Philip Larkin

[Flint]

I was such a happy reader in my childhood when I knew nothing about the writers whose books I read. It is difficult to be able to appreciate the work of a writer who you find repulsive as a person. The problem is that if we were only to read the works of writers who were persons of unimpeachable character our potential reading material would shrink to Lilliputian proportions. (Was it John Braine who said it's impossible to be a writer and a good person? Or was it John Osborne?)

Speaking about Larkin's work, I think it is a pity that the quality of his poetry tends to obscure the fact that he was also a novelist. He wrote two novels while still in his twenties, Jill and A Girl in Winter, which I think are rather good but sold rather bad, which I guess was probably a good thing, as successful first novels usually lead to a string of mediocre output - it was just as well that Larkin was forced to restrict his efforts to poetry, although he personally would have liked to be a successful novelist.

[Eric]

In what way was Larkin "forced" to restrict his output to writing poetry, as opposed to prose?

[Flint]

In what way was Larkin "forced" to restrict his output to writing poetry, as opposed to prose?

His novels weren't selling, so he stopped writing novels.

[Eric]

What is that fascinates you about his poetry, Flint. I've always found his poetry rather dull, middle-class, and very English in a flat kind of way. Try to explain why I should love his poetry instead.

[Flint]

What is that fascinates you about his poetry, Flint. I've always found his poetry rather dull, middle-class, and very English in a flat kind of way. Try to explain why I should love his poetry instead.

Well, it's not an easy task, but I will try to make the case for the defence.

Honourable members of this literary court,

I will speak on behalf of Philip Larkin, librarian, novelist, and poet.

I will not claim that my client is a man of irreproachable character, because that is sadly not the case. It is publicly known that he was a supporter of the regime that oppressed this Kingdom between 1979 and 1990. Furthermore, evidence has been found that he was a user of pornography, and that he held abhorrent views on grave issues concerning basic human rights.

I will not attempt to deny any of this, but it is my duty to draw your attention to the fact that personal character does not have any bearing whatsoever, as has been found in countless literary court cases prior to this one, on the assessment of literary merit. How many writers of merit have been persons of non reputable character? There have been spies, slanderers, thieves, smugglers, spouse-beaters, fascists, stalinists, Fleet Street hacks, spin doctors... The list would be too long to proceed to the end.
I will instead focus on the charges that have been levelled against my client, which I will strive to prove are totally worthless and devoid of any significance whatsoever with regard to literary merit.

My client stands accused of being "rather dull", of being "middle-class", and of being "very English in a flat kind of way".

I will show you poems by Mr Larkin in which he has used the word "fuck", poems in which he has used the word "bitch", and poems in which he has used the word "piss". How can a writer who uses the words "fuck", "bitch", and "piss" be accused of being "dull"?

We might well dispense with any arguing concerning the accusation of being "middle-class", so obvious is its lack of relevance. The fact that a person belongs to a given social class does not preclude her or his ability to write poetry. In our country there have been countless examples of members of the aristocracy, of the middle, and of the working classes who have written good poetry. If the accusation of being "middle class" were meant to signify that my client's poetic abilities have been hindered by his upholding outmoded bourgeois ideas, I would hasten to refute such a view: How could be accused of upholding bourgeois ideas a writer who openly scorns family values and social life?

Finally, the accusation of being "very English" hardly needs refutation, so baseless is it. It has been claimed in the past that in order to excel in some professions, a given nationality was a necessary pre-requisite: a person had to be German to be a philosopher, Italian to be an opera singer, Spanish to be a bullfighter, or French to be a chef, to mention but a few examples. The course of time has dispelled these preconceptions: there have been French bullfighters (there even was, if you will remember, an American bullfighter, Mr Sidney Franklin), Italian philosophers, German opera singers, and Spanish chefs. It can in no rational way be held that the fact of being English prevents a person from developing poetic abilities. Any student anthology will show so many examples of great English poets that I will not waste this court's time quoting even a handful of them. If the accusation is meant to imply that my client possesses in excess some of the traits that define the English character -hence the use of the intensifying word "very" before the adjective "English"- it ought to be explained what those traits might be, and in which ways they might impair a person's poetic acumen.

