The Common Reader

Henry Oliver

Literary discussion www.commonreader.co.uk

  1. 1 DAY AGO

    Hermione Lee: Tom Stoppard. “It’s Wanting to Know That Makes Us Matter”

    Hermione Lee is the renowned biographer of Virginia Woolf, Edith Wharton, Penelope Fitzgerald, and, most recently, Tom Stoppard. Stoppard died at the end of last year, so Hermione and I talked about the influence of Shaw and Eliot and Coward on his work, the recent production of The Invention of Love, the role of ideas in Stoppard’s writing, his writing process, rehearsals, revivals, movies. We also talked about John Carey, Brian Moore, Virginia Woolf as a critic. Hermione is Emeritus Professor of English Literature at the University of Oxford. Her life of Anita Brookner will be released in September. Transcript Henry Oliver: Today I have the great pleasure of talking to Professor Dame Hermione Lee. Hermione was the first woman to be appointed Goldsmiths’ Professor of English Literature at the University of Oxford, and she is the most renowned and admired living English biographer. She wrote a seminal life of Virginia Woolf. She’s written splendid books about people like Willa Cather, Edith Wharton, and my own favorite, Penelope Fitzgerald. And most recently she has been the biographer of Tom Stoppard, and I believe this year she has a new book coming out about Anita Brookner. Hermione, welcome. Hermione Lee: Thank you very much. Oliver: We’re mostly going to talk about Tom Stoppard because he, sadly, just died. But I might have a few questions about your broader career at the end. So tell me first how Shavian is Stoppard’s work? Lee: He would reply “very close Shavian,” when asked that question. I think there are similarities. There are obviously similarities in the delighting forceful intellectual play, and you see that very much in Jumpers where after all the central character is a philosopher, a bit of a bonkers philosopher, but still a very rational one. And you see it in someone like Henry, the playwright in The Real Thing, who always has an answer to every argument. He may be quite wrong, but he is full of the sort of zest of argument, the passion for argument. And I think that kind of delight in making things intellectually clear and the pleasure in argument is very Shavian. Where I think they differ and where I think is really more like Chekov, or more like Beckett or more in his early work, the dialogues in T. S. Elliot, and less like Shaw is in a kind of underlying strangeness or melancholy or sense of fate or sense of mortality that rings through almost all the plays, even the very, very funny ones. And I don’t think I find that in Shaw. My prime reading time for Shaw was between 15 and 19, when I thought that Shaw was the most brilliant grownup that one could possibly be listening to, and I think now I feel less impressed by him and a bit more impatient with him. And I also think that Shaw is much more in the business of resolving moral dilemmas. So in something like Arms and the Man or Man and Superman, you will get a kind of resolution, you will get a sort of sense of this is what we’re meant to be agreeing with. Whereas I think quite often one of the fascinating things about Stoppard is the way that he will give all sides of the question; he will embody all sides of the question. And I think his alter ego there is not Shaw, but the character of Turgenev in The Coast of Utopia, who is constantly being nagged by his radical political friends to make his mind up and to have a point of view and come down on one side or the other. And Turgenev says, I take every point of view. Oliver: I must confess, I find The Coast of Utopia a little dull compared to Stoppard’s other work. Lee: It’s long. Yes. I don’t find it dull. But I think it may be a play to read possibly more than a play to see now. And you’re never going to get it put on again anyway because the cast is too big. And who’s going to put on a nine-hour free play, 50 people cast about 19th-century Russian revolutionaries? Nobody, I would think. But I find it very absorbing actually. And partly because I’m so interested in Isaiah Berlin, who is a very strong presence in the anti-utopianism of those plays. But that’s a matter of opinion. Oliver: No. I like Berlin. One thing about Stoppard that’s un-Shavian is that he says his plays begin as a noise or an image or a scene, and then we think of him as this very thinking writer. But is he really more of an intuitive writer? Lee: I think it’s a terribly good question. I think it gets right at the heart of the matter, and I think it’s both. Sorry, I sound like Turgenev, not making my mind up. But yes, there is an image or there is an idea, or there are often two ideas, as it were, the birth of quantum physics and 18th-century landscape gardening. Who else but Stoppard would put those two things in one play, Arcadia, and have you think about both at once. But the image and the play may well have been a dance between two periods of time together in one room. So I think