Customer Reviews

The Letters of Noel Coward

5 star:		(13)
4 star:		(6)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(1)

 

 

Granted, some very fine biographies have been written, those that seem to paint seamless portraits. Yet, for this reader nothing can compare to someone's letters, written with no thought that they will ever be read by anyone save the recipient. These letters are mirrors, if you will, of a person's thoughts and emotions. They are in the person's own words - every adjective, nuance, inflection is his or her choice. And when the choices are Noel Coward's, it is pleasurable reading indeed.

Urbane, witty, snippy, multi-talented, observant, caring, Coward had talent to spare. He was a songwriter, playwright, actor, artist, bon vivant, advisor, trusted friend. And such friends they were - from Marlene Dietrich to the Queen Mother to Somerset Maugham to Liz Taylor (whom he once described as being "hung with rubies and diamonds and looking like a pregnant Pagoda."

His quick wit was always razor sharp, used both to bolster and skewer. When his old friend Clifton Webb lost his mother, Webb was evidently given to prolonged crying bouts which caused Coward to comment, "It must be rough to be orphaned at seventy-one."

His jests and jibes made him a wanted guest and sought after companion. Many of these witticisms are contained in this delightful compendium of letters both from and to Coward. Thoughtfully arranged by Barry Day they are a chronicle of Coward's life from his earliest days when at the age of two he had to be taken from church because he danced in the aisle to accompany the hymn being played. He faithfully sent a weekly missive to his mother, Violet. Thus, we're privy to what life was like for child actors at the turn of the century. During this period he met the 15-year-old Gertrude Lawrence who would play a large part in his professional life. Later, he telegraphed her re his play Private Lives: "Have written delightful new comedy stop good part for you stop wonderful one for me stop."

He first sailed to New York in 1921, where he was convinced that much of his future lay. Indeed, it did although he belonged to the world. Success was to follow success.

The Letters of Noel Coward is not only a joyful visit with Coward but a chapter of theatrical history. It's a weighty 753 page volume, and it's a keeper as I find myself returning to it to browse and savor again the turn of a phrase or Coward's unparalleled ripostes. Thanks to Barry Day for giving us the great pleasure of his company.

Highly recommended.

- Gail Cooke

If There Wasn't Death

Noel Coward was a genius. In 1925, he had four plays running in the West End. He was twenty-six years old. The first play that brought him success and recognition was The Vortex, about a middle aged woman who is sleeping around with younger men, and one day her young son comes home. The Lord Chancellor of London briefly thought about banning the play for reference to drug use (Coward had to appear in person and plead his case to the contrary)and for deep Freudian implications and someone said to ban the play was to ban Hamlet forever.
I am just mentioning this to show what kind a mature thinker Coward was at an early age. He wrote extensively, and he wrote verses which were funny, tart and at times poignant:
Cocktails and laughter
But what comes after?
Nobody knows.

He had a tendency to sign his epistles with terms like Poppa, Snoop, Master.
In case you did not know, he was gay.
But his inner circle consisted of three women, including Joyce Carey, daughter of Lillian Brathwaite who played the unhappy woman, mother to Coward in the Vortex. (Don't confuse her with him: Joyce Cary, the celebrated Irish novelist), Gladys Calthrop and the invaluable Lornie. So whatever he was, he was not flashing it around.
He helped Laurence Olivier's early career (Larry might not have agreed to that) and John Gielgud was his understudy in the Vortex.
This is an epistolary feast, spanning decades and stretching to 800 pages in the current tome.
It is delicious, it is delectable and one reads and wonders what manner of man could think of such lines as:

With shoulder-straps of shagreen and maybe
A brassiere of lapis lazuli.

Forget that one truth must be faced-
Although you may measure repentance at leisure-
You HAVEN'T been married in haste.
This was interestingly to Ian Fleming (remember him?) for they worked in British Intelligence during the war.

I am not going to mention the oft repeated Mad Dogs . . . but his was a free spirit, although at times incarcerated in relationships (Jack Wilson for example.)

Still it is a triumph for Barry Day, the editor.I have read letters of many great letter writers (the last one was of John Gielgud) and in this book the arrangement-closing a chapter by breaking chronology and adding comments that gives this book almost a novel like quality. One can get lost in it like in a Noel Coward play and not realize these are just a bunch of letters.

