. The latter category is, I suspect, much commoner than the first.

https://richardswsmith.wordpress.com/...

[Pietro Puzzuoli · Rating 4 out of 5]

A well researched, enjoyable and illuminating, perambulation along the authorial-social life of Henry James, in a thoroughly Jamesian style.
The readers may find themselves, at times, longing and looking for, immediate satisfaction and adrenaline, found in other genres, and perhaps reeling, from the amount of commas and hyphens, but will soon discover their hearts and minds yearning to stay - forever- in Lodge's retelling of the trials, successes and near-successes, friendships and discussions, found in the story of James's consciousness.
Adieu!

[Iza B. Aziz · Rating 5 out of 5]

Saya menulis resensi ini sejurus tamat membaca Author, Author. Nama Henry James tidak pernah saya ketahui, apatah lagi karya-karyanya. Namun dengan ilusi yang ditampilkan oleh David Logde membuatkan saya terpukau dengan jatuh-bangun Henry dalam dunia penulisan kreatif.

Henry James bergelut untuk mencapai pengiktaran dan populariti sebagai seorang penulis novel. Kemudian mencabar diri untuk bersaing mencipta nama sebagai pengarang drama. Ternyata, dalam huru-hara emosi, angan-angan dan keazaman. Hasilnya mengigit Henry, sehingga merosakkan sebahagian maruahnya.
_____________________
Dalam pada masa yang sama, persahabatan Henry bersama Du Maurier dan Fenimore sangat dekat dihati saya. Ia sebuah hubungan realis dan jujur...saya kagum saat Henry merasa cemburu dengan kejayaan sahabatnya. Ia bukan perkara yang buruk, ia mampu ditukar menjadi kesedaran kita sebagai manusia yang tidak sempurna.

Meskipun jarak tahun 1880 terasa jauh. Menariknya hal-hal perubahan citarasa pembaca, gosip peribadi penulis dan sisi gelap perniagaan buku seperti hari semalam sahaja. Saya amat syorkan novel ini kepada peminat Henry James atau tokoh-tokoh pengarang sezamannya. Malah, kepada mereka yang bercita-cita untuk menjadi seorang penulis, cuba bayangkan menjadi Henry James sekejap.

Jeritan author, author ada risikonya. Take a bow or take a leave.
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[Andreea · Rating 2 out of 5]

I'm so gutted. Henry James is one of the writers closest to my heart so I was very excited about this book. He's not necessarily a writer I've read extensively - because I haven't, of his 23 novels and almost 150 short stories and novellas, I've read maybe half a douzen books- but for many other reasons. He wrote beautiful, sometimes melancholic, other times insanely clever books, he both experienced and wrote at length about living abroad and being an immigrant in England (which, being put in a similar situation, I appreciate), he was loved by some writers who are also extremely close to my heart (such as James Baldwin) and he was a very lonely man (although he was friends with 'anybody who was anybody'). He claimed to be 'a committed bachelor' all his life - he didn't have any publicly recognized committed relationships or children and it was (and still is by some) believed he was a virgin. Whether that's true or not, I can't help feeling a wave of tenderness towards somebody who either was that lonely or was forced to hide a huge part of his life because acting otherwise would endanger his life. After all, these were the years of the Oscar Wilde trials and HJ watch both the trials and Wilde's decline unfold. I don't think we can say, without any shadow of a doubt, that Henry James was gay (any more, for that matter, than we can say that he was not), but for somebody living in those times, it's certainly a possibility (which becomes more plausible when you read the more than vaguely erotic letters HJ wrote to young men).

David Lodge decides to write the bibliography of a straight (not completely asexual, he's shown being in love with the author Constance Fenimore Woolson) Henry James. And that's fine, as I've said before, since there's no definitive proof of either theories, neither is more true than the other. What is, however, unfortunate is the distinct lack of sympathy David Lodge shows towards a potential Henry James who was not as straight as both Lodge and the Victorian public would have liked him to be. This possibility is constantly ridiculed while poor HJ is constantly portrayed as a committed homophobe who is morally appalled by homosexuality - that alone is enough to make me want to punch a wall, but the bomb comes in the last 10 or so pages of the book. The narrative voice suddenly changes and Lodge muses as he describes HJ's last moments:

