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The Quest for Corvo: An Experiment in Biography (New York Review Books Classics)

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One summer afternoon in 1925, A. J. A. Symons and Christopher Millard, each somewhat obscure and eccentric literary figures in their own right, were sitting in a garden discussing books and authors that had never received proper recognition from the arbiters of literary history. Millard asked Symons whether he had ever read "Hadrian the Seventh." Symons acknowledged that he had not and that he was unfamiliar with the book. "To my surprise, [Millard] offered to lend me his copy-to my surprise, for my companion lent his books seldom and reluctantly. But knowing the range of his knowledge of out-of-the-way literature, I accepted without hesitating; and by doing so took the first step on a trail that led into very strange places."

Very strange places indeed! Symons began reading "Hadrian the Seventh," a book written by Frederick Rolfe, also known as Baron Corvo, and originally published in 1904, and quickly felt "that interior stir with which we all recognize a transforming new experience." Symons went on to spend the next eight years of his life tracking down the details of the life and writings of Baron Corvo, one of the most eccentric, original and enigmatic English writers of the last one hundred years. The result was "The Quest for Corvo: An Experimental Biography," a fascinating book that has been in- and out-of-print since its first publication in 1934 and has enjoyed a literary cult following akin to that of the text ("Hadrian the Seventh") and the author (Rolfe, aka Corvo) that originally inspired it.

As one reads "The Quest for Corvo," it seems that Symon's text represents the outermost of three concentric circles of eccentricity.

The innermost, core circle is "Hadrian the Seventh," a strange and imaginative novel that tells the story of an impoverished, eccentric and seemingly paranoid writer and devotee of the Roman Catholic faith, George Arthur Rose. Rose, a brilliant, self-taught man whose candidacy for the priesthood had been rejected twenty years earlier, is unexpectedly approached one day by a Cardinal and a Bishop who have been made aware of his devotion and his shameful treatment by the Church. Rose is ordained and ultimately becomes the first English Pope in several hundred years. While a work of fiction, Symons' biographical investigations disclose that much of the story of "Hadrian the Seventh" closely parallels the life of its strange author, Frederick Rolfe.

The second circle of eccentricity is, of course, the life of Frederick Rolfe, Baron Corvo, himself. It is the telling of this life that occupies Symons in "The Quest for Corvo," and the result is a fascinating, if perhaps not always historically accurate, detective story cum biography. Starting with his obsessive search for information on Rolfe and his meetings and correspondence with those who knew him, Symons brilliantly recreates a life-the life of a strangely talented artist, photographer, historian, and writer who led a life of seemingly paranoid desperation, ultimately dying impoverished in Venice at the age of forty-five.

The third, outermost circle is the eccentricity of the author of the "Quest for Corvo," A. J. A. Symons, a founder of The Wine and Food Society of England, a collector of music boxes, and a master at card tricks and the art of forgery. Like Corvo himself, Symons died at an early age-he was only forty years old-and his life and his book is seemingly as eccentric as its subject.

"The Quest for Corvo" is one of those little gems that deserve a cherished, if perhaps minor, place in English literature and the literature of biography. Happily, it is back in print again, courtesy of New York Review Books. Read it, and then read "Hadrian the Fourth" (also brought back into print by NYRB) for a fascinating turn in the world of the imaginative and the eccentric.

This is a fascinating look into the mind and world of a gifted but hopelessly selfish personality. The less you know about Corvo/Rolfe, the more you will enjoy Symons' eccentric telling. Symons' intriguing approach to biography takes the reader through each step of his inquiry. Figures from Corvo/Rolfe's shadowy past emerge to convey their various reminiscinces "Rashoman"- style. The reader shares Symons' fluctuating sense of pity and revulsion as he traces his subject's descent into Hell. Symons' writing is colorful and witty, capturing beautifully the literary spirit of Edwardian England. Unfortunately, once hooked, the reader will be unable to further satisfy his or her thirst for Corvo, as his books are hard to come by. This should in no way deter would-be readers from experiencing and enjoying Symons'Quest.

One summer afternoon in 1925, A. J. A. Symons and Christopher Millard, each somewhat obscure and eccentric literary figures in their own right, were sitting in a garden discussing books and authors that had never received proper recognition from the arbiters of literary history. Millard asked Symons whether he had ever read "Hadrian the Seventh." Symons acknowledged that he had not and that he was unfamiliar with the book. "To my surprise, [Millard] offered to lend me his copy-to my surprise, for my companion lent his books seldom and reluctantly. But knowing the range of his knowledge of out-of-the-way literature, I accepted without hesitating; and by doing so took the first step on a trail that led into very strange places."