I strongly recommend the book to literature lovers, playgoers, appreciator of verses and of the glorious English Theatre. (I put the spelling knowingly)

I was surprised to receive this book as a gift -- why would I want to read the fatuities of a bygone wit? -- and began it with a sigh. But after the first chapter I was hooked, then entertained, then admiring and enthralled at the resilient, insightful, delightful and life-affirming personality of Noel Coward. The matter of his life is fascinating -- the world of the English theatre from the time he was a teenager and the next six decades, later encompassing the American musical theatre and Hollywood scenes, and ultimately the whole world, as he was a lifelong globetrotter for whom political difficulties and borders melted away. His letters (and many to him from a broad array of distinguished and eloquent correspondents) are fresh, and funny, and topical about the theatre, England, World War II, patriotism, the press, the royal family, romance vs. life vs. art. The book is wonderfully assembled, with many fascinating photographs, and unobtrusive but always apt commentary by editor Barry Day filling in facts and thoughtful analysis as to Coward's life and surrounding events. Day chooses and arranges his material brilliantly, interspersing a basic chronological approach with a few chapters (called "Intermissions") that interject a lifelong perspective on Coward's relationships with certain people. Editor Day wisely keeps the star -- Coward the letter-writer -- center-stage throughout, providing the set-dressing that allows the production to be a hit. The result is the conjuring up of Coward as a theatrical phenomenon who is shown also to be an insightful and sensitive human being who was quite determined that the generally indifferent state of the universe would not deter him from success and having a good time.

I've spent a month slow-reading these letters, which taught me more than I thought I'd care to know about the periods Coward "ruled." My feeling is, anyone who wants to know what it's like to be able to paint/draw/write poetry/write novels/write plays/write films/ direct all the above/sing/act/cavort/and be completely focused while still being a party animal.....all using the same brain, needs to read these letters. The poor marketing job done on this book does not point out how it's not just what HE wrote, but what GB Shaw, Churchill, the Roosevelts, Garbo, Dietrich and like a hundred more, wrote back to the man himself...and nothing is censored. I learned tons -- for instance, did you know there was a total U.S. embargo against Great Britain before we joined WW II??
And oh yeah, Coward's true love was his Mother - gross but true. And finally, what is inside this great one's head as he puts forth a career that is beyond belief what one man can accomplish. I am reviewing this because, except for Amazon, this book, reviewed wholeheartedly on the front page of the NYT, was unavailable that same week--in any store I tried to pick it up from. But alas, you could buy a Paris Hilton bio in the front of said store. Enough shouted. Get this - before it goes out of print like all of Coward's bios. And oh yeah, Diary of Noel Coward from X years ago is an unfettered (though sexually in-explicit) muttering of someone who knew damn well we'd read his thoughts one day. Go for it.

Sir Noel Coward began life in lower middle-class surroundings in London at the cusp of the 20th century. This 1899 lad grew to be a multifaceted Renaissance man of the theatre. During his long career Coward won fame as a playwright writing bright and bouncy light comedy. He is best known for his plays "Private Lives', "Blithe Spirit," his first hit "Vortex"
"Tongight at 8:30" and many others. He wrote one mediocre novel and produced two classic films: "Brief Encounter" and "In Which We Serve" his tribute to the Royal Navy during the dark days of World War II. Coward also served as an undercover agent in World War II. He was patriotic and British to the core even though he spent most of his life living abroad most notably Jamaica where he died in 1973. In this book you will travel all over the world with Sir Noel meeting interesting people and visiting exotic lands.
Coward knew everyone in the theatre, movies and politics. He hobnobed with the likes of Marlene Dietrich, Charles Chaplin, Greta Garbo, Clifton Webb and many others. He knew famed politicians such as Winston Churchill and corresponded with George Bernard Shaw. He was close to the Mountbattens and was a close friend of the Queen Mother.
This is a mammoth book over 700 pages long which includes the witty, warm and wonderful words of Coward and his galaxy of famous people. The book also contains over 200 black and white illustrations. It is a great way to get to know Coward and the glittery, glamorous world he inhabited. Coward was gay and had a succession of lovers but he also was close to his mother and female business associates. He was a good man and friend Anyone wanting to learn about a modern playwright's life, read witty poetry and prose or learn more about the theatre world would enjoy this book.

This long and ambitious biography satisfies on several levels. First, it puts forward Coward's vast output in an organized and skillful way. Secondly, it gives us an accurate portrait of the genius himself, in his own words and those of an astonishing array of talents. Thirdly, the photos are extraordinary, and flesh out the story in a very personal way. I found it interesting that he was able to write so quickly, often in a matter of days dashing off a new play, or musical theme. Things formed quickly in a mind that raced almost ahead of himself at times. His musical ear picked up the cadence of conversations that illuminated his writing. I found it also interesting how he suffered at the hands of the English. Dreadfully homophobic, the English had a difficult time during this period with many of their greatest artists, rather a love/hate situation. If one goes looking for sexual tidbits about his personal life, there is little to be found in his letters. He was almost always a model of diplomacy, and even when he found it necessary to take a Mary Martin or a Vivien Leigh to task for unprofessional behavior, he did it in an instructive manner, laying at their feet decades of theatrical experience, and telling them in exact terms how he felt. One has to admire his directness, and his ability to take his losses in stride and go on to the next challenge. It is sad that he had to wait until he was 70 for a kinghthood that should have been put forward decades earlier. The Queen Mother loved artists from all walks of life, and she put it right finally. Perhaps the author could have spared us a few letters too many, but on the whole this is a book to keep and savor again and again.

