Nicholas
Reid reflects in essay form on general matters and ideas related to
literature, history, popular culture and the arts, or just life in general. You are free to agree
or disagree with him.
PERFECTION
OF THE LIFE BEFORE THE WORK
In his poem The Choice W.B. Yeats wrote, “The
intellect of man is forced to choose, Perfection
of the life, or of the work.”
What a complete tosser!
Quite apart from the hubris of thinking that one
can “choose” any sort of perfection, Yeats seems to me to be creating an excuse
to live badly, in the moral sense. Because you think of yourself as a superior
person, an artist, you are entitled to live badly, in the sense of ignoring or
neglecting others. “Don’t bother me, wife
and children – I am creating a great work of art here and it is more important
than my care for you!”
All my instincts tell me that no matter how
great you think your work of art may be, it is less important than the lives of
people to whom you say you are committed.
I hit this grim note because I recently read
and greatly enjoyed Adam Dudding’s book My Father’s Island [see my
review thereof], concerning his dad Robin Dudding.
I won’t re-write
my review here, but at least part of the import of the book was the fact that, in
living a bohemian life and so fully devoting himself to the lowly-paid vocation
of being an excellent literary editor, Robin Dudding (who had six children) placed
quite a few strains on his family. Dudding fils
does not condemn Dudding pere, says a
lot of good things about him and remembers many happy aspects of his childhood.
But it is clear that much of the father’s literary preoccupation led to
straitened circumstances for his family and some grief.
Of course
another literary quotation flashes through my mind. Cyril Connolly (a reviewer
who spent much of his life making excuses for not writing much of his own)
notoriously said in Enemies of Promise
that having a family was bad for producing art. He wrote: "She [the artist's wife] will know that there is no more sombre enemy
of good art than the pram in the hallway."
Some years ago in the Guardian, the novelist Maggie
O’Farrell (who was pregnant at the time) referred to this as “Cyril Connolly's famous and loathsome
assertion”. And yet she did go on to consider the difficulties of being
both a parent and a serious writer.
Which is mainly what I want
to consider.
There is no doubt at all that
people with few or no children have fewer constraints on their time than people
with more children. Should people with few or no children choose to become
artists or writers, they will have fewer interruptions built into their lives.
And, while this will not automatically mean that they will produce great art,
it will at least mean that they will be able to work steadily – and in
solitude.
For some this will sound
unproblematic, especially in the anti-natalist age in which we live. But
speaking as somebody with many children, I can see a number of problems.
First, there is that fact
that the philoprogentive voice is hardly ever heard in modern literature. It is
taken for granted that literary people are people with no – or, at most, a
sensible one or two – children. Certainly this skews the social assumptions
that most writers make, and appearances of married couples with more than the
regulation one or two kids become rarer and rarer in what passes for serious
literature.
Second, there is little
recognition of the double bind which writers with many children are in. Devote
most of your time to your family rather than your writing and you will always
be cast as a minor talent. Work hard at your writing and you will sometimes be
accused of neglecting your family. Indeed you probably will be
neglecting your family. The stereotype (often repeated with feminist ire) is of
the male writer locked away happily in his study while his wife has to do all
the drudgery of washing, cooking and child-rearing. There are now on the market
many literary biographies of budding women writers thus thwarted by unfeeling
writing husbands.
If you have children, then obviously
your children are, and most properly should be, your main concern. Writing and artistic
endeavour come second. I am not “raging in the dark” about this. I am simply
stating a reasonable ethical truth. But it does mean that those with the
leisure time to cultivate networks of supporters will usually be the ones with
no children. And, talentless bastards or not, they will tend to be the ones who
get others to make reputations for them.
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