Very strange places indeed! Symons began reading "Hadrian the Seventh," a book written by Frederick Rolfe, also known as Baron Corvo, and originally published in 1904, and quickly felt "that interior stir with which we all recognize a transforming new experience." Symons went on to spend the next eight years of his life tracking down the details of the life and writings of Baron Corvo, one of the most eccentric, original and enigmatic English writers of the last one hundred years. The result was "The Quest for Corvo: An Experimental Biography," a fascinating book that has been in- and out-of-print since its first publication in 1934 and has enjoyed a literary cult following akin to that of the text ("Hadrian the Seventh") and the author (Rolfe, aka Corvo) that originally inspired it.

As one reads "The Quest for Corvo," it seems that Symon's text represents the outermost of three concentric circles of eccentricity.

The innermost, core circle is "Hadrian the Seventh," a strange and imaginative novel that tells the story of an impoverished, eccentric and seemingly paranoid writer and devotee of the Roman Catholic faith, George Arthur Rose. Rose, a brilliant, self-taught man whose candidacy for the priesthood had been rejected twenty years earlier, is unexpectedly approached one day by a Cardinal and a Bishop who have been made aware of his devotion and his shameful treatment by the Church. Rose is ordained and ultimately becomes the first English Pope in several hundred years. While a work of fiction, Symons' biographical investigations disclose that much of the story of "Hadrian the Seventh" closely parallels the life of its strange author, Frederick Rolfe.

The second circle of eccentricity is, of course, the life of Frederick Rolfe, Baron Corvo, himself. It is the telling of this life that occupies Symons in "The Quest for Corvo," and the result is a fascinating, if perhaps not always historically accurate, detective story cum biography. Starting with his obsessive search for information on Rolfe and his meetings and correspondence with those who knew him, Symons brilliantly recreates a life-the life of a strangely talented artist, photographer, historian, and writer who led a life of seemingly paranoid desperation, ultimately dying impoverished in Venice at the age of forty-five.

The third, outermost circle is the eccentricity of the author of the "Quest for Corvo," A. J. A. Symons, a founder of The Wine and Food Society of England, a collector of music boxes, and a master at card tricks and the art of forgery. Like Corvo himself, Symons died at an early age-he was only forty years old-and his life and his book is seemingly as eccentric as its subject.

"The Quest for Corvo" is one of those little gems that deserve a cherished, if perhaps minor, place in English literature and the literature of biography. Happily, it is back in print again, courtesy of New York Review Books. Read it, and then read "Hadrian the Fourth" (also brought back into print by NYRB) for a fascinating turn in the world of the imaginative and the eccentric.

In recent years we've been treated to many thoughtful and highly readable studies on the nature of biography itself, such as in Richard Holmes's FOOTSTEPS and Janet Malcolm's THE SILENT WOMAN. Symons's THE QUEST FOR CORVO could almost be a sketch for these later, deeper studies in its very metatextual approach to what it means to compose a biography of Frederick Rolfe, one of the strangest figures in fin-de-siecle British letters. Although later biographies took this work to task for its errors and omissions, that shouldn't dissuade you from enjoying how Symons juxtaposes differing perspectives on the quarrelsome and paranoid Rolfe's actions and behaviors, and his desire to get at the "real man." Greater drawbacks, I think, might be Symons's homophobia--which, while very common for its time, seems a bit hysterical today--and the fact that Rolfe (or "Baron Corvo," as he liked to style himself) as a person either enchants readers completely or eventually becomes as tiresome to them as he did to his contemporaries. Still, even though Rolfe's antics do grate on some people's nerves a bit after a while(as they did mine), the fascination of his personality remains quite compelling.

This edition features a beautiful cover and paper stock (as do all NYRB editions) and an intelligent and thoughtful introduction (which, unfortunately, they do not always).

A.J. Symons's THE QUEST FOR CORVO may have enjoyed more readers since its publication in 1934 than any of the novels of Frederick Rolfe, the self-styled "Baron Corvo" who was Symons's fascinating subject. Rolfe (who died in 1913) seems to be enjoying one of his occasional, modest revivals, and anyone who is interested in him at all will read Symons's book.

So it is unfortunate that this first and most famous biography of Corvo has so many eccentric (to put it mildly) features to it. Symons was an amateur, and his book has all the advantages and drawbacks of inspired dilettantism. A lot of it is inaccurate, as subsequent Corvo scholarship has shown. (I wish that the various introductions written to the editions published in recent decades would point this out.)

It's a fun book, but anyone wishing to know more about Corvo -- who was, in the end, a more interesting figure than Symons -- should look up one of the later Rolfe biographies.

