Franny Moyle

Constance is well-written and readable.

Moyle makes a case for Constance having had a stronger influence upon Oscar thandh than is generally assumed. This case seems to rely heavily on commonsensical assumptions, though she does bring under stronger light what might be evidence of Constance's (heavy) hand in one of her husband's fairy tales.

Like so many popular history books, this one has its fair share of speculation, signalled as usual with phrases like 'would surely have', 'must have been' and 'it's very likely' . And like those other books it has too many skimmable digressions: If Moyle feared that readers might know nothing of rational dress, Aestheticism, spiritualism and the like she would have done better to sum these things up in a few sentences or refer the readers to a good cultural survey of the period rather than devote pages to them.

The main problem for me, though, is that Constance Wilde simply seems a unremarkable person. I'm not sorry I read the book and feel sure that anyone who would like to know more about her husband and his circle will find at least a few choice nuggets in it but ultimately Constance Wilde is of interest only because she was married to Oscar . Given Moyle's access to family recollections, I regret that she didn't instead turn her attention to Oscar's niece Dolly or Constance's nephew Fabien, both of whom are infinitely more interesting than their aunt.… (altro)

This book is about what the subtitle says: the private lives of the Pre-Raphaelite Group and their champion.

So, we get to know their social and family origins, how they knew each other, how they got together, how they searched for the “stunners” (were these women or the embodiment of their fantasies?), and how they swapped them amongst themselves.

The book is border line between social history and a gossip magazine, with may be more of the latter than the former. There is very little analysis of their work, but it remains Ruskinian in its honesty. It does not pretend to be what it isn’t and stays true to its nature.

Anyway, it was highly entertaining, and it raises once again the question of whether knowing about the life of an artist or writer adds, or detracts, anything from an appreciation of that person’s work. This is a tough question and I shall not propose an answer. Sometimes I welcome knowing more, sometimes I do not.

To this group I would give the following Prizes:

The greatest painter: Millais
The most irritating character: Rossetti
The most Oxfordy: Burne-Jones
The best decorator: Morris
The most complex character: Ruskin
The most interesting character: Hunt
The most forgettable: Madox Brown

Some hold two prizes.

The most kitschy painter: Hunt
The most inspiring: Ruskin
The most socially significant: Morris

With the women, I ended up very confused, since they all move around from one member of the brotherhood to another. Most of them cut a similar Pygmalonian pattern, had (or were depicted as having) frizzy hair, long neck and melancholic eyes. Alas, in my mind they have all become one.

I will give more attention to their art when I visit the Tate’s exhibit next month. I will also then start with Ruskin’s writings on art in preparation to reading someone who was deeply inspired by him: Proust.
… (altro)