In his 40 years of life, he was a “bastard” child of a slum-dwelling suicidal spiritualist, a child laborer, a pirate, a tramp, a revolutionary Socialist, a racist pining for genocide, a gold-digger, a war correspondent, a millionaire, a suicidal depressive, and for a time the most popular writer in America.

For my old review of The Iron Heel, see here.

“It’s either an era-defining work of genius or an overhyped middlebrow soap opera—a bold reclamation of a classic genre (the realist family novel) or an irrelevant exercise in a dead form.”

I suspected I might have been the latter of these two camps, until reading it and finding myself firmly in the former. Loved it.  Which brings us to his new work – Freedom. On which:-

“It’s either an era-defining work of genius or an overhyped middlebrow soap opera—a bold reclamation of a classic genre (the realist family novel) or an irrelevant exercise in a dead form.”

Sounds worth a go.

 Love on the Dole, and The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists were books chronicling the human misery caused by laissez -faire  capitalism –  both went on to greatly inspire those who fought and won against it, battles  resulting in the heroic compromise of civilised social democracy. As we sink further into a blank night of neo-Victorian sadism, my greatest hope in a hopeless time  is that a novel gestates, one which will  illuminate the sordid ignorance of this time just as Greenwood and Tressell did for the ages before. And I hope people will look back at the years ahead with the sad, angry incredulity with which we look back at theirs.

YOU WERE BORN TO TWEET. HAVE YOU DONE IT YET?

[Mocking] “‘I am doing my number twos. The Guardian is here. I am annoyed by him but then everyone annoys me.’ Is that interesting? No: it’s a waste of electricity. There are so many distractions for young people today. They ban smoking and license 24-hour rolling bullshit! I ask you!”

Rachel Cooke’s highly readable article in the Guardian takes a look at his tangled relationships with women, and attempts to at least partially scrub the charge of misogyny of old Phillip’s charge sheet. While it is certainly interesting to hear of his tender side, I do wonder whether a  spurious  subliminal special pleading emerges. His poetry needs no defending, it stands alone. Those arguing his views invalidate his brilliance should be battled.

It is clear from his poetry that Larkin was capable of love for women. It is still more clear from his poetry he was capable of the most  immense empathy for others. His work could not have been as achingly gorgeous as it was if not. He was, it seems, capable of great kindness in his personal life. It is clear therefore in ways he had great humanity, and hearing examples of this is, well, its very nice.  But none of this alters the fact that when it came to the political, that is, the point where these qualities  are applied to the wider world, that he had very little indeed. Larkin’s humanity was there in his poetry, that beautiful but narrow space,  and it seems he had very little left for the wider world. His rants to Kingsley Amis against those poorer than him, against women, against “niggers”, were not larking around - weak pun intended -  and it is ridiculous, and somewhat pathetic to suggest this is the case. They were the sad truths of a man whose spirit was so large in one way, so tiny in others.

Cooke’s article shows Larkin loved individual women. But a misogynist can love an individual woman. A racist can have great affection for an individual of another race, and I’ll bet Larkin liked one or two “darkies” in his personal life, quite apart from his love of jazz musicians. But if your general animus is against them, if you expend a great deal of time attacking them, if you actively support political philosophies opposed to them, a misogynist or racist you remain. The same holds true for socialists who can love individual rich people – you still wish they weren’t there.  

I think Larkin was a bit of a shit. I will always think his poetry marvelous and outstanding. While there is complication, there is no essential contradiction. Not un-coincidentally , I can greatly enjoy some films of Roman Polanski, whilst being adamant that today’s decision not to bring this rapist to justice is a disgrace.