- Shopping Bag ( 0 items )
The New YorkerIn the summer of 1938, a hundred and fourteen years after Lord Byron's nearly mythic death at Missolonghi, an intrepid vicar at the parish church of Hucknall Torkard and a small band of stalwarts decided to pay a visit to the poet of "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" and "Don Juan" where he lay in the Byron family vault. The vicar and his crew were pleased to find, upon gingerly raising the coffin lid, that Byron had weathered the intervening years remarkably well. "The slightly protruding lip and curly hair were easily recognizable," reported an awestruck church caretaker. The incident -- perhaps the most literal in a long line of Byronic exhumations and reassessments -- turns up in Fiona MacCarthy's whopping Byron: Life and Legend, an appropriately sprawling volume devoted to the "first European cultural celebrity of the modern age." Like his twentieth-century counterpart, Elvis Presley, Byron continues to exert a necrophilic hold on the imagination, with his colossal and contradictory public image. MacCarthy's account gives us Byron in all his twisted glory: keeping a pet bear while at Cambridge, crisscrossing Europe in a monumental carriage modelled after Napoleon's, drinking claret out of a human skull, swimming the Hellespont despite a lame foot, and constantly hounded by the open secret of his bisexuality.
As David Crane's The Kindness of Sisters makes clear, Byron was as maddening in love as he was in celebrity. Examining the understandably contentious relationship between Byron's wife, Annabella, and his half-sister (and lover), Augusta Leigh, Crane eloquently reminds us that there is "no English writer like him . . . no one who has so completely made his life the measure of his art."(Mark Rozzo)