Artistic Loyalties
I have a rather sordid confession to make.
I like Ted Hughes. I really really really like Ted Hughes. My mum read The Iron Giant to me when I was younger, and ever since I have absolutely loved everything he has ever done. I have just ordered his collected works from Amazon, a massive brick which I will no doubt have to go through the hoo-ha of collecting from the sorting office because there is no way the postman will be able to fit it through my letterbox. It’s first on my agenda to read after exams are finished, which will make it the first book I have read purely for pleasure in three years.
When I tell people how much I like Ted Hughes, however, they often seem a bit uncomfortable. When I chose to write an essay on Oedipus last year, I got a lot of ‘Ted Hughes? But what about Sylvia Plath? You know he was really mean to her and practically murdered her, right?’ This got me thinking a lot about how much our knowledge of an artist’s personal life should affect our appreciation of their work. I do like Sylvia Plath, especially The Bell Jar and Ariel, and I am aware that she was married to Ted Hughes. If the film Sylvia, in which Hughes is played by a rather tasty Daniel Craig, is anything to go by, he was a right twit with regards to women. I also know that his next wife gassed herself as well. But do I care? Not particularly. I think that it has nothing to do with the quality of his poetry, just like I think that our knowledge of how Ariel was published posthumously should mean we read it like some kind of extended suicide note, or our knowledge of Oscar Wilde’s sexual orientation should mean we look for ‘clues’ in his work.
Obviously there are a few exceptions to this rule. For example, if someone started extolling the virtues of Mein Kampf while I was in earshot I would probably be outraged and, depending on how brave I was feeling that day, either confront them or edge awkwardly out of the room and make a point of avoiding them forever. This is a pretty extreme example though, and when the author of a book isn’t Hitler I think different rules should apply.
Overall, I think that you can like Frankenstein AND ‘To a Skylark’. You can like Hole AND Nirvana. You can like Ted Hughes AND Sylvia Plath. I think it’s a shame if people avoid appreciating things they enjoy because they somehow feel like they’re betraying another artist. Stop worrying and like what you like!
2 Responses to “Artistic Loyalties”
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Just realised The Iron Giant is actually called The Iron Man. The Iron Giant is the film version, foolish me.
I guess this is a double edged sword. While we would like to shoot the messenger and keep the message, how far would we be willing to support the messenger? Just because his work is good, does that mean we support his personal behavior?
It’s my opinion that it’s a question of personal ethics that will decide how far a reader will go to show either support of good work or distaste for a authors personal behavior.
As a side note, in many instances it is the author’s lifestyle that makes the work what it is.
We know authors like Hemingway are honored for writing that was greatly influenced by his life style. So too Wilde’s. But their lifestyles are not on the same level as the abuses of Hughes.
These kinds of issues are what sparks great debates in the literary field. And in the end, regardless of points made or issues picked apart and analyzed to the molecular level, it will still be the readers sense of ethics that will determine if the author will be honored for exceptional work or condemned for unacceptable ethical and/or social behavior.