It's tempting therefore to indulge in a fantasy of somehow time-travelling back to that afternoon of late February 1916, creeping into the master bedroom of Flat 21, Carlyle Mansions, casting a spell on the little group of weary watchers at the bedside, pulling up a chair oneself, and saying a few reassuring words to HJ, before he departs this world, about his literary future. How pleasing to tell him that after a few decades of relative obscurity he would become an established classic, [...] that all his major works and most of his minor ones would be constantly in print, scrupulously edited, annotated, and studied in schools, colleges and universities around the world, the subject of innumerable postgraduate theses and scholarly articles and books (and of course biographies - but it wouldn't be tactful to mention them, or the fact that he would be adopted by a branch of academic criticism known as Queer Theory, whose exponents claim, for instance, to find metaphors of anal fisting in the Prefaces to the New York Edition).

Yes, that's exactly all Queer Theory does, look for metaphors for anal fisting. AKDJGHGDF How can somebody who wrote a textbook on modern literary criticism and theory say such obviously stupid things about a very well established and respected branch of literary criticism? At this point I felt physically repulsed and betrayed by a book alongside which I had travelled for almost 400 pages into the life of a very good man. Why did you have to do this to me? Why the spitefulness? Why is suggesting that HJ might have had feelings for a young man tactless, but suggesting that he had them for a young woman (which David Lodge does at length) is perfectly tactful? I wish I could convince myself that this bitter homophobia is nothing more than bitterness because a few months before his novel was published another fictional account of HJ's life was published by (the openly gay and brilliant) Colm Tóibín - who imaged HJ as gay. Tóibín was better received (it was shortlisted for the Booker) and sold better and Lodge complained almost everywhere and to everyone about how unlucky it was that the two novels were published one after the other.

[Cristina Frîncu · Rating 4 out of 5]

Habar nu aveam că Lodge a făcut biografia lui Henry James în cartea asta. Am crezut, barbar, că e o carte ușurică, amuzantă, în stilul celorlalte pe care le mai citisem de Lodge, Schimb de dame și Muzeul britanic s-a dărîmat! În plus, ce mi-am zis eu, fără să îmi arunc ochii pe coperta a patra, e cu un autor, se potrivește perfect cu situația absurdă în care mă descopeream, pentru prima dată, drept autoare. De roman. Stupid. Absurd. Aberant. Ridicol. Dar autoare, mînca-ți-aș! Și-am băut ambele sticle de șampanie.

Apoi am citit cartea și-am descoperit că mi-e tare drag Henry James. Întîmplător, pe la pagina 256, mi-am aruncat ochii prin bibliotecă, am descoperit că am un Murakami neterminat și l-am terminat gemînd de plăcere sîmbătă după-amiază. Apoi l-am luat din nou în brațe pe Henry și-am făcut o nouă descoperire. Henry James a fost Berbec. D-aia mi-era atît de drag. Un om excepțional. De un egoism adorabil, copilăresc, extravagant în așteptări și mereu pasibil de autoînvinovățirea cea mai cruntă, uimit de vulgaritatea cititorilor și a spectatorilor de teatru, unde și-a încercat mîna cîțiva ani, mereu hotărînd să renunțe dar revenind iar și iar ca un hopa-mitică încăpățînat. Entuziast și viteaz, mereu simțind nevoia să-și comunice valurile de sentimente, nu rareori contradictorii, familiei și celor apropiați prin scrisori cărora le dedica un timp generos, HJ nu s-a sinucis pentru că nu era dispus să recunoască în fața lumii că jocul devenise prea greu de jucat. Cum ar fi putut face asta?! Depresia nu îi era însă străină, iar hotărîrile luate în momentele de dezamăgire față de lumea literară se materializau în acțiuni categorice. Închipuiți-vă un Henry James morocănos, arzînd aproape toată corespondența personală în grădină, la foc de tabără, bombănind sub ochii surprinși ai servitorilor. Cum ar fi putut să permită celor care i-au refuzat și ignorat romanele, să pătrundă vreodată în viața lui personală? No, sir! Cu toate că avea probleme cu spatele, niciodată nu și-a frînt spinarea ca să se transforme în suport pentru pretențiile altora.

