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44 of 47 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
Awful. Rhys deserves so much more., 12 May 2009
I was ready to put this down as early as page two, where we are already treated to the flighty suppositions and clunky prose that are the hallmarks of this book. "The Blue Hour" sets its stall out early at least, so allow me to do the same. Don't buy this book. This is not a serious work; it features no serious critical appraisals of her work, no credible fresh insight into her life, and very little original research. Disturbingly, in her attempt to show us "what it was like to have lived such a life," Pizzichini writes Jean Rhys like a character and attributes feelings and thoughts to her that are very dubiously sourced to say the least. Worst of all, anyone who wants to know "what it was like to have lived such a life," need only read any of Rhys' incomparable novels, which lay bare not only her thoughts and emotions, but many of the biographical details of her life. I am at a loss to explain the motivations behind this publication.
Now, from a couple of notes I made.
"Well into the summer of 1926 Jean was writing in her miserable little room overlooking the station, or maybe Ford had found her another one. It doesn't really matter..." Doesn't it? This slapdash approach to the truth extends to Rhys' personal life - p.226 "in June 1940, a month after Hitler's invasion of Holland, she had a breakdown, or was in some other way an embarrassment to her husband, and had to be removed.." Did she have a breakdown? Was she depressed? Sectioned? Or did she tuck her skirt into her pants? Please don't mess around with things like this, if you don't know then just leave it out. Or research it.
Of the writing, there are examples of its quality every second page, I'll choose one at random - p.248 "Cats were like her writing. She stalked in the dark for long periods. She seemed to be doing nothing and then the pages appeared all of a sudden, self-possessed and complete. Cats are pure wildness too, and like Jean they love to sleep."
The book is strewn with factual and editorial errors. To name a couple - the author thinks on p.145 that the Lapin Agile, one of the most famous clubs in the history of the city of Paris, is in the Latin Quarter. Still, by p.174 she has at least consulted a map and it is now "carved into the hill of Montmartre." On p.210 the novelist Rosamond Lehmann becomes Rosamund Lehmann for two whole paragraphs before reverting back to Rosamond on the following page. "Triple sec" - an orange liqueur - is listed as a reference to Absinthe. If it is, it's an obscure one that needs some explaining. If the author cannot make right cheap errors such as these, errors which could be rectified with a five minute session on Google and a copy of Microsoft Word, I have grave doubts as to her ability to handle a subject as sensitive and convoluted as the life of Jean Rhys.
There are no notes and there appear to have been few or no original interviews conducted for this publication. The author confirms her lack of real original research in a toe-curling "Author's Note" at the rear of the book where she makes a ham-fisted explanation of her attempt to "show us something about ourselves." Her methods seem to have extended to reading a few newspaper reviews of Rhys' early performances, a trip to the British Library Manuscript Archive and the once-over of a couple of biographies of figures in her life. She boasts she has read every book in the London Library on Vienna, interwar Paris and Edwardian Theatre. I refuse to believe none of those books on interwar Paris contained the address of the Lapin Agile.
The book is a tale (admittedly an engrossing one) in which someone resembling Rhys is puppeteered through her entire life under the watchful eye of Lilian Pizzichini. Of one aspect of her husband's character Pizzichini writes "Jean would have liked this.." (p244) The book is littered with this type of guesswork throughout. Two original sources (other people's memoirs) are quoted at length, but beyond that the author's main sources are Rhys' books, Rhys' unfinished autobiography and Carol Angier's groundbreaking biography of Rhys released in 1991. All these books are in the public domain, most available on Amazon.
I could go on at length about the deficiencies of this book but to illustrate the quality of its aspirations I need only point out that the last *24* years of Rhys' life, including the writing and eventual publication of Wide Sargasso Sea - one of the masterpieces of 20th century British literature - as well as her death, are covered in 40-odd pages.
There is an hilarious, incredible quote from Diana Melly on the back of the jacket - "this..is as near as we are likely to get to how Jean saw it herself." Diana Melly knew Jean Rhys - has she somehow forgotten that Rhys was a woman who wrote some of the most revealing and truthful autobiographical works of fiction the 20th century has seen? Why do we need this shoddy piece of tat to tell us how Jean "saw it herself" when her works can tell us themselves?
Avoid this trash like the plague. If you want a biography of Rhys then look elsewhere. If you want to see Jean's life through her own eyes then I urge you to go out and buy any or all of her seminal novels.
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18 of 19 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
A shockingly shoddy piece of work, 17 May 2009
I can only echo the sentiments of the previous reviewer, and congratulate him on having pinpointed what many of those who reviewed the book in the media somehow -- maddeningly -- failed to notice: the book is full of errors, sloppy thinking, presumptuous cod psychology, and the most graceless prose imaginable. Above all, I agree with his point that one should read Rhys's own brilliant books if one wants to know what it felt like to lead/endure her life: she conveys that in some of the most vivid and beautiful writing we have. Amen.
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7 of 10 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
The Blue Hour A Portrait of Jean Rhys by Lilian Pizzichini, 24 May 2009
I couldn't disagree more with the hilariously intemperate review posted above. The Blue Hour is a beautifully written and humane exploration of a complicated life. Pizzichini deftly details the history of Dominica and Jean Rhys' family, credibly suggesting how the work grows out of the life and line, particularly the early experiences in the lush landscape and the problematic mother-daughter relationship. She's superb on Rhys' assessment of the English and of being an outsider and nails the snobbery and voyeurism she was subjected to and sometimes conjured. Any statements are meticulously backed up by judicious references to Rhys' own words (Pizzichini undeniably displays an extensive knowledge of all of Rhys' writing). It's full of humanity and insight; she gives very plausible readings of discomfiting behaviour but maintains an admirably beady eye. I loved it, each section, deceptively simple and spare, allows a deepening appreciation of the artist. I consider it a serious work which made me rethink many of my own assumptions and which is, time and time again, very funny. It deserves to be read, it's wonderful.
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