This book is not strongly structured, but I don't think it needed to be. The fundamental question it wrestles with does not have a single answer that one can arrive at (which is the main point that the book makes.) What to do with—and how to feel about—good art made by bad people is not something with one answer; it depends on the artist, the art, the situation, and most of all, the reader/viewer/listener. As such there is no logical A to B to C to follow along. Answering the question for one's self is necessarily messy, subjective, and constantly evolving, and so the narrative of the book is, too.
I feel a bit better equipped to approach the question of "what should I do about works by people I think are terrible" for myself.
Claire Dederer takes on one of the largest challenges in culture, the often damaging actions of the people creating things we otherwise love. There's no ethical way around these questions, though many people prefer to shout "LA LA LA I can't hear you" rather than engage.
Most of the book is excellent, a personal wrestling with difficult people and situations that easily brings the reader in. The chapter on Nabokov's is especially excellent, and given his other works (notably Pale Fire), seems likely to be accurate.
The last quarter of the book breaks the spell, though. It's good that Dederer acknowledges the ways in which she too can be seen as monstrous, but once she reaches the drunks and her own issues, the tone changes and it all feels more... shrugging?
This is definitely worth reading and pondering, and so far as I have encountered it's the best exploration of …
Claire Dederer takes on one of the largest challenges in culture, the often damaging actions of the people creating things we otherwise love. There's no ethical way around these questions, though many people prefer to shout "LA LA LA I can't hear you" rather than engage.
Most of the book is excellent, a personal wrestling with difficult people and situations that easily brings the reader in. The chapter on Nabokov's is especially excellent, and given his other works (notably Pale Fire), seems likely to be accurate.
The last quarter of the book breaks the spell, though. It's good that Dederer acknowledges the ways in which she too can be seen as monstrous, but once she reaches the drunks and her own issues, the tone changes and it all feels more... shrugging?
This is definitely worth reading and pondering, and so far as I have encountered it's the best exploration of this dilemma. It's great that she considers these challenges in many different media contexts, and that she is clear about her own investments in the creations. It didn't have to come to a simple answer - it couldn't - but it felt like it melted toward the end.
Dederer's book is perfectly suited to the moment. The subtitle highlights the strength of the work: "A Fan's Dilemma." When we think about "great artists" whose work enthralls us but personal lives repel us, it is we, the fans, who have to work out what weight we will give these revelations. I don't think it is too much of a spoiler to say that Dederer delves into what these questions about the "great artists" necessarily force us to ask questions about ourselves, as well. A thoughtful, engaging book about a crucial topic.
To me, the author is trying to come up with a solution for a mostly non-existent problem: how to reconcile the bad behavior of many great artists with their work. Dederer starts with obvious, 20th century, mostly male culprits: Picasso, Hemingway, Polanski, Michael Jackson, Woody Allen. She asks us how we are to consider the work of these monsters in the light of their profligacy, but in my view there is no conflict (the one exception perhaps being Paul Reubens). The work is the work, and if it's good, it's good. I love Woody Allen films, but I hate his seduction of his partner's daughter. I might get that his creepy attraction to young girls figures into a movie like Manhattan, say, but it doesn't decrease the value of the work for me or make me not want to watch it.
Dederer, a bit disconcertingly, then meanders into the world …
To me, the author is trying to come up with a solution for a mostly non-existent problem: how to reconcile the bad behavior of many great artists with their work. Dederer starts with obvious, 20th century, mostly male culprits: Picasso, Hemingway, Polanski, Michael Jackson, Woody Allen. She asks us how we are to consider the work of these monsters in the light of their profligacy, but in my view there is no conflict (the one exception perhaps being Paul Reubens). The work is the work, and if it's good, it's good. I love Woody Allen films, but I hate his seduction of his partner's daughter. I might get that his creepy attraction to young girls figures into a movie like Manhattan, say, but it doesn't decrease the value of the work for me or make me not want to watch it.
Dederer, a bit disconcertingly, then meanders into the world of women: particularly Doris Lessing and Joni Mitchell, and wonders about the decision of these two women to leave their children for their careers. Why men can do the same without receiving the same scorn. How men, until very recently, expected women to care for them while they made their art, but women who wanted to create had to make time outside the responsibilities of homemaking and childrearing. Do we call these women monsters as well?
The writing is good, and the lives of the artists considered are fascinating; but, again, I'm not sure there is an issue here. We're all flawed, some of us worse than others, and a certain percentage of those badly flawed people are artists who create amazing work. There are many less flawed artists who also create amazing work. To ban consideration of art because of moral outrage over nasty behavior on the part of the artist seems hypocritical to me. People are who they are. We don't have to like them, but we can still patronize their businesses, or go to their parties.
Dederer also conflates her own issues with some of the so-called monsters, particularly Lessing and Miles Davis, which I found a bit arrogant and irrelevant to the book. I was not interested in her drinking or parenting problems in the much larger light of the artists she discusses.
I'm very interested in the concept of this book, but after reading the first chapter, I see this isn't going to work for me. There's too much focus on memoir-ish info and descriptions/analysis of the art itself. I haven't seen Annie Hall or Manhattan. I've seen Rosemary's Baby, but I don't remember anything. I'm more interested in a deep dive into the ethical question here and less interested in the specific artist/art.
