From Publishers Weekly
Gilmour-who learned much about Lord Curzon from writing a recent biography of Curzon's cousin, Rudyard Kipling-has produced an absorbing life, 200 pages longer than Kenneth Rose's stylish but misshapen Superior Person. Curzon had a distinguished career as viceroy of India, Edwardian politician and post-WWI foreign minister. Born in 1859, George Curzon was the ambitious eldest of a blue-blooded but unambitious brood of 11. His impatience, intolerance and arrogance were exacerbated by the stress of wearing a steel brace for a painful curvature of the spine. Still, he set himself a tremendous pace, from ascending perilous peaks in central Asia to climbing the risky political and social ladders. He also bedded a plethora of eager society ladies. To their dismay, in his mid-30s he married the daughter of a Chicago millionaire, then took her to India. When the unselfishly devoted Mary Leiter Curzon died 11 years later, in 1906, he had no intention of remarrying, yet at 58, he succumbed to the voluptuous widow Grace Duggan, a socialite 19 years younger. By then, Curzon was on the verge of his major achievements. As foreign minister, his legacy became the remaking of national borders in the east, most crucially enabling Turkey to emerge as a modern state. Disappointed at not succeeding as prime minister, he left office in 1924 and died a year later. Though Gilmour fails to make the association, readers will savor the striking parallels with another ambitious, libidinous politician who lived with pain yet made it to the top-an American surnamed Kennedy. 24 b&w illus., 3 maps.
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In our enlightened age, to label someone as an imperialist "empire man" is usually a pejorative designation. So it is useful to be reminded that many of the men who administered the British Empire were men of immense intellect, creativity, and curiosity. In Gilmour's previous biography of the supposed arch-imperialist Kipling (The Long Recessional: The Imperial Life of Rudyard Kipling, 2002), he revealed the complexities of his subject while displaying a wonderful grasp of the spirit of the Victorian age. Here he chronicles the life of one of the true giants of the latter stages of the empire. Lord Curzon was born into a family of relatively impoverished aristocrats. He saw public service as both a duty and a means to personal advancement. As viceroy of India, he instituted vital and progressive reforms in taxation and showed a devotion to preserving India's historical monuments. Yet he remained a staunch devotee of British stewardship of the subcontinent, and his attitudes toward Indians can, charitably, be described as patronizing. Although he later served admirably as foreign secretary, his arrogance and knack for offending people probably prevented his selection as prime minister. Despite his undeniable accomplishments, Curzon died a lonely, embittered man. This is a superbly written account of a proud, talented, but rather tragic figure.
Jay FreemanCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved