An all-too-final appearance
Jan. 29th, 2014 09:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
litlover12(My review of Alec Guinness's last book, A Positively Final Appearance, cross-posted at Goodreads.)
"When I had finished it I felt bereft," writes Alec Guinness of a novel he had been reading. I know how he felt. Only it's worse for me, because this is the last of his books. There are no more of these delightful treasures from him, and that leaves me feeling very bereft indeed.
There was a touch of melancholy in this one that hadn't been there before -- possibly because this really was "a positively final appearance," and he knew it. ("I sat up abruptly in bed on this gloomy morning saying to myself, 'You have only another seven hundred days to live.' A quick rough reckoning gave me until November 2000." He was off by only about three months.) The humility that WAS there before has only increased, to a point that's sometimes painful to read about ("a thousand failings as a person, husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather and friend -- and my lazy, slapdash, selfish attitude as an actor").
But here also are all the things I loved in his other books -- the funny stories on all kinds of topics, including his fellow actors (Claude Rains makes an appearance in this one! Hurray!), and the affection for books and animals and all things beautiful, and the quiet but deep love for God and for family and friends. Some readers complain about a sense of reserve in Guinness's writing (in fact, in his whole persona), but it's actually one of the things I like best about him. He doesn't have to spill his guts all over the page; he shares what he prefers to share in his own way, and guards his innermost heart, and yet you still come away feeling that he's given you something truly meaningful. At least, that's how I feel. I'm reserved myself, so I can relate -- in fact, it makes me feel as if I understand him all the better. Introverts unite! :-)
Nothing could have surprised me more than to find a kindred spirit in the memoirs of an elderly British actor, but that's exactly what I did, and I'm so glad I discovered them. I only wish he had begun writing earlier, or lived a little longer, or both, so I'd have even more to enjoy.
One more thing: I love that cover photo. Nothing could have captured Guinness's spirit better than that simultaneously solemn face and capering figure. Perfect.
"When I had finished it I felt bereft," writes Alec Guinness of a novel he had been reading. I know how he felt. Only it's worse for me, because this is the last of his books. There are no more of these delightful treasures from him, and that leaves me feeling very bereft indeed.
There was a touch of melancholy in this one that hadn't been there before -- possibly because this really was "a positively final appearance," and he knew it. ("I sat up abruptly in bed on this gloomy morning saying to myself, 'You have only another seven hundred days to live.' A quick rough reckoning gave me until November 2000." He was off by only about three months.) The humility that WAS there before has only increased, to a point that's sometimes painful to read about ("a thousand failings as a person, husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather and friend -- and my lazy, slapdash, selfish attitude as an actor").
But here also are all the things I loved in his other books -- the funny stories on all kinds of topics, including his fellow actors (Claude Rains makes an appearance in this one! Hurray!), and the affection for books and animals and all things beautiful, and the quiet but deep love for God and for family and friends. Some readers complain about a sense of reserve in Guinness's writing (in fact, in his whole persona), but it's actually one of the things I like best about him. He doesn't have to spill his guts all over the page; he shares what he prefers to share in his own way, and guards his innermost heart, and yet you still come away feeling that he's given you something truly meaningful. At least, that's how I feel. I'm reserved myself, so I can relate -- in fact, it makes me feel as if I understand him all the better. Introverts unite! :-)
Nothing could have surprised me more than to find a kindred spirit in the memoirs of an elderly British actor, but that's exactly what I did, and I'm so glad I discovered them. I only wish he had begun writing earlier, or lived a little longer, or both, so I'd have even more to enjoy.
One more thing: I love that cover photo. Nothing could have captured Guinness's spirit better than that simultaneously solemn face and capering figure. Perfect.
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Date: 2014-01-30 09:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-30 11:49 pm (UTC)