The BBC tries to make Lord Byron cool in this new video, as if he needed any help. The King Blues update ‘mad, bad, and dangerous to know’ Byron with a punk rock twist.
Change for the better? Eh…
Tag Archives: Lord Byron
Book Review: A Quiet Adjustment
A cursory glance at the jacket copy makes clear why I picked this book up: it’s a fictional account of Lord Byron’s wife, and thus Byron. Byron’s work is delightful, he was a fascinating person, and I’m a tad enamoured. I love Byron no less after this imaginative and vivid account of his cruel humor and selfish megalomania, not to mention his more depraved side, but I don’t recommend anybody actually read A Quiet Adjustment by Benjamin Markovits (Fathers and Daughters, Imposture).
Is Byron’s character pure imagination on Markovits‘ part? Hardly. He embellishes the facts but not the characters of the ill matched pair of Annabella Millbanke and Lord Byron. Prudish, self-righteous, and dignified Anabella had no idea what she was getting into when she ended up marrying tempestuous, willful, and perverse Lord Byron. Their marriage seems like an accident on both their parts, as Annabella felt little love and Byron less. Byron’s antics from shattering bottles on the ceiling during her confinement to carrying on an affair with his sister in front of her eyes are horrid. Markovits tackles Annabella’s inept reaction to his behavior that put off divorce for too long, and then refused to name the most terrible ground for divorce. (What that unnamed reason was remains a mystery, rumored to be incest or sodomy.)
Would I recommend this novel to those who couldn’t give 2 figs about Byron? Absolutely not; it’s dull. The monotony of A Quiet Adjustment, with its accomplished character development and good sense of setting, stems from the plot and not the author. Of course, I happened to know the ending, but the more basic failure is that its plot follows that of the real Annabella’s life. Life does not often form the arc of suspense and conclusion that a satisfactory plot requires.
Unless you happen to be Lord Byron, and then you continue to live, love and write the rollicking Don Juan until your death fighting for Greek Independence. Byron makes a much better story than a person, and no doubt Annabella was a better person than she makes as a story. Markovits choose an angle for his story that is more of a straight line, which is shame because as a writer he seems capable of more.
Bottom line: read Byron instead.
Annoying Annotations of a Besotted Byronite
My recent homage to ‘mad, bad, and dangerous to know’ Lord Byron made clear that not only was Byron idolized as a celebrity in his time, but that I adore him myself, making him a patron saint of this blog for example. I was inspired to write that post partly by the old biography of him I found at the library. Well, this staid biography by Longford contains a discovery of a most upsetting nature! Of a nature so vile, I have been tempted to put the book down unfinished.
Some creature, of repellent handwriting and distinct ammorality, has annotated this book! Scrawled in No.2 pencil all over its margins!
“Lord Byron then went to Venice…” becomes annotated by some childish scribble such as “As he should! Pisa was far too provincial for him” (the excess of exclamation points is distinctly annoying.) This person, no doubt some susceptible very young or very old female, defends Byron against any negative charges brought against him by his peers, defends his incestuous love for his sister, defends his leaving his sick 4-year-old daughter in a nunnery to die of typhoid fever, and calls Shelley a ‘tiresome bore’! She quite obviously shows her jealously of his many mistresses, and roots for Byron to leave them all and break their hearts. She keeps saying things like, “But Byron was never a class-traitor or atheist, thank god!” Yes, thank god he was a selfish, incestuous poet who was ‘revolutionary’ but title-proud…?
So look you, o noble notater, come forward. I challenge you to a duel. Something must be done to stop your forever marking up books to turn dialogues into trialogues, and if death is the answer, so be it. I demand the satisfaction.
And you readers, if you happen to come across a female of inexplicable and strong feelings towards the sundry elements of Lord Byron’s life who is an amoral, elitist with strongly round handwriting, probably defensive of some petty title she inherited, and likely a dumpy figure and big red nose, please tell her my challenge.