A person is to be considered innocent until proven guilty. It is not then for me to prove that a widely esteemed and recognised poet like Mr Larkin is really worthy of such esteem and recognision. On the contrary, it will be the prosecution's -certainly arduous- task to prove he is not.

A poet's job is to use language to create meaning -pure meaning. A poet is an artist who uses one tool, language, to create life and to show life to the rest of us. At this Mr Larkin excels.

[Eric]

You'd better speak up in court, as Larkin was somewhat deaf towards the end of his life.

No, his character was not perfect. On the surface he was the unassuming university librarian, but he was screwing a couple of women whom he never wanted to marry, while cycling round churches to purify his soul, no doubt.

I was born and brought up in England, with all its trappings, so I suppose he reminds me too much of gloom and rain. I remember that he thought in one poem that your mum and dad fuck you up, but that is neither a plus nor minus point. I find being (English) middle-class very relevant, because it is that kind of behaviour and atmosphere that his poetry exudes.

By "very English" I mean more than a nationality. What I am driving at is that sort of dank mediocrity and wishy-washiness that is exemplified by endless rows of semi-detached houses and an eagerness never to take literature seriously as something uplifting or exciting or profound, merely a plodding on from sentence to sentence, from birth to death - and whingeing about life all the while. So I'm not talking about a Churchillian or grand type of Englishness, but a kind of professional dowdiness. Simon Armitage is middle-class English, but his poetry is a great deal more lively.

[Stevie B]

As a person who has a fondness for campus novels, I read Larkin's novel Jill​ prior to a week-long stay at Oxford. While the book was far from gripping, it gave me some insight how one student of modest means fit into the privileged world of Oxford. I'm glad I read the book.

[Flint]

As a person who has a fondness for campus novels, I read Larkin's novel Jill​ prior to a week-long stay at Oxford. While the book was far from gripping, it gave me some insight how one student of modest means fit into the privileged world of Oxford. I'm glad I read the book.

But how long ago was that, if I may ask? Was a novel set in the 1940s really a lot of help to you?

[Flint]

You'd better speak up in court, as Larkin was somewhat deaf towards the end of his life.

No, his character was not perfect. On the surface he was the unassuming university librarian, but he was screwing a couple of women whom he never wanted to marry, while cycling round churches to purify his soul, no doubt.

I was born and brought up in England, with all its trappings, so I suppose he reminds me too much of gloom and rain. I remember that he thought in one poem that your mum and dad fuck you up, but that is neither a plus nor minus point. I find being (English) middle-class very relevant, because it is that kind of behaviour and atmosphere that his poetry exudes.

By "very English" I mean more than a nationality. What I am driving at is that sort of dank mediocrity and wishy-washiness that is exemplified by endless rows of semi-detached houses and an eagerness never to take literature seriously as something uplifting or exciting or profound, merely a plodding on from sentence to sentence, from birth to death - and whingeing about life all the while. So I'm not talking about a Churchillian or grand type of Englishness, but a kind of professional dowdiness. Simon Armitage is middle-class English, but his poetry is a great deal more lively.

So I'd better speak up, because the man was deaf in his old age. What a tasteful remark to make. Anyway I wasn't speaking to Larkin, long dead now, but to you, Eric. To no avail, as I can see. I make the point that we should judge him for his literary merit, not for his character... and you reply that his character was so and so. What else can I say.

To make things a bit more clear, you insist on Larkin's Englishness as the root source of your distaste for him, and then go on to explain what it is you don't like about England (the rain, the rows of semis, well, practically everything - I hope you like fish-and-chips).

