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Selected Letters, 1940-1985
In addition to his acknowledged position as one of Britain's most important poets of the post-World War II era, Philip Larkin was unquestionably one of the last great letter writers. There are over seven hundred letters in this impressive collection, dating from Larkin's late teens until close to his death at the age of sixty-three in 1985. Early letters to school friends, including the writer Kingsley Amis, form a portrait of the young artist, full of jazz, literature, and obscenities.
Later correspondents include the novelist Barbara Pym (whose fictional portraits of genteel English country life Larkin so admired), Robert Conquest, Andrew Motion, and Julian Barnes.
Later correspondents include the novelist Barbara Pym (whose fictional portraits of genteel English country life Larkin so admired), Robert Conquest, Andrew Motion, and Julian Barnes.
In his Introduction, Anthony Thwaite writes: "What is remarkable, for all the masks he put on, is how consistently Larkin emerges, whoever he is writing to . . . [The letters] are an informal record of the lonely, gregarious . . . intolerant, compassionate, eloquent, foul-mouthed, harsh and humorous Philip Larkin, who was not only one of the finest poets of our time but also a compulsive and entertaining letter-writer."
791 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1992
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238 people want to read
About the author
Philip Larkin
141 books694 followersPhilip Arthur Larkin, CH, CBE, FRSL, was an English poet, novelist and jazz critic. He spent his working life as a university librarian and was offered the Poet Laureateship following the death of John Betjeman, but declined the post. Larkin is commonly regarded as one of the greatest English poets of the latter half of the twentieth century. He first came to prominence with the release of his third collection The Less Deceived in 1955. The Whitsun Weddings and High Windows followed in 1964 and 1974. In 2003 Larkin was chosen as "the nation's best-loved poet" in a survey by the Poetry Book Society, and in 2008 The Times named Larkin as the greatest post-war writer.
Larkin was born in city of Coventry, England, the only son and younger child of Sydney Larkin (1884–1948), city treasurer of Coventry, who came from Lichfield, and his wife, Eva Emily Day (1886–1977), of Epping. From 1930 to 1940 he was educated at King Henry VIII School in Coventry, and in October 1940, in the midst of the Second World War, went up to St John's College, Oxford, to read English language and literature. Having been rejected for military service because of his poor eyesight, Larkin was able, unlike many of his contemporaries, to follow the traditional full-length degree course, taking a first-class degree in 1943. Whilst at Oxford he met Kingsley Amis, who would become a lifelong friend and frequent correspondent. Shortly after graduating he was appointed municipal librarian at Wellington, Shropshire. In 1946, he became assistant librarian at University College, Leicester and in 1955 sub-librarian at Queen's University, Belfast. In March 1955, Larkin was appointed librarian at The University of Hull, a position he retained until his death.
Larkin was born in city of Coventry, England, the only son and younger child of Sydney Larkin (1884–1948), city treasurer of Coventry, who came from Lichfield, and his wife, Eva Emily Day (1886–1977), of Epping. From 1930 to 1940 he was educated at King Henry VIII School in Coventry, and in October 1940, in the midst of the Second World War, went up to St John's College, Oxford, to read English language and literature. Having been rejected for military service because of his poor eyesight, Larkin was able, unlike many of his contemporaries, to follow the traditional full-length degree course, taking a first-class degree in 1943. Whilst at Oxford he met Kingsley Amis, who would become a lifelong friend and frequent correspondent. Shortly after graduating he was appointed municipal librarian at Wellington, Shropshire. In 1946, he became assistant librarian at University College, Leicester and in 1955 sub-librarian at Queen's University, Belfast. In March 1955, Larkin was appointed librarian at The University of Hull, a position he retained until his death.
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
February 23, 2012
I love the once admired and then reviled people. They reveal so much about the human condition and the burden of hope that we all place in them to elevate us out of the meanest locales of spirit that our humanity dwells. Phillip Larkin is one great example, a self depreciating to the point of self-loathing, English poet who was a towering giant in the years following the Second World War. Even years later following his death in 1979 he appeared high on the list of important post modern literary figures. Then something happened in 1992 that exposed all the unseemly warts that covered his body.
Publication of the Selected Letters of Philip Larkin, revealed to the world a bigoted, racist, misogynist and fascist sympathizer of the ultra right and a reader of (Gasp) pornography, apparently he had two sizeable collections. There was one at his home and another secreted away in a cupboard at his office. Easy enough to understand, one never knows when you will be gripped by the urge to masturbate.