I read this book many years ago and it was fascinating because of its portrait of a seriously weird man. The man who called himself Baron Corvo was one of the strangest members of the British company of eccentrics. At the time I read it, I was of an impressionable age, so I was not sure that I would be as impressed by it upon re-reading it. It is still an engrossing "experiment in biography" but it is much more than that. I felt at the time of first reading that the prose was the best model for a writer that I had ever read. The prose is is not florid or ornamental. It is almost transparent. When reading it, you do not notice the prose. It is almost as if the story it relates goes directly into your mind without any intermediary. Outstanding writing!

In agreement with what other reviewers have said, I enjoyed The Quest for Corvo primarily because of the ways the book displays the author's quaint but intense enthusiasm for his subject. This is, to me, the most interesting aspect of the biography, for the most defining (and perhaps most important) thing about Fr. Rolfe was not his literary exploits (relatively few, mostly unnoticed) or indeed anything he ever accomplished, but rather his eccentricity of character. And Symons' enthusiasm for Rolfe's eccentricity is infectious, and it lends not only authenticity but genuine merit to his choice to structure the book as a "quest" instead of as hagiography.

Nonetheless, despite his intrinsically fascinating character, Rolfe should be approached first through Hadrian the Seventh, and not directly through The Quest for Corvo--if only because then the reader will be following in the biographer's footsteps.

As for the content of the biography, I found its wayward structure refreshing, but confusing, especially with regard to the author's depictions and analyses of Rolfe's literary output. A bibliography or chronology would have been quite helpful. Also, echoing other reviewers, Symons's reluctance to speak at length about Rolfe's homosexuality (especially the elements that might still be considered deviant today) leaves too much of Rolfe's character and contemporary reactions to him concealed.

In agreement with what other reviewers have said, I enjoyed The Quest for Corvo primarily because of the ways the book displays the author's quaint but intense enthusiasm for his subject. This is, to me, the most interesting aspect of the biography, for the most defining (and perhaps most important) thing about Fr. Rolfe was not his literary exploits (relatively few, mostly unnoticed) or indeed anything he ever accomplished, but rather his eccentricity of character. And Symons' enthusiasm for Rolfe's eccentricity is infectious, and it lends not only authenticity but genuine merit to his choice to structure the book as a "quest" instead of as hagiography.

Nonetheless, despite his intrinsically fascinating character, Rolfe should be approached first through Hadrian the Seventh, and not directly through The Quest for Corvo--if only because then the reader will be following in the biographer's footsteps.

As for the content of the biography, I found its wayward structure refreshing, but confusing, especially with regard to the author's depictions and analyses of Rolfe's literary output. A bibliography or chronology would have been quite helpful. Also, echoing other reviewers, Symons's reluctance to speak at length about Rolfe's homosexuality (especially the elements that might still be considered deviant today) leaves too much of Rolfe's character and contemporary reactions to him concealed.

This book is subtitled "An Experiment in Biography" and it is, truly, an unusual work. Which is all for the best, considering its subject: Frederick William Rolfe, aka Baron Corvo, an obscure English writer from the turn of the 20th century. Rolfe was...well, "eccentric" doesn't quite cover it. "Repugnant" comes to mind, as does "beastly"...also, however, "charming" and "intelligent" and even, yes, "genius". A normal biography couldn't possibly give the reader the complete sense of knowing the man, let alone build a sympathy for someone who, in his own words, "...cultivate(d) the art of making enemies". The Quest for Corvo is fascinating reading, regardless of one's interest in the subject.

This book is mostly famous as an example of how o make a biography engaging. Rather than chronologically narrating the life of Frederic Rolfe a.k.a "Baron Corvo", the author follows his own progress and correspondence in search of the Baron's life details. The subject of the book itself is one of those late victorian characters that simply had to confront a new reality driven by capitalism and not just church or aristocratic patronage.
Frederic Rolfe was a delusional, tragic man with a talent for writing and a deep seated paranoia. He attempted to become a priest for all the wrong reasons and was quickly expelled and dismissed as a superficial spendthrift . He cursed at all those who tried to help him, begged and buggered around in Venice till funds ran out. Then he died alone and poor as a rat. He refused moral judgment while dispensing it in abundance. But his writings, mostly "Hadrian the VII" and "Tales that Toto told me" caused enough impression on enough people to merit Mr. Simmons "quest" for Corvo. It is interesting to see how the author seems to need to justify the life of this hard working parasite again and again based on his literary merits. The author cannot conceal his passion for the subject and it becomes contagious. May be he saw in Fr. Rolfe a twin soul. I haven't read the books Rolfe wrote but I am afraid that they might have lost whatever glow they had in their time. Some of the neologisms he created and the language he used might have been dazzling a century ago. Today, I am afraid it might be almost incomprehensible in its rancid archaism. I admit I am judging it a priori but somehow I have no interest in finding out if I am right or wrong.