he never knew what the next play was going to be until it would come at him, as it were. He often resisted the idea that if he chose a topic and then researched it, a play would come out of it. That wasn’t what happened. Something would come at him and then he would start doing a great deal of research usually for every play. Oliver: What sort of influence did T. S. Elliot have on him? Did it change the dialogue or, was it something else? Lee: When I was working with him on my biography, he gave me a number of things. I had extraordinary access, and we can perhaps come back to that interesting fact. And most of these things were loans he gave them to me to work on. Then I gave them back to him. But he gave me as a present one thing, which was a black notebook that he had been keeping at the time he was writing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and also his first and only novel Lord Malquist and Mr. Moon, which is little known, which he thought was going to make his career. The book was published in the same week that Rosencrantz came up. He thought the novel was going to make his career and the play was going to sink without trace. Not so. In the notebook there are many quotations from T. S. Elliot, and particularly from Prufrock and the Wasteland, and you can see him working them into the novel and into the play. “I am not Prince Hamlet nor was meant to be.” And that sense of being a disconsolate outsider. Ill at ease with and neurotic about the world that is charging along almost without you, and you are having to hang on to the edge of the world. The person who feels themself to be in internal exile, not at one with the universe. I think that point of view recurs over and over again, right through the work, but also a kind of epigrammatical, slightly mysterious crypticness that Elliot has, certainly in Prufrock and in the Wasteland and in the early poems. He loved that tone. Oliver: Yes. When I read your paper about that I thought about Rosencrantz and Guildenstern quite differently. I’ve always disliked the idea that it’s a sort of Beckett imitation play. It seems very Elliotic having read what you described. Lee: There is Beckett in there. You can’t get away from it. Oliver: Surface level. Lee: Beckett’s there, but I think the sense of people waiting around—Stoppard’s favorite description of Rosencrantz was: “It’s two journalists on a story that doesn’t add up, which is very clever and funny.” Yes. And that sense of, Vladimir going, “What are we supposed to be doing and how are we going to pass the time?” That’s profoundly influential on Stoppard. So I don’t think it’s just a superficial resemblance myself, but I agree that Elliot just fills the tone of that play and other things too. Oliver: In the article you wrote about Stoppard and Elliot, the title is about biographical questing, and you also described Arcadia as a quest. How important is the idea of the quest to the way you work and also to the way you read Stoppard? Lee: I took as the epigraph for my biography of Stoppard a line from Arcadia: “It’s wanting to know that makes us matter, otherwise we’re going out the way we came in.” So I think that’s right at the heart of Stoppard’s work, and it’s right at the heart of any biographical work, whether or not it’s mine or someone else’s. If you can’t know, in the sense of knowing the person, knowing what the person is like, and also knowing as much as possible about them from different kinds of sources, then you might as well give up. You can’t do it through impressions. You’ve got to do it through knowledge. Of course, a certain amount of intuition may also come into play, though I’m not the kind of biographer that feels you can make things up. Working on a living person, this is the only time I’ve done that. It was, of course, a very different thing from working on a safely dead author. And I knew Penelope Fitzgerald a little bit, but I had no idea I was going to write her biography when I had conversations with her and she wouldn’t have told me anything anyway. She was so wicked and evasive. But it was a set up thing; he asked me to do it. And we had a proper contract and we worked together over several years, during which time he became a friend, which was a wonderful piece of luck for me. I was doing four things, really. One was reading all the material that he produced, everything, and getting to know it as well as I could. And that’s obviously the basic task. One was talking to him and listening to him talk about his life. And he was very generous with those interviews. I’m sure there were things he didn’t tell me, but that’s fine. One was talking to other people about him, which is a very interesting process. And with someone like him who knew everyone in the literary, theatrical, cultural world, you have to draw a halt at some point. You can’t talk to a thousand people, or I’d have still been doing it, so you talk to particularly fellow playwrights, directors, actors who’ve worked with him often, as well a