The literary glitterati descended on Larkin’s corpse tearing shreds of decomposing flesh off his body like mad little popinjays thinking themselves vultures. Larkin once quipped that “fat hung off him like a Roman toga.” There was plenty of meat to go around.
Overnight Phillip Larkin had fallen from the de facto position of Poet Laureate to that “little Englander porn fiend,’’ reports Giles Harvey in Harper’s (Harpers, Feb 2012). Oh how incensed the literate became. The University of London’s Lisa Jardine wrote that defending Larkin was indefensible. Given that her gender qualifies her in Larkin’s mind as a “stupid being” one can understand her ire.
Yet, was there not some clue to his inner nature that those who previously loved him so had ignored until it could no longer be ignored? One can generally overlook minor bigotries in another person until we catch them using the “N” word or some other cruel vulgarity. And don’t we all have to watch out for the demon of intolerance that lurks about within us? My grandfather recoiled at the treatment of Japanese Americans during WWII as not just un-American, but anti-human. But, he would not shop at places he termed “Jew joints.” Contradictions exist within us all. They aren’t nearly as easily hidden as we pretend. Generally, we excuse or ignore until we no longer can.
My grandfather’s anti-Semitism has always bothered me. Yet, I still love and adore the man even decades after his death. He was a flawed being within whom currents of light and darkness swirled about, just as they do in me. His flaws don’t render his good qualities moot. In fact, the darkness makes the light more miraculous. It is never the good we do from our light that matters. It’s the good we do despite our darkness that really shines forth and counts.
That’s the problem with the culture of celebrity. When our heroes are revealed to be human, all too human, we feel betrayed. We feel like fools for loving and even championing such not very nice people. When the letters of Mother Teresa were published posthumously many felt outraged over her confessions of fear and doubt. Perhaps, the sycophants of Teresa never considered that even the saints were once human and that doubt is a key ingredient of faith. Perhaps, they were just shocked at having a mirror held up reflecting their own faces back at them. What hope can we cling to when our heroes are found to be wanting just as we are?
Does the ugly truth about Philip Larkin cancel out the goodness, beauty or truth of his art? Bryan Appleyard writing in the London Times thinks so. “Why is the provincial grotesque now so adored, so edited, so biographied and generally elevated to the highest ranks of English lit (Harpers, February 2012)?”
Giles Harvey points out both the problem and the hypocrisy of the outrage over Philip Larkin (Harper’s. Feb 2012). The indignation came fairly enough over the realization that the person who was thought to best exemplify English virtues and attitudes turned out to be an ugly toad. But, liberal values and aesthetics are two very different things. Ezra Pound was himself a fascist sympathizer. Yet, this fussy and peculiar man – a supporter of Mussolini - had poetic insight worthy of consideration.
If art is rendered void of beauty and merit because the artist is acknowledged, as Larkin was in a 2008 London Times list of important literary figures, “He was, it is now generally agreed, not a very nice man” (Harper’s, Feb 2012) then many in the world of art and literature will be immediately disqualified. Jackson Pollack was a raging drunk and a wife beater.
Alcoholism is a relatively minor offense when it comes to personality defects among the great artists and writers of history. So is bigotry even though it offends the sensibilities of today’s liberal and progressive establishments (as it does me). I find it interesting that in every art history class I took where Pollack’s work was discussed its aesthetic value was never thought to be diminished because he was violent towards women – a heinous crime in my opinion I might add. Nowhere in my limited reading of Phillip Larkin have I found him to be excused for any violence. But, I don’t know that to be fact.
Even a quarter of a century after the unpleasant truth of Larkin’s inner life was revealed, his work still suffers from the all or nothing thinking of many intellectuals, who themselves aren’t giants of virtues. Fortunately, time does grant the patient a little glimmer of perspective. And it is the tendency of our all or nothing thinking that trips us up here.
There is no justification for the racism and misogyny expressed by Philip Larkin. Yet, none of that made it into his poetry and fiction. His work is free to stand on its aesthetic values. It is this inner darkness of Larkin’s that perhaps provided the motivation for his art. It is often those weighted down and tortured by their own flaws that gift humanity with great works of beauty and truth. It is the ugliness within us that motivates us to create beauty. These flawed men and women often have the most to say to us about our human condition.
Out of the darkness shines a light that will lead us to the heights…
I do want to be clear that the ability and even the necessity to separate aesthetics from the character of Phillip Larkin doesn’t exempt him from criticism. None of us are or ever should be. There is plenty to morally object to and Lisa Jardine and Bryan Appleyard have good cause to raise dissenting voices. I believe they should.
