No seat at the top table

Alan Judd

THE QUEST FOR GRAHAM GREENE by W. J. West Weidenfeld, £20, pp.286 The Graham Greene biographical indus- try began during its subject's lifetime and was much encouraged by his death. Norman Sherry is still at work on the third volume of the Authorised Version (com- missioned by Greene himself nearly a quar- ter of a century ago) but that hasn't prevented others from jumping in where angels — perhaps particularly angels might fear to tread. West's Quest will cer- tainly not be the last. Nor, I suspect, will it be the last to see fateful identities between searcher and subject: This journey of Greene's and the way he incorporated it in his novel Travels with My Aunt was a defining moment in my own quest for Greene, for I realised that I had travelled on the same train a year before him, but in the other direction.

He may be on it still.

Greene is, of course, the perfect subject for the making of many books: famous, respected by many, disliked by some, rich, controversial, with an abandoned wife, an adequacy of mistresses, exotic travels, espionage, quixotic political engagement, theological themes and ideological sub- plots. There is a quantity of known materi- al with always the possibility of something new, fictions that tell you something of the life, and a life into which he was content to weave the odd fiction mystery, charm, melancholy and throughout a manipulation that meant his biography is almost as deliberate a creation as any of his books. He even became famous for being shy.

West has done some thorough research, burrowing in the interstices of Norman Sherry's mighty edifice and, to a lesser extent, into that created by Greene's more sceptical biographer, Michael Shelden (referred to throughout by West as the `unauthorised). With regard to Greene's espionage career, all three benefited from Cabinet Office briefings arranged under William Waldegrave's open government initiative, but the temptation to speculate remains strong, however unlikely it is that the Russian leadership read Our Man in Havana and were encouraged by it to send rockets to Cuba. Nor, I suspect, is it accurate to talk of Philby's and Greene's 'friendship'.

That said, West has interesting points to make about early influences, such as Zoe Richmond, the wife of the quack psychia- trist who 'analysed' the adolescent Greene and with whom Greene may have had an affair (though the evidence given is a little disappointing). The influence of almost forgotten writers such as J. D. Beresford and the dreadful William Le Queux is use- fully charted, as is that of the later James Hadley Chase, while the long affair with Dorothy Glover is given the weight and substance it very likely deserves. West sen- sibly admits puzzlement over the intensity of Greene's apparent dislike of America, while speculating that one element may have been that Greene saw America as frustrating his long-cherished desire for an accommodation between Catholicism and Marxism. Maybe, but it often seems more visceral than that.

West identifies a number of contradic- tions between Greene's diary entries and subsequent autobiographic accounts, some- times pointing to 'deliberate disinforma- tion', but otherwise making fair allowance for fallible memory. His discussion of Greene's early political engagement and its effect on such works as It's a Battlefield is enlightening. It is interesting, too, to learn how Greene was angered by critics' refer- ences to 'Greeneland'; so far as he was concerned, he was writing about the real world, not one of his own creation. Yet to

create an imaginary world as identifiable and compelling as his is a very considerable achievement and it's a pity he couldn't see `Greeneland' for the compliment it is.

West is worried by accusations of anti- Semitism levelled against Greene, especial- ly when they come from the unauthorised. He attributes Greene's post-war removal of anti-Semitic references in earlier work to post-Holocaust sensitivity, saying that Greene 'simply did not move in the world of anti-Semitism'. True, though I'm not sure West needs to be as defensive as he is. Greene no doubt shared his pre-war atti- tudes with very many of his background, upbringing and church and, unlike some, he saw reason to change.

The origin of Greene's removal from England to France in the mid-Sixties is interestingly revealed to have been tax- avoidance, made necessary by the arrest and imprisonment of a dishonest solicitor called Roe who was managing Greene's off-shore investments (also those of other luminaries, such as Noel Coward). West gives the full background of Roe's crimes, which included laundering Mafia money, and it appears that Greene's consequent negotiations with the Inland Revenue com- pelled his rapid departure: The only answer was for Greene to become a tax exile, on account of his actual losses; other possible liabilities we cannot know of, and not least the risk of scandal breaking when Roe came to trial. Somehow — in reasoning I didn't quite fol- low — Russian knowledge of his espionage past is dragged in as a subsidiary explana- tion. It doesn't seem necessary; problems with the Revenue are usually sufficient in these matters.

Nor does it seem necessary to write about the self-imposed tax exile of this wealthy, left-leaning resident of London's exclusive Albany as if it were the less vol- untary, political sort:

Greene was to die in exile, one of those good people who, for peculiar, undefinable reasons in the middle and later years of the 20th century, Britain chose to force into exile.

Some force, some exile. That Antibes flat may have been reasonably modest in pro- portions, but it was pretty choice.

West may not have meant it like this, but the thought of Greene as a Good Man pulled me up short. Perhaps I had, after all, missed something essential about him. Charming, yes, chivalrous, helpful, witty, humorous (a quality the biographies don't normally bring out), clever, attractive, probably brave, perhaps generous, but good? Doubtless those he helped would say so, as would the priests who like their sinners famous, but it's not a word that comes naturally with the thought of him.

If you want to know the man, read his books. Biographies help, but writers are most truly revealed in their works, not so much in terms of historical correspondence with fictional events, as between the lines, where personality and spirit seep through. They reveal themselves all the time. They can't help it and often can't see it.

Greene wrote very well. His prose has the economical, limpid quality I admire, but the cumulative effect is depressive. It is like watching rain on a grey slate roof. The temperament it speaks of is depressive and, I always feel, coldly, unreachably, irre- deemably selfish. It is many other things as well, but it is that at bottom.

This is not to say that only good, happy men make great writers. Writers are as mixed as the rest of us, but in Greene's case I think the limitations of his temperament are reflected in his art. He was a very good writer who struck — strikes — chords with millions, dramatising his interpretation of the human condition in ways that made it accessible, plausible, exciting. But I do not think he has a seat at the top table. West writes as if assuming that he does, as if the case for the books does not have to be made. Yet Brighton Rock, a favourite with him and many others, appears to me inter- esting as a period piece but thin and unconvincing as a story, and with an under- standing of evil that is superficial and cheapening. Similarly, The Human Factor, which West thinks highly of, is a cardboard novel with stage-set London, implausible charac- ters and impossible action. The fundamen- tal reason these two novels are not better is that their author's portrayal of our moral condition is glib. But he was so adroitly and successfully glib that he makes of it an artistic achievement and, top table or no, you have to take your hat off to that. His criticism, on the other hand, so often sharp and elegant, is equally often neglected.

This is a minority view, however. Those who find greatness and goodness in the Old Man of Antibes will like this book. It doesn't offer a new view but it adds useful- ly to the picture of his life, and the fact that it is by an admirer doesn't mean its judg- ments should be discounted. Yet I couldn't help thinking, every time that West men- tioned Greene's favourite line from Brown- ing — 'Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things' — that that was not really where his subject lived. It's where he played. And that is why their trains are going in opposite directions.