    57 min
  2. 7 JAN

    Literature, politics, and the future of the humanities

    This episode of The Common Reader podcast is a little different. I spoke to both Jeffrey Lawrence and Julianne Werlin about literature, politics, and the future of the academic humanities. Questions included: what do we mean when we talk about literature and markets? Can we leave politics out of literary discussion? Should we leave it out? If we can’t leave it out, can we have nice friendly conversations about it? What is academic Marxism? We also talked about whether Stephen Greenblatt is too ideological and why universities are necessary to literary culture, academics on Substack. Julianne writes Life and Letters. Jeffrey writes Avenues of the Americas. Here is Julianne’s interview in The Republic of Letters. Transcript (AI generated, will contain some errors) Henry Oliver (00:00) Today I am talking to Jeffrey Lawrence and Julianne Werlin. Jeffrey is a professor of English literature and comparative literature at Rutgers University. He specializes in the 20th and 21st century and he writes the sub stack, Avenues of America. Julianne probably needs no introduction to a sub stack audience. She writes Life and Letters, one of my favorite sub stacks. She’s a professor of English at Duke University, where as well as specializing in early modern poetry, she is interested in sociological and demographic studies of literature. and we are going to have a big conversation about literature and markets, politics, what do we mean when we talk about literature and markets, can we leave politics out of literary discussion, should we leave it out, if we can’t leave it out, can we have nice friendly conversations about it, and also maybe what is academic Marxism and what should it be and why is it so confusing? Jeffrey and Julianne, hello. Julianne (00:59) Hi. Jeffrey Lawrence (01:01) Hi, thanks for having us. Julianne (01:02) Yeah, thank you. Henry Oliver (01:04) I am going to start by referencing an interview that you did, Julianne, for Republic of Letters, which everyone has been reading. And you said, I’ve printed it out wrong, so I can’t read the whole quote. But you said something like, you joined Substack because you wanted people to talk with and because you felt a lack of debate in your academic field. There are lots of good things about scholarship being slow and careful, but it also needs to be animated by debate and conversation. and a sense of the stakes of what we’re doing, and that is eroding in the academy. So I want you both to talk about that. Why is that happening? How much of a problem is it? How much is Substack or the internet more generally the solution? What should we be doing? Why don’t we go to Julianne first, because it’s your quote. Julianne (01:54) Sure, I mean, won’t go on too long ⁓ since I have already spoken about this, but my sense within English departments is, you know, they’re becoming smaller, fewer people are taking our classes, we have much less of a role in public conversation and public debate, except as kind of a stalking horse for certain types of arguments. And certainly, if you are an early modernist, it’s very hard to locate a kind of a... Henry Oliver (02:14) You Julianne (02:25) discrete set of debates within early modern literature because there is so little public salience to literary fields. And I think this is happening in all literature. It’s especially pronounced if you’re working in the earlier periods. So my sense in joining SUBSTAC was that perhaps there will be debates by people who are not already so deep within the particular professional and disciplinary structures of a field that they can find new points of connection between literature and public life along different ⁓ axes that we have maybe not explored adequately within English departments and are maybe becoming harder to explore as English departments contract and recede from public life. Henry Oliver (03:04) Mm-hmm. So we’re bringing Milton back to the people and also finding out why they care about him at all. ⁓ What do you think about it, Geoff? Julianne (03:16) Well, hopefully. I mean, that’s the goal. Jeffrey Lawrence (03:21) Great, ⁓ so I actually restacked that specific quote from Julianne because it resonated so much with me. Yeah, I mean, my sense is that as someone who works on 20th and 21st century literature, there is more crossover there, I would say, between sort of academic scholarship and public debate. But I really wanna just echo what Julianne said there, that ⁓ I have gotten the feeling that within let’s call it like the legacy media. There are particular arguments that come from academia that are pushed forward and that become representative of the field of 20th and 21st century literature as a whole. And those kind of come to stand in for academic debate more generally. And I think it becomes very difficult. One of the things that I was noticing so much is that the people who had access to those legacy