I too have raised an outraged voice over the likes of Roman Polanski. I boycott his films and will continue to do so. However, I recognize him to be a talented filmmaker. My boycott is due to what I believe is a legitimate response that the demands of justice have not been met. If such time should occur that he finally is convicted of his crimes and sits in a prison cell where he belongs I will have no problem watching any of his films. I respond this way because it is the only salve for my outrage. Justice has been blinded in this case by the French and international diplomacy. I feel powerless to do little else.
The tendency that we must fight is our proclivity toward ad hominem attack in the face of our outrage. To the best of my knowledge Phillip Larkin is not guilty of any crime. The tendency of both polemicist and apologist alike is to tie character so intimately to a person’s actions that it distorts the truth of the person’s character.
Yes, character plays a role in a person’s actions. But, the question that is often missed during ad hominem attacks is what motivates a person to think or behave in such ways. A deeper question to be asked is given what we know about Larkin how could such writing emerge? If Larkin’s personal thoughts and beliefs were more respectable by English standards would he have still produced the work he did?
Ode to Larkin
From The Kenneth Williams Diaries
Monday, 2 December, 1985
Philip Larkin is dead. Surely the whole world must end now that this fine man has left it? I scribbled a quick poem in my notebook when I heard, although if anyone should ever read it I would squeal and die. Alright then, here it is. "Philip Larkin / I've thought about parking / My penis in your gob / Oh Mr. Larkin / The dog's are barking / Won't you suck my nob?" I call it O'd To Larkin. Of course, I would never have asked him when he was alive - he might have said yes, and the man was a rapist and a wife-beater.
Publication of the Selected Letters of Philip Larkin, revealed to the world a bigoted, racist, misogynist and fascist sympathizer of the ultra right and a reader of (Gasp) pornography, apparently he had two sizeable collections. There was one at his home and another secreted away in a cupboard at his office. Easy enough to understand, one never knows when you will be gripped by the urge to masturbate.
The literary glitterati descended on Larkin’s corpse tearing shreds of decomposing flesh off his body like mad little popinjays thinking themselves vultures. Larkin once quipped that “fat hung off him like a Roman toga.” There was plenty of meat to go around.
Overnight Phillip Larkin had fallen from the de facto position of Poet Laureate to that “little Englander porn fiend,’’ reports Giles Harvey in Harper’s (Harpers, Feb 2012). Oh how incensed the literate became. The University of London’s Lisa Jardine wrote that defending Larkin was indefensible. Given that her gender qualifies her in Larkin’s mind as a “stupid being” one can understand her ire.
Yet, was there not some clue to his inner nature that those who previously loved him so had ignored until it could no longer be ignored? One can generally overlook minor bigotries in another person until we catch them using the “N” word or some other cruel vulgarity. And don’t we all have to watch out for the demon of intolerance that lurks about within us? My grandfather recoiled at the treatment of Japanese Americans during WWII as not just un-American, but anti-human. But, he would not shop at places he termed “Jew joints.” Contradictions exist within us all. They aren’t nearly as easily hidden as we pretend. Generally, we excuse or ignore until we no longer can.
My grandfather’s anti-Semitism has always bothered me. Yet, I still love and adore the man even decades after his death. He was a flawed being within whom currents of light and darkness swirled about, just as they do in me. His flaws don’t render his good qualities moot. In fact, the darkness makes the light more miraculous. It is never the good we do from our light that matters. It’s the good we do despite our darkness that really shines forth and counts.
That’s the problem with the culture of celebrity. When our heroes are revealed to be human, all too human, we feel betrayed. We feel like fools for loving and even championing such not very nice people. When the letters of Mother Teresa were published posthumously many felt outraged over her confessions of fear and doubt. Perhaps, the sycophants of Teresa never considered that even the saints were once human and that doubt is a key ingredient of faith. Perhaps, they were just shocked at having a mirror held up reflecting their own faces back at them. What hope can we cling to when our heroes are found to be wanting just as we are?
Does the ugly truth about Philip Larkin cancel out the goodness, beauty or truth of his art? Bryan Appleyard writing in the London Times thinks so. “Why is the provincial grotesque now so adored, so edited, so biographied and generally elevated to the highest ranks of English lit (Harpers, February 2012)?”
