Alexander Larman, Byron's Women (Head of Zeus)The famous line about Byron being 'mad, bad and dangerous to know', coined by Lady Caroline Lamb, who spoke from experience, has tended to have been regarded as a badge of honour for the celebrity poet. But in certain circles, times have changed and even the more likeable 'bad boys' are subject to more scrutiny in our ethically-aware times. This biography, seen through chapters on a number of prominent women in his life, is enough to make us sure there was nothing glamorous about it, it's nothing to be proud of and that's the least of it.
We are what we are and that isn't necessarily our fault. Byron's father, 'Mad Jack' was a prototype from which the disastrous finished article was developed and the account of his life as chancer, womaniser and prone to unquestioning extravagance is evidence enough that much of what we are is inescapably in the DNA. But there seems to be some irresistible magnetism about some that means that no limits can be put on their capacity to indulge themselves and it always has ruinous results for those who succumb to the charisma or charm. It is their misfortune that Lord Byron and his like can fall out of love, and become quite unpleasant about it, just as quickly as they can fall in love and provide such exquisite poetry as She Walks in Beauty.
There don't appear to have been many boundaries to the poet's preferences but the understated turn of phrase in that age of circumspect idioms offers some light relief to us who would not express such things as quaintly now,
Such was the frequency and enthusiasm of his activity with Caroline at first that he was obliged to obtain a doctor's prescription for what he unblushingly described as 'a debility occasioned by too frequent connection'.
But the telling phrase there might be 'at first' because there is nothing as dull as the same and nothing more exciting than the next.
Some might have more sympathy with his announcement soon after that, which supports the point, 'I do not believe in the existence of what is called love'. And, if we are to spare him some pity, not much of which he really warrants, it could be added that in Lady Caroline, he got the sort of girlfriend he deserved, who turned out to be much more trouble than she could have been worth to him, to which we might say, good for her.
His relationship with his half-sister, while being scandalous enough, is paradoxically one of the more enduring and genuine but in marrying Annabella Milbanke, he is clever but honest enough to write that,
she is quite pretty enough to be loved by her husband, without being so glaringly beautiful as to attract too many rivals.
But at about the same time as she receives news of his marriage, his half-sister, Augusta, gives birth to a child 'believed to be Byron's'.
In Italy, his relationship with Countess Teresa Guiccioli is that of 'cavalier servante', a recognized role of male companion, the difference between it and gigolo not being entirely clear, but the Count doesn't seem to mind, is blissfully unknowing or realizes from the start he can't do anything about it.
There is some reference to the poetry in this account, as well as the friendship with the Shelleys, but it is not the purpose of the book to concentrate on the literary biography. It is in six parts and tells the stories of nine women, through which we see the unbearable image of George Gordon. It does enough, though, to direct the reader to some poems. Darkness, one can't help but notice, is as bleak and desolate a poem as Rochester's Upon Nothing. It should come as no surprise that one of Alexander Larman's previous books is on the subject of the Blazing Star, John Wilmot. Rochester's poem is more than a hundred years older than Byron's and more of a metaphysical celebration of the nothing that underscores all existence than the hyperactive, Gothic gloom of Darkness but the fact that these two memorable major works by the two foremost libertines of English poetry express such barren world views suggest that beneath the excess, the mania, the hedonism and the untameable spirit, there is a vast emptiness.
The final part, after Byron's demise, aged 36, is about the two daughters, Ada and Medora, one a mathematical genius who manages to squander her talent on a misguided faith in gambling systems and the other, somewhat overlooked, whose difficult life ends with some solace in France, well-liked and respected by the villagers among who she lived.
If the book leaves us with the impression that its theme is the overbearing libido out of control, it is also about money. It's not really about poetry. That just happens. There is another story about Newstead Abbey, the cattle grazing within its walls when inherited by Byron.
We have equivalent C20th stories in those of Ted Hughes or Dylan Thomas, but even they seem to pale into suburban, recognizable situations compared to the excesses of high Romanticism. It might be poets liike Byron who make poetry seem outrageous, outlandish and on which its reputation for bohemianism is based but for each of these headline-makers there are hundreds of others turning well-made verses.
Byron's poems are not fashionable now and it's hard to foresee a time when they might become so again. It's hard to say whether poetry should be grateful for the attention characters like him draw to it, which is used to create some mystique about the whole enterprise. it's really not like that at all.
