Enough review of Alan Bennett – A Man for All Seasons | Biography and memoirs

IIn the introduction to this new installment of Alan Bennett’s memoirs, which span from 2016 to 2024, the author worries about what to write: “I’ve said it all before. At ninety, it’s impossible to avoid repetition.” Indeed, I was halfway through 2020’s posts before they started to seem familiar. It turns out that I actually reviewed Bennett’s pandemic memoir when it was released as a standalone, slim volume in 2022.

Here they are again, then, this time embedded in a much longer period of diary-keeping, characterized by Bennett’s usual repetition between past and present. It turns out that repetition doesn’t matter because the prose is layered enough to take on new meanings as the context changes. Bennett’s pandemic years look different now that Covid is in the rearview mirror. The first time, I got the impression that, despite his devotion to the NHS, the banging of pans on a Thursday evening struck him as a bit silly. Reading the section again, I am convinced that he hated the whole performative chatter.

There are other things I missed. Like how much Bennett’s two-year National Service experience has stayed with him over the decades. He almost always mentioned the anniversary: ​​”August 8. 8/8/52. The day I was called up. A Thursday.” Memories of body shame are particularly strong, as is the anxiety of undressing in front of others, something Bennett was able to completely avoid while enlisting. This despite his longing for the naked bodies around him. One time when he managed a confusion with a fellow soldier, he was so embarrassed that he never mentioned it again. “I am still embarrassed by the events of my life in which everyone involved has long since died. The embarrassment is eternal.”

He’s not too embarrassed, and you can’t help but notice that he feels compelled to hide his spiteful side. On October 17, 2024, Bennett greeted the publication of the fourth volume of Michael Palin’s memoirs with a competitive sideways glance. He explains that he can only get through it “after a lot of skipping” thanks to the abundance of detail, making the volume “more like a moving office diary.” Bennett never forgets that his diaries are written—edited, of course—for entertainment.

There is also a real ambivalence towards Jonathan Miller, who lives in Gloucester Crescent, the bohemian enclave north of London where Bennett once resided. In 2016, Miller had not yet been diagnosed with the Alzheimer’s disease that would kill him, and on February 7, 2016, he launched into a one-on-one conversation about how his famous production of The Mikado had been performed 300 times around the world, making it a “huge hit.” This leaves Bennett biting his tongue to avoid announcing that The History Boys have done 2,000 outings. “I don’t say anything, but I don’t feel any better for not doing it.”

However, there are plenty of reasons to be cheerful. While Bennett is unflinching about his physical decline over the nine years of this memoir, his creative life flourishes. The 2018 play Allelujah!, a paean to the NHS, did well and was made into a film starring Judi Dench, Derek Jacobi and Jennifer Saunders. And The Chorale, a cinematic tribute to Elgar and his small Yorkshire town during World War I, was a delightful late-life success. Both are directed by Nicholas Hytner, one of the two men he says changed his life (the other is his partner Robert Thomas, a distinguished magazine editor and a sharp-eyed shop assistant who can spot aesthetic treasures in the most unpromising stores).

However, the tone of the diary never slips into sentimentality. After being invited to the unveiling of Miller’s memorial stone at Highgate Cemetery in 2022, Bennett is concerned about how the rugged terrain will be managed. His fear is that once he finally reaches Miller’s memorial, his physical weakness will force him to sit on it, a gesture that could easily be misinterpreted as gloating. He is, after all, the last man standing.