Alfred Tennyson emerged as a conflicted individual. He even composed a piece called The Two Voices, where two aspects of his personality debated the pros and cons of suicide. Through this illuminating book, Richard Holmes chooses to focus on the more obscure character of the writer.
The year 1850 was decisive for Alfred. He published the significant poem sequence In Memoriam, over which he had laboured for close to a long period. Therefore, he emerged as both famous and wealthy. He got married, subsequent to a extended courtship. Before that, he had been living in leased properties with his mother and siblings, or lodging with male acquaintances in London, or staying by himself in a ramshackle cottage on one of his home Lincolnshire's barren shores. At that point he took a home where he could host prominent guests. He assumed the role of the national poet. His career as a renowned figure commenced.
Starting in adolescence he was striking, verging on magnetic. He was exceptionally tall, messy but good-looking
The Tennysons, noted Alfred, were a “given to dark moods”, meaning inclined to moods and depression. His parent, a reluctant clergyman, was angry and very often inebriated. Occurred an event, the particulars of which are unclear, that led to the domestic worker being fatally burned in the rectory kitchen. One of Alfred’s siblings was placed in a mental institution as a child and stayed there for the rest of his days. Another endured profound depression and emulated his father into alcoholism. A third fell into narcotics. Alfred himself experienced periods of paralysing gloom and what he referred to as “bizarre fits”. His work Maud is voiced by a lunatic: he must frequently have questioned whether he was one in his own right.
Starting in adolescence he was imposing, almost charismatic. He was of great height, disheveled but good-looking. Prior to he adopted a Spanish-style cape and sombrero, he could command a space. But, having grown up hugger-mugger with his siblings – multiple siblings to an cramped quarters – as an mature individual he sought out solitude, withdrawing into quiet when in social settings, disappearing for individual walking tours.
In that period, geologists, star gazers and those early researchers who were beginning to think with Charles Darwin about the evolution, were raising appalling questions. If the history of living beings had commenced eons before the appearance of the human race, then how to believe that the world had been made for humanity’s benefit? “One cannot imagine,” wrote Tennyson, “that all of existence was merely created for us, who reside on a third-rate planet of a third-rate sun The new viewing devices and magnifying tools uncovered spaces vast beyond measure and organisms minutely tiny: how to hold to one’s faith, considering such evidence, in a divine being who had formed mankind in his likeness? If dinosaurs had become died out, then would the human race follow suit?
The biographer weaves his account together with dual recurrent motifs. The first he presents initially – it is the concept of the Kraken. Tennyson was a young undergraduate when he composed his verse about it. In Holmes’s perspective, with its blend of “Nordic tales, 18th-century zoology, 19th-century science fiction and the biblical text”, the brief sonnet introduces themes to which Tennyson would keep returning. Its sense of something immense, indescribable and sad, concealed beyond reach of investigation, anticipates the tone of In Memoriam. It marks Tennyson’s introduction as a master of verse and as the author of images in which terrible enigma is compressed into a few strikingly suggestive lines.
The additional element is the contrast. Where the mythical creature represents all that is melancholic about Tennyson, his connection with a real-life figure, Edward FitzGerald, of whom he would say ““he was my closest companion”, conjures all that is fond and humorous in the poet. With him, Holmes reveals a facet of Tennyson rarely before encountered. A Tennyson who, after intoning some of his grandest phrases with ““bizarre seriousness”, would suddenly roar with laughter at his own solemnity. A Tennyson who, after calling on ““the companion” at home, wrote a grateful note in poetry depicting him in his garden with his tame doves perching all over him, setting their ““pink claws … on back, palm and knee”, and even on his head. It’s an image of joy nicely adapted to FitzGerald’s notable exaltation of pleasure-seeking – his version of The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám. It also summons up the brilliant absurdity of the pair's shared companion Edward Lear. It’s pleasing to be informed that Tennyson, the melancholy celebrated individual, was also the muse for Lear’s rhyme about the aged individual with a whiskers in which “two owls and a hen, four larks and a wren” constructed their homes.