Am remarcat în mod special un fragment în care HJ se culpabiliza în contul invidiei și geloziei față de scriitorii contemporani care aveau mai mult succes comercial decît el. George du Maurier, Constance Fenimore Woolson și, surprinzător, prea mulți alții. Era dureros de conștient că bunătatea lui față de prieteni se baza pe capacitatea lor de a-i satisface egoismul și de a nu-i face concurență. Regreta sentimentele încercate dar nu se putea abține. Nu avea cum. S-a străduit extraordinar de mult să nu-i scape printre dinți micile jeturi de otravă produse independent de rațiunea lui, și în mare parte a reușit. Chiar dacă Fenimore e posibil să se fi sinucis și din cauza lui. Dar ea era Pești, el Berbec… nu aveau nici măcar o șansă.

Fragmentul cu pricina mi-a atras atenția și pentru că, după cum am menționat mai înainte, am descoperit un Murakami neterminat în bibliotecă. Ei, în ultima povestire din Salcia oarbă, fata adormită, Mizuki Ando este întrebată dacă a fost vreodată invidioasă. Nu a fost. Dar, pe de altă parte, Mizuki avusese cea mai plicticoasă viață posibilă, care s-a remarcat doar prin reprimarea oricăror sentimente negative. Și ce-a rezultat din poziția asta defensivă și fadă? A început să-și uite numele. Bineînțeles că, fiind vorba de Murakami, în poveste apare ca vinovată o maimuță vorbitoare, dar sunt sigură că în substrat, mesajul este că invidia și gelozia formează pînă la urmă caracterul unui om. Nu li te poți împotrivi, dar poți să le accepți și să le reorientezi în direcții constructive. Ca să nu te pierzi pe tine, nu de alta.

Henry James a refuzat căsătoria, a refuzat plăcerile sexuale, a refuzat împlinirea adusă de progenituri. A trăit pentru arta frazelor. Deși îi plăcea compania prietenilor, prefera satisfacția singurătății egoiste, a meselor luate cu o carte sprijinită de farfurie, zilele în care nu era nevoit să facă eforturi pentru întreținerea oaspeților. Nu era un singuratic, nici un însingurat. Cred că era puțin singuros. Așa cum spui despre cineva că e călduros. Henry James păstra singurătatea în el.

Și a murit înconjurat de oameni, decorat cu Ordinul de Merit, răsuflînd adînc de trei ori. Jocul s-a încheiat cînd s-au terminat mutările. HJ a cîștigat. I-ar fi plăcut, sunt sigură, să vadă că în România lui 2015, într-o canapea handmade, o tută plînge ca proasta citind o carte despre el, cu un morman de romane semnate Henry James așteptînd să-și ia locul în mîinile ei transpirate. S-ar fi întors cu spatele și ar fi zîmbit din colțul gurii, poate tușind vag indiferent. Dar i-ar fi plăcut.

[TBV (on hiatus) · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Sometimes it seems advisable to preface a novel with a note saying that the story and the characters are entirely fictitious, or words to that effect. On this occasion a different authorial statement seems called for. Nearly everything that happens in this story is based on factual sources. With one insignificant exception, all the named characters were real people. Quotations from their books, plays, articles, letters, journals, etc., are their own words. But I have used a novelist’s licence in representing what they thought, felt, and said to each other; and I have imagined some events and personal details which history omitted to record. So this book is a novel, and structured like a novel. It begins at the end of the story, or near the end, and then goes back to the beginning, and works its way to the middle, and then rejoins the end, which is where it begins…”

It is not my habit to quote entire prefaces, but in this instance I thought it appropriate as it tells us much about this novel. The novel is in four parts as stated above (“near the end”, “the beginning”, “the middle” and “the end”). Some of the second part reads like a biography, and sets the scene for the action to follow.

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“At this juncture of his thoughts he was prone to lapse into a kind of daydream, bathed in a golden glow of footlights, in which he himself, immaculate in evening dress, was pulled half-resisting from the wings of a stage amid resounding cries of ‘Author! Author!’ from the auditorium, and took bow after blushing bow.”

