About book A Tragic Honesty: The Life And Work Of Richard Yates (2004)
In retrospect this may not have been the ideal book to read immediately on the heels of Shade of the Raintree: The Life and Death of Ross Lockridge, Jr. Long about page 300 I found myself wondering if there was ever such a thing as a happy biography of a writer, one that doesn't go gonads-deep into ego, depression, bitterness, etc etc. Of course, there's no drama in being well-adjusted (or so I'm told). I was struck reading this life story alongside a new article in Poets and Writers that basically laments the absence of Keith Richardsonian excess among writers of the post-McInerney/Ellis generation. Why do we glamorize the wreckage? Is there not a method of creativity that can be seen as positive, invigorating, enlivening? Or are we so accustomed to the trainwreck that the smooth operator seems mechanical? I guess we'll wait for the recently announced Updike bio to answer those questions.None of these concerns should detract from Bailey's well-researched and written bio of Richard Yates, who twenty years after his death is finally enjoying the acclaim that he spent his last thirty years bitterly resenting he'd been denied. Yates remains a fascinating if somewhat repellant character if only bc the slow march to oblivion that basically occupied him from 1961 when Revolutionary Road first appeared to his death in 1992 (in Alabama no less) would seem to preclude any writing at all. And yet Yates was productive, with sterling successes such as The Easter Parade and competent if not epochal stuff like Young Hearts Crying. Unlike a lot of bios, Bailey does talk about the art, so in between descriptions of alcoholic seizures, emphysematic hacking, nuthouse stays, and endless cocklobbing (debilitated in later years by the impotence inflicted by the aforeskinmentioned), there are fine descriptions of the priestly revising and exactitude for which Yates lovers love him. In the end, what comes through is how emotionally stunted men of RY's generation were---a thesis one could glean from Eleven Kinds of Loneliness, of course, but nevertheless sad and frustrating. That said, it's also clear that Yates was a devoted if distant father, and the best quotes of the book come from his two oldest daughters, who talk honestly about their struggles. (One daughter, Monica, dated Larry David, which is how Yates came to be depicted as Alton Bennes on Seinfeld). There's also testimony aplenty here about how inspiring a teacher Yates was, which is good to see.In the hands of someone who cared less about his subject, the life of RY could've been sensationalized. Then again, the ideal for this audience won't be the Kitty Kelley sort. They'll be fans of RR and Eleven Kinds, and they'll probably read this shuddering at how capricious literary reputation is and how cruel not the Bitch Goddess of Success but her mythology is to our authors.
This was my first introduction to both author Blake Bailey, and the subject of this biography, novelist Richard Yates. Thanks to Bailey's thorough and meticulous research, and what appears to be an objective treatment of his material, I now feel I know as much about Robert Yates as there is to know. Maybe it’s putting the cart before the horse, but now I hope to enjoy reading the books written by Yates as much as I enjoyed reading about the story behind their creation.I’ve always found it intriguing that with many successful creative people there is an apparent correlation between creative genius, pronounced personality flaws, and self-destructive tendencies, which seem to simultaneously foster and threaten their work. Yates is a case study which seriously challenged any budding cause-and-effect theories I may have held regarding writers. Coming from a rather unusual childhood, chain smoking from his teenage years and later in spite of the lung damage he suffered in World War II, a growing dependence on alcohol, and eventually occasional hospitalizations for apparent psychotic breaks – I wonder if any of these contributed to his imaginative abilities, or if his creative abilities were in spite of them. Perhaps there was some underlying heightened sensitivity, or maybe an obsessive drive that led to both the negative attributes and his abilities.There were two or three sets of photo plates in this book, and they were very critical to me in reaching a complete concept of this man. While reading the text only, I found myself imagining him in a very unfavorable light – an unhealthy hermit, hidden away in a squalid hole, drunk and chain-smoking over his typewriter. But then I would revisit the photographs, see that he was very handsome and well-dressed, and I would again remember why he usually had a woman wanting to be a part of his life. Here again I thank author Bailey for his thoroughness, as he brought to this book the personal recollections of those close to Yates, which were necessary in making these two versions of Yates complementary, not contradictory.I learned of this book from a delightful interview with Blake Bailey on the radio program KUOW2 Presents on 03/25/2009. Bailey was promoting his new biography of John Cheever, but made several references to this book, the research behind it, and Richard Yates himself.
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For me, this was always going to be a match made in heaven. I read and re-read Bailey's biography of John Cheever, and thought Yates wrote one of 20th Century America's best novels in Revolutionary Road. It has been gratifying to see Yates' other books reprinted, flourishing; as part of the Vintage classics line, no less.This is an informative read, but never degenerates into hagiography. Perhaps it's a measure of how much it grabbed me that, on reading Roger Angell's tactless response to Yates' last submission to The New Yorker, I felt like lamping the bastard one.
—Ryan Williams
'There never was a good biography of a good novelist,'Fitzgerald says somewhere in his notebooks. 'How could there? He's too many people, if he's any good.' Fitzgerald has yet to be proven wrong, but at least this wasn't a sour, hectoring dressing-down of its subject. Bailey himself said that he aimed for an bemused, ironical tone, a tone that seems a perfect vehicle for Yates's own gruffly hilarious remarks and letters. The story ain't pretty--mental illness mixed with alcoholism mixed with divorces--but who gives a shit? The work--the little of it that I've read--is lucid and luminous and wise. For decades, the typical Yates apartment was a squalid hole barren save for his typewriter, nailed-up pictures of his daughters, and his obsessive devotion to being the best writer he could be. The high point of this book is the excerpt from the memorial speech Andre Dubus read at one of the memorial services. Referring the Yates books on his shelf, Dubus says, "it's a sweetheart of a life's work, a sweetheart."
—Eric
Richard Yates is not widely read, but his ability to portray the little tragedies of our lives is devastating. After reading several of his novels, I wanted to learn more about the man. Yates was from the hard drinking, chain smoking generation that came of age during the Second World War. It's painful to have the details spelled out, but Yates unflinchingly drew on many sordid events in his life for his stories. He'd write those things and then drink steadily for several months. I valued this book for introducing me to other writers of that era, most of whom--with a few exceptions like Vonnegut--are also now forgotten. Bailey is a skilled biographer and writer. I went on to read his more celebrated Cheever bio, but I think I liked this one better.
—Holly