journals, are places like the Atlantic, the New York Times, that those began to dominate the debates and people just aren’t recognizing that in scholarships. So one of the things I particularly like about Substack is that I feel like although it has some of the same problems as social media more generally about kind of like who gets to participate and algorithmic culture and all of that sort of stuff. I did feel like the ideological diversity both left and right compared to the sort of a kind of monoculture, mono, you know, sort of academic argument that I found over and over in these legacy magazines, that Substack was the place where a lot of these debates are happening. And I only joined maybe four or five months ago, but for me, ⁓ sort of just in terms of my relationship to the Academy, it’s really changed my sense of what can be said and what’s being said by academics. Henry Oliver (05:17) feels to me like in some way humanities academia needs deregulating because there’s all sorts of things people can’t feel like they can’t say and can’t do. But it’s such a tangled mess that the easiest thing is for you all to just go to Substack and do it there and just try and avoid the bureaucracy because it’s gone too far. But when you’re on Substack... I feel like you’re often faced with people saying, these English literature academics, it’s all woke BS. They don’t know anything. They’ve killed this, right? You’re simultaneously in a kind of semi hostile environment. How do you, how does that seem to you? Julianne (05:56) Yeah, mean, that’s certainly true. I think that we are avatars on Substack for a kind of authority that we feel in our own lives we do not possess in any way. So we’re in this position where, you know, at least I feel this, I’m responding to comments that are, you know, very much, by people who very much feel that they’re attacking authority figures. And I’m, you know, I’m just a person on the internet, you know, talking with them when I’m on Substack. What I like about it is precisely that it levels any kind of authority structures insofar as they exist, which is debatable at this phase. But that’s not always the reality on Substack. I also feel there’s an additional thing, again, as an early modernist, where you feel like, you you don’t have... Henry Oliver (06:27) Yeah. Julianne (06:52) there’s not a lot of interest by people who are kind of on the left in contemporary politics in the Renaissance. It’s seen as kind of a conservative, canonical thing to study. And there’s a lot of pushback. even within English departments, there’s a lot of pushback ⁓ surrounding the idea that people should study Shakespeare or study Milton. It’s seen as kind of old and fussy and conservative. And then at the same time, you go on the internet and you’re the kind of ⁓ exemplar. Henry Oliver (06:59) Mmm. Yeah. Mmm. Julianne (07:22) of woke cultural discourse. So you feel like as a Renaissance scholar, you can’t win. You’re nobody’s idea of what people should be doing intellectually or culturally. Henry Oliver (07:25) Hahaha Do you think, someone asked me this the other day about why academics write in this funny way and why no one reads their books and all this. That was the way they phrased it. And I said, I think what you’re saying is like, why is there no AC Bradley today? Because Shakespeare in tragedy, so I don’t remember the number, of like quarter of a million copies or something that to us just feels like an insane number. Is there some legitimate criticism there that A.C. Bradley wrote in a way that, you know, your grandmother could understand? And a lot of what comes out of the Academy today is much more cut off from the ordinary reading experience. Julianne (08:18) Yeah, I mean, think that’s not debatable. think there have been quantitative studies, ⁓ DH studies that have shown that academic prose has become more difficult. I think it’s much more a consequence of how literary culture has become this sort of narrow and marginalized field that is preserved within academic debate and academic structures of argument and disciplinarity. Stephen Greenblatt certainly tries to be new A.C. Bradley and he does reach readers outside of academia but his audience is you know especially as a share of the population is not A.C. Bradley’s audience and I don’t think that’s a fault of his prose. Well that’s true. Henry Oliver (08:59) might be the fault of some of his ideas. Well, Jeff, I want to come to you on that. A.C. Bradley was not politically ideological. Maybe he’s a crazy Hegelian and he’s insane on that level. But is the problem that Stephen Greenblatt’s just obviously kind of a bit cranky in some ideological way, is this a general problem of the modern humanities academia? Jeffrey Lawrence (09:24) Yeah, I mean, I tend to see the problem as it’s kind of being a dual problem. One, I think, is the fact that we are facing in a lot of the academy a

    1h 3m
  3. 12/12/2025

    John Mullan. What makes Jane Austen great?