The letters are brittle, brilliant, pure Noel Coward. Having them put into historical context is fascinating.

This mammoth book of the correspondence of Noel Coward is interesting, but I think the author should have been more selective. It includes many letters that shed little light on Noel's life and little on that of his friends. On the other hand, much of the correslpondence is fascinating. All in all, I think I know more about Noel Coward than I wanted to know.

The sheer output of the late Coward---plays, musicals, operettas, revues, movies, television and radio shows, verses, poems, short stories, autobiographies, diaries and a novel---might suggest to future generations that he was actually a brigade of bright young things banded together to bring wit, sophistication and a touch of class to the twentieth century. To this vast mountain of popular writings has been added a new book; at almost 800 pages, it is a massive volume, packed with a seemingly unending pile of trivia and minutia. There is actually painfully little of any worthwhile information not more readily available in the diaries and autobiographies, and the new information frequently falls into gossip, treacle or not really pertinent to a study of either the artist or his time. Purporting to tell the entire story, finally, of Coward as sort of an effete James Bond-type during World War II, there are letters which state that Coward was a spy for England. This has been said many times before, and the tome offers no new exciting anecdotes, breathless chases or heroic escapes. The backstage gossip is ephemeral to the point of absurdity: Marlene Dietrich had an unrequited crush on Yul Brynner; former Dennis resident Gertrude Lawrence may have had a lesbian relationship with Daphne du Maurier. And the weekly letters to his mother are downright embarrassing. Edited and arranged by Barry Day in a very clever manner including letters to Coward from his famous friends (along with Coward's replies) it's important to remember that these pieces were never really meant for publication. The wittier lines were always recycled into the public writings, and, unfortunately, there really isn't enough new material here to warrant the price or the girth of the work. Day has done yeomen work in turning Coward into his own cottage industry---this is the seventh book he's done on Coward's life and work, yet Coward's own dictum of responsibilities to an audience---shock them, amuse them, entertain them but never bore them---has been sadly ignored in this book. For greater fun, grab The Noel Coward Collection (BBC Video).

If you can stomach the gushy style that matched the greasy slick-backed oily hair and stuffed-shirt style of Noel Coward then this book is worth reading*.

Among the "luvvy" verbiage there are many parts that are funny, interesting and show how prolific, hard working and well connected on both sides of the Atlantic Coward was.

His network of contacts included not only his (near) contemporaries and peers like Somerset Maugham, Edith Sitwell, Louis Mountbatten, John Gielgud, Winston Churchill, Terence Rattigan and Marlene Dietrich but also the younger generation which hated everything he stood for, such as John Osborne, Harold Pinter and Arnold Wesker.

He also maintained a correspondence for a number of years with Lawrence of Arabia.

Despite his snobbery and vanity, Coward comes over as a kindly person who took on a lot of voluntary tasks such as traveling great distances to put on performances for the military during the war and acting as a kind of unofficial ambassador for England.

At the same time, he was a true professional playwright and actor. For example, he once wrote a show containing nine one-act plays. Can you imagine anyone doing that today? On top of that he wrote thousands of letters (many of which were very long) and kept diaries.

When his kind of light comedy went out of style in the 50s and 60s he reinvented himself by heading off to places like Las Vegas where he did cabaret acts (how he managed to be a success in places like this is a mystery) while continuing to produce plays, some of which were respectable commercial successes.

He also played a couple of cameo film roles, such as in Our Man in Havana and, (hopelessly miscast) as the East End gang leader in the cult movie The Italian Job with Michael Caine. This shows how versatile (or desperate) he was.

His plays seem very old fashioned by today's standards, apart perhaps from the Vortex and Private Lives. A patriotic work like Cavalcade would be laughed off the stage and songs like The Stately Homes of England and Mad Dogs and Englishmen would barely raise a smile. Coward's work has none of the staying power of Somerset Maugham whose novels, short stories and plays are still widely read and performed.

This is a good, long book - almost 800 pages - which gives the reader a chance to get to know Coward over half a century. It also contains some letters from his correspondents which helps put the correspondence in context and makes it fuller and rounder.

It is not to be rushed but sipped to prolong the flavour.

Although Coward's tone is often nauseatingly sweet and phoney, there are other times when he lets rip and puts actors (such as Olivier) and actresses (Margaret Leighton) in their place and shows a tough character behind the white dinner jacket and carnation.

My main criticism is that the letters do not appear in chronological order. This leads to occasions in which letters written decades apart appear on the same page. I also feel the editor could have given a better continuity between chapters and been more open about Coward's personal life.

*Some examples: "Love and kisses darling Acky Weezie, Noelie Poelie", "All Love Darlingest" and "All my love to all and Oh Dear, I do wish they would invent something to make Transatlantic Hugs possible."