Thus daydreams Henry James as he ponders writing for the theatre. He duly embarks on a career as playwright, and starting with a stage production of his novel The American, we follow his endeavours in this field of writing. His efforts culminate in an unforgettable(or, preferably a forgettable) evening at the opening night of his play Guy Domville.

HJ’s theatrical exploits are contrasted to those of his friend George Du Maurier (grandfather of novelist Daphne) who had an outrageous success with his work Trilby. HJ and George’s friendship forms an important part of this novel, as does his friendship with Constance Fenimore Woolson and others. Author, Author is littered with literary names and allusions.

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The writing is excellent, and I enjoyed the humour, such as: “Accordingly, after making some enquiries, he obtained the services of William MacAlpine, a young Scot for whom the epithet ‘dour’ seemed inappropriate, as suggesting too lively and excitable a temperament, but who was extremely competent in taking dictation and typing.”

This biographical novel is recommended to anyone who is interested in Henry James and his work.

[Ellen · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a book! As I read through it I found I could hardly put it down. I'd read for hours and lose sleep, saying to myself, "Oh, just a couple of more pages...".

The first and last chapters of the book are about the death of the writer, Henry James; those in between follow James' attempts to become a successful playwright in the English theater. I hate to spoil the book for you so I'm not going to comment as to his success or failure, but I encourage you to pick this book up as soon as possible and read it to find out.

Lodge tells us that this book might have been a biography, except that he found himself imagining the thoughts of James and the others in his life; therefore it's classified as a novel. Literary fiction? I don't know. I was able to compile a list of books to add to my to-read shelf here on Goodreads by reading the author's notes at the end of the novel; now, when I'm going to read those I have no idea! ;o) I shall also be adding books by David Lodge to my to-read list - his style is elegant, and in this book, almost Jamesian.

I can't recommend this book enough. If there were a way to give it more than five stars I would most definitely do it. Enjoy!

[Professor Weasel · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was more boringly written than how I remembered it, which is a shame. It doesn't exactly sparkle and crackle with the kind of life that you find in works like the movie "Amadeus," which has a similar storyline. You can definitely tell that Lodge researched the shizz out of this... unfortunately, this was also the book's downfall for me. At times it just reads like a list of what Henry James wrote in his journal and who he went out to dinner with and It's so rigidly true to life that the novel doesn't exactly breath, you know? The best parts of the book are the beginning and the ending, and the opening night of Henry's make-or-break play, because these are the parts of the book that consist of more "imagination" on the author's part as opposed to strict adherence to facts. What a tricky thing, historical fiction. It definitely made me want to read more Henry James, though. Yeesh, such long sentences...

[Roberta]

30/10/2013
Essere alle porte di un week end lungo forse mi ha spinto ad essere meno indecisa del solito. Author, Author racconta la vita di Henry James, una vita molto interessante ma che viene resa in modo davvero poco avvincente. Non dubito che possa trattarsi di un mio problema, ma se dopo 100 pagine le vicissitudini di un autore come Henry James non mi interessano per nulla, un motivo ci sarà. Nonostante la sua vita sia romanzata, trovo che la narrazione sia molto didascalica e che il focus dell'interesse sia rivolto proprio più ai suoi problemi squisitamente letterari (più legati alla fama che alla scrittura, però) che a quelli personali. Una scelta pienamente comprensibile, ma che diminuisce ulteriormente il mio interesse per questo libro.

[Ethan · Rating 1 out of 5]

No wonder this flopped, it's bad! This book reads like if Ready Player One were written by a literary snob; there is so much namedropping of members of James's circle of intelligentsia mixed in with constant quotations of his work and others that it completely sidesteps any good qualities of the book in favor of demonstrating knowledge of the trivia of Mr. James's life and network of friends. I don't think I've ever read a more salient example of a book losing track of who its audience is supposed to be. Why are you summarizing the plot of "The Beast in the Jungle?" Why are we taking potshots at "Queer Theory" out of nowhere? It's an onslaught of consistently baffling authorial choices.

On top of that, you spoiled the plot of Trilby! I wanted to read that someday.

[Gail · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Author, Author" is a fascinating, if fictionalized, look at the great Henry James, presented here as a very human author who is concerned not only with his art, but with such mundane things as money, his reputation, and the true feelings of his friends. The story(ies) here is James's failed attempts to write for the stage, and his friendship with George DuMarrier, which is somewhat shadowed by Henry's jealousy of his friend's unprecedented success. Complex and finely drawn, Lodge's book reminds us of the human faces hidden behind the work and repute of artists. This is an excellent book, well-written in a fine period style. Highly recommended.

[eb · Rating 3 out of 5]

Poor David Lodge. What are the odds he'd find himself pitted against Colm Toibin in the battle of lightly fictionalized accounts of Henry James's life? Lodge falls woefully short; Toibin is more insightful, more sympathetic, and far more skilled, which makes him the closer kindred spirit to James. I like Lodge's work a lot, but found myself almost bristling as I read Author, Author, and wanting to know what on earth gave Lodge the idea he could understand a master like James, much less get in his head and speculate about his thoughts.

[Michelle · Rating 3 out of 5]

Sometimes the relief of not reading HJ was broken by an extreme Jamesion quality, at which point I felt I might as well be reading _The Bostonians_ again. David Lodge is amusing and entertaining. This is an interesting blend of fiction, historical personages, and light forays into literary theory. In the future however, I think I'll avoid DL's historic fiction.

[Richard Kiefer · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a good read for people who at least know, better yet like, Henry James. It is slow in pace, pays great attention to detail and puts you into the situation of an ambitious writer who can never quite live up to his own standards.
It is also worth reading for people who write and can never be sure that what they write is any good at all. (I fall into this category myself.)

[Bookmarks Magazine]

Timing is everything, and Lodge seems to have written the wrong book at the wrong time. Author, Author, his novel about a novelist, is the third title this year__following Colm T_

[Kristen · Rating 4 out of 5]

How can you not admire HJ's dedication to his craft? Thank goodness he is not here to witness our era of blogs, tweets and memoirs.

[Lady Jane · Rating 5 out of 5]

It was a pleasantly ironic turn of events for me that what began as a dull book with low hopes ended up becoming one of the most touching and enjoyable books I have read in a good while. As someone who majored in English literature and whose love of quaint language degenerated into the commercialist desire to simply be marketable and understood in 280 characters or less, I can relate to the protagonist and old-time favorite author Henry James. The work was particularly enjoyable because I have already enjoyed works of his, such as "Beast of the Jungle" and "Daisy Miller," which were both poignant when I read them at 23 and both merited a long blog post on MySpace. Though I already knew of his charmingly antiquated prose and his preference for the European way over the crass American one, this fictional biography really took me in depth and filled in many of the blanks. David Lodge has such an excellent command of his writing style that is truly comparable to Henry James's, and it is no wonder that he likes the deceased author so much.

I loved the way the narrative is set up. Part one takes place in the supposed present, during the author's convalescence in senility. Parts two and three span his entire literary life with all its ups and downs; and part four takes us back to the present where we witness the author's death and posthumous success. It is all too sad, the more so because it happens all too often that many authors do not live to enjoy their success. When I finished the book, I re-read part one, something I am glad to have done because it shed light on so many minor allusions to his life and acquaintances that did not register the first time. Speaking of allusions, the book is filled with them-- to his works (Beast In The Jungle was an obvious one of the first chapter from the first reading); to authors, to other great works, many which I knew, others which I didn't. Now I am dreadfully curious to find out for myself what is the fuss with Trilby, much to Henry's chagrin if he were alive.

He reminds me of the more idealistic version of myself from my early college years. The academe who was obsessed with le mot juste, and whose desire got slowly extinguished over the years of being either misunderstood by the masses or simply told to write something shorter and more accessible. It got replaced by someone who knows all the trending hashtags of the day and can write in acronyms and emojis, but can no longer very often write fascinatingly long essays she can be proud of, in stream of consciousness at that, without some effort. Henry's death reminded me of the death of that more idealistic version of the writer in me, and perhaps a wake-up call to not forget her.

Yes, stream of consciousness and the search for le mot juste can be contradictory, but I am both. The human condition itself suffers from flagrant contradiction, so I will not take pains to disguise it.

In summary, what I thought was going to be dull due to lack of human emotion in the romantic sense ended up being more tragic than a story of star-crossed lovers and unrequited love.