    Tuesday is the 250th anniversary of Jane Austen’s birth, so today I spoke to John Mullan, professor of English Literature at UCL, author of What Matters in Jane Austen. John and I talked about how Austen’s fiction would have developed if she had not died young, the innovations of Persuasion, wealth inequality in Austen, slavery and theatricals in Mansfield Park, as well as Iris Murdoch, A.S. Byatt, Patricia Beer, the Dunciad, and the Booker Prize. This was an excellent episode. My thanks to John! Transcript Henry Oliver (00:00) Today, I am talking to John Mullen. John is a professor of English literature at University College London, and he is the author of many splendid books, including How Novels Work and the Artful Dickens. I recommend the Artful Dickens to you all. But today we are talking about Jane Austen because it’s going to be her birthday in a couple of days. And John wrote What Matters in Jane Austen, which is another book I recommend to you all. John, welcome. John Mullan (00:51) It’s great to be here. Henry Oliver (00:53) What do you think would have happened to Austin’s fiction if she had not died young? John Mullan (00:58) Ha ha! I’ve been waiting all this year to be asked that question from somebody truly perspicacious. ⁓ Because it’s a question I often answer even though I’m not asked it, because it’s a very interesting one, I think. And also, I think it’s a bit, it’s answerable a little bit because there was a certain trajectory to her career. I think it’s very difficult to imagine what she would have written. John Mullan (01:28) But I think there are two things which are almost certain. The first is that she would have gone on writing and that she would have written a deal more novels. And then even the possibility that there has been in the past of her being overlooked or neglected would have been closed. ⁓ And secondly, and perhaps more significantly for her, I think she would have become well known. in her own lifetime. you know, partly that’s because she was already being outed, as it were, you know, of course, as ⁓ you’ll know, Henry, you know, she published all the novels that were published in her lifetime were published anonymously. So even people who were who were following her career and who bought a novel like Mansfield Park, which said on the title page by the author of Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice, they knew they knew. John Mullan (02:26) were getting something by the same author, they wouldn’t necessarily have known the author’s name and I think that would have become, as it did with other authors who began anonymously, that would have disappeared and she would have become something of a literary celebrity I would suggest and then she would have met other authors and she’d have been invited to some London literary parties in effect and I think that would have been very interesting how that might have changed her writing. John Mullan (02:54) if it would have changed her writing as well as her life. She, like everybody else, would have met Coleridge. ⁓ I think that would have happened. She would have become a name in her own lifetime and that would have meant that her partial disappearance, I think, from sort of public consciousness in the 19th century wouldn’t have happened. Henry Oliver (03:17) It’s interesting to think, you know, if she had been, depending on how old she would have been, could she have read the Pickwick papers? How would she have reacted to that? Yes. Yeah. Nope. John Mullan (03:24) Ha ha ha ha ha! Yes, she would have been in her 60s, but that’s not so old, speaking of somebody in their 60s. ⁓ Yes, it’s a very interesting notion, isn’t it? I mean, there would have been other things which happened after her premature demise, which she might have responded to. I think particularly there was a terrific fashion for before Dickens came along in the 1830s, there was a terrific fashion in the 1820s for what were called silver fork novels, which were novels of sort of high life of kind of the kind of people who knew Byron, but I mean as fictional characters. And we don’t read them anymore, but they were they were quite sort of high quality, glossy products and people loved them. And I’m I like to think she might have reacted to that with her sort of with her disdain, think, her witty disdain for all aristocrats. know, nobody with a title is really any good in her novels, are they? And, you know, the nearest you get is Mr. Darcy, who is an Earl’s nephew. And that’s more of a problem for him than almost anything else. ⁓ She would surely have responded satirically to that fashion. Henry Oliver (04:28) Hahaha. Yes, and then we might have had a Hazlitt essay about her as well, which would have been all these lost gems. Yes. Are there ways in which persuasion was innovative that Emma was not? John Mullan (04:58) Yes, yes, yes, yes. I know, I know. ⁓ gosh, all right, you’re homing in on the real tricky ones. Okay, okay. ⁓ That Emma was not. Yes, I think so. I think it took, in its method, it took further what she had done in Emma. Henry Oliver (05:14) Ha ha. This is your exam today, John Mullan (05:36) which is that method of kind of we inhabit the consciousness of a character. And I I think of Jane Austen as a writer who is always reacting to her own last novel, as it were. And I think, you know, probably the Beatles were like that or Mozart was like that. think, you know, great artists often are like that, that at a certain stage, if what they’re doing is so different from what everybody else has done before, they stop being influenced by anybody else. They just influence themselves. And so I think after Emma, Jane Austen had this extraordinary ⁓ method she perfected in that novel, this free indirect style of a third-person narration, which is filtered through the consciousness of a character who in Emma’s case is self-deludedly wrong about almost everything. And it’s... brilliantly tricksy and mischievous and elaborate use of that device which tricks even the reader quite often, certainly the first time reader. And then she got to persuasion and I think she is at least doing something new and different with that method which is there’s Anne Elliot. Anne Elliot’s a good person. Anne Elliot’s judgment is very good. She’s the most cultured and cultivated of Jane Austen’s heroines. She is, as Jane Austen herself said about Anne Elliot, almost too good for me. And so what she does is she gives her a whole new vein of self-deception, which is the self-deception in the way of a good person who always wants to think things are worse than they are and who always, who, because suspicious of their own desires and motives sort of tamps them down and suppresses them. And we live in this extraordinary mind of this character who’s often ignored, she’s always overhearing conversations. Almost every dialogue in the novel seems to be something Anne overhears rather than takes part in. And the consciousness of a character who doesn’t want to acknowledge things in themselves which you and I might think were quite natural and reasonable and indeed in our psychotherapeutic age to be expressed from the rooftops. You still fancy this guy? Fine! Admit it to yourself. ⁓ No. So it’s not repression actually, exactly. It’s a sort of virtuous self-control somehow which I think lots of readers find rather masochistic about her. Henry Oliver (08:38) I find that book interesting because in Sense and Sensibility she’s sort of opposed self-command with self-expression, but she doesn’t do that in Persuasion. She says, no, no, I’m just going to be the courage of, no, self-command. know, Eleanor becomes the heroine. John Mullan (08:48) Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. But with the odd with the odd burst of Mariannes, I was watching the I thought execrable Netflix ⁓ persuasion done about two or three years ago ⁓ with the luminous Dakota Johnson as as you know, as Anne Elliot. You could not believe her bloom had faded one little bit, I think. John Mullan (09:23) And ⁓ I don’t know if you saw it, but the modus operandi rather following the lead set by that film, The Favourite, which was set in Queen Anne’s reign, but adopted the Demotic English of the 21st century. similarly, this adaptation, much influenced by Fleabag, decided to deal with the challenge of Jane Austen’s dialogue by simply not using it, you know, and having her speak in a completely contemporary idiom. But there were just one or two lines, very, very few from the novel, that appeared. And when they appeared, they sort of cried through the screen at you. And one of them, slightly to qualify what you’ve just said, was a line I’d hardly noticed before. as it was one of the few Austin lines in the programme, in the film, I really noticed it. And it was much more Marianne than Eleanor. And that’s when, I don’t know if you remember, and Captain Wentworth, they’re in Bath. So now they are sort of used to talking to each other. And Louisa Musgrove’s done her recovering from injury and gone off and got engaged to Captain Benwick, Captain Benwick. So Wentworth’s a free man. And Anne is aware, becoming aware that he may be still interested in her. And there’s a card party, an evening party arranged by Sir Walter Elliot. And Captain Wentworth is given an invitation, even though they used to disapprove of him because he’s now a naval hero and a rich man. And Captain Wentworth and Anna making slightly awkward conversation. And Captain Wentworth says, you did not used to like cards. I mean, he realizes what he said, because what he said is, remember you eight years ago. I remember we didn’t have to do cards. We did snogging and music. That’s what we did. But anyway, he did not used to like cards. And he suddenly realizes what a giveaway that is. And he says something like, but then time brings many

    1h 12m

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