Let me tell you that there are many Englands, and many Englishmen. There's a type of Englishman, sexually repressed, intolerant, perpetually grumbling, that I find particularly painful. And I'm very afraid to say that on the Internet you come across as someone dangerously close to that archetype.

One thing you find wrong with England is "an eagerness never to take literature seriously". Who exactly have you been talking to in England who refused to "take literature seriously"? Bus drivers? Pub barmen? NHS nurses?

It amazes me that you, of all people, should complain about this lack of seriousness. No matter how many (quite a few in the weeks I've been in this forum) writers I mention to you - British, foreigners, famous, not so famous, dead, alive - you always go for the anecdote, for the trivial detail about the guy's life, and never discuss real literature. In most cases (I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, and won't say 'all') you haven't read them. Who are you then to complain about English people not taking literature seriously?

And here we have you officiating as self-appointed Grand Inquisitor in this forum, telling the rest of us what we must interest ourselves in, what we must read, and basically what we must think.

[Stevie B]

But how long ago was that, if I may ask? Was a novel set in the 1940s really a lot of help to you?

My trip to Oxford was in 2009, so the novel provided historical insight, not contemporary.

[Eric]

So, Flint, are you an Englishman? Or do you come from the land of the trolls?

[Cleanthess]

If I may give some testimony as witness for the defense. Pertaining to the charge of "never to take literature seriously as something uplifting or exciting or profound", I offer:
Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth's immeasureable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.
Of course there is plenty in Larkin that is morose and pessimistic, and if that happens to bring back bad memories, then it would be hard to enjoy the full range of his powers. But that does not mean that the powers are not there waiting in ambush to hit the right reader:
"Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself".
And at the opposite end:
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
(...)
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

[Flint]

So, Flint, are you an Englishman? Or do you come from the land of the trolls?

If you took the trouble to read my posts, you’d be able to make a fairly comprehensive set of inferences about what culture and age group I belong to, what writers I like, what magazines and blogs I read ...

I’m not hiding anything there.

But, in all frankness, I very much doubt that your concentration span and your reading comprehension abilities go that far. So we’re back where we started. When I joined the forum a month ago you greeted me like a stern immigration officer (I wonder who conferred that role on you), and requested me to produce my passport and job qualifications, among other things. (Actually, in my travels around the world, no immigration official or customs officer has ever treated me with such a degree of hostility). Look, man, I’m no invader. I’m not after taking anything away from you. Understand? Relax. There’s no need to be so defensive. You are all the time focused on people’s personal lives (your fixation with Larkin's sex life really intrigues me – are you envious?, was 2003 rather late for thee?). If I tell you that I’m an academic you’re going to criticise me for being an academic. If I tell you I’m an insurance broker you’re going to criticise me for being an insurance broker. Etc. Etc. It’s always the same with you. (I shudder to think what’d happen if you learnt I had a media job – relax, I don’t).

Ah, but now I realise what the problem is: you suspect me not just of being English, but of being part of the English conspiracy to deny literature its rightful place – the English conspiracy to prevent literature being taken seriously. Is that really the problem? Now Eric, between you and me, what’s your problem? That England doesn’t take literature seriously, or that England doesn’t take you seriously? Again I’m telling you, relax. They haven’t taken you seriously? They haven’t given you a nice tenured job? So what? Are you going to spend the rest of your life segregating bile over that? You’re not going to make a lot of friends with that attitude.

To cap things up, you call me a “troll”. Now, someone like you, so punctilious about the correct use of vocabulary, should be more careful about the meaning of words. A ‘troll’ is someone who joins an Internet discussion board or forum in order to disrupt it. Now, have I submitted any disruptive posts? Have I disrespected any members of this forum? Can you give a single example to me? I take it then that you are using that word in order to insult me, which I suppose must give you some sort of pleasure. How sad.

Take my advice, don’t let resentment and spite poison your old age. Make the most you can of your life. And if you don’t like me, just leave me in peace. Thank you.