Giles Harvey points out both the problem and the hypocrisy of the outrage over Philip Larkin (Harper’s. Feb 2012). The indignation came fairly enough over the realization that the person who was thought to best exemplify English virtues and attitudes turned out to be an ugly toad. But, liberal values and aesthetics are two very different things. Ezra Pound was himself a fascist sympathizer. Yet, this fussy and peculiar man – a supporter of Mussolini - had poetic insight worthy of consideration.
If art is rendered void of beauty and merit because the artist is acknowledged, as Larkin was in a 2008 London Times list of important literary figures, “He was, it is now generally agreed, not a very nice man” (Harper’s, Feb 2012) then many in the world of art and literature will be immediately disqualified. Jackson Pollack was a raging drunk and a wife beater.
Alcoholism is a relatively minor offense when it comes to personality defects among the great artists and writers of history. So is bigotry even though it offends the sensibilities of today’s liberal and progressive establishments (as it does me). I find it interesting that in every art history class I took where Pollack’s work was discussed its aesthetic value was never thought to be diminished because he was violent towards women – a heinous crime in my opinion I might add. Nowhere in my limited reading of Phillip Larkin have I found him to be excused for any violence. But, I don’t know that to be fact.
Even a quarter of a century after the unpleasant truth of Larkin’s inner life was revealed, his work still suffers from the all or nothing thinking of many intellectuals, who themselves aren’t giants of virtues. Fortunately, time does grant the patient a little glimmer of perspective. And it is the tendency of our all or nothing thinking that trips us up here.
There is no justification for the racism and misogyny expressed by Philip Larkin. Yet, none of that made it into his poetry and fiction. His work is free to stand on its aesthetic values. It is this inner darkness of Larkin’s that perhaps provided the motivation for his art. It is often those weighted down and tortured by their own flaws that gift humanity with great works of beauty and truth. It is the ugliness within us that motivates us to create beauty. These flawed men and women often have the most to say to us about our human condition.
Out of the darkness shines a light that will lead us to the heights…
I do want to be clear that the ability and even the necessity to separate aesthetics from the character of Phillip Larkin doesn’t exempt him from criticism. None of us are or ever should be. There is plenty to morally object to and Lisa Jardine and Bryan Appleyard have good cause to raise dissenting voices. I believe they should.
I too have raised an outraged voice over the likes of Roman Polanski. I boycott his films and will continue to do so. However, I recognize him to be a talented filmmaker. My boycott is due to what I believe is a legitimate response that the demands of justice have not been met. If such time should occur that he finally is convicted of his crimes and sits in a prison cell where he belongs I will have no problem watching any of his films. I respond this way because it is the only salve for my outrage. Justice has been blinded in this case by the French and international diplomacy. I feel powerless to do little else.
The tendency that we must fight is our proclivity toward ad hominem attack in the face of our outrage. To the best of my knowledge Phillip Larkin is not guilty of any crime. The tendency of both polemicist and apologist alike is to tie character so intimately to a person’s actions that it distorts the truth of the person’s character.
Yes, character plays a role in a person’s actions. But, the question that is often missed during ad hominem attacks is what motivates a person to think or behave in such ways. A deeper question to be asked is given what we know about Larkin how could such writing emerge? If Larkin’s personal thoughts and beliefs were more respectable by English standards would he have still produced the work he did?
Ode to Larkin
From The Kenneth Williams Diaries
Monday, 2 December, 1985
Philip Larkin is dead. Surely the whole world must end now that this fine man has left it? I scribbled a quick poem in my notebook when I heard, although if anyone should ever read it I would squeal and die. Alright then, here it is. "Philip Larkin / I've thought about parking / My penis in your gob / Oh Mr. Larkin / The dog's are barking / Won't you suck my nob?" I call it O'd To Larkin. Of course, I would never have asked him when he was alive - he might have said yes, and the man was a rapist and a wife-beater.
August 6, 2007
Feeling grumpy? This fixes me up (since I'm essentially crabby).
February 12, 2016
For such a celebrated man, his letters reflect a bit of a sad life.
July 21, 2018
In which his sheer vulgarity and vitality show through. Letters were a massive part of his life, the only time he was (able to be) properly social or affectionate. Only shows his letters, not the interlocutors, which amplifies the grim humour and passive aggression. Couldn't believe how big a DH Lawrence fan he is.
Silliness abounds, particularly in the spells where he and Amis are railing against the world:
And he is totally obsessed with the passage of time throughout his entire life.
His existential decline is so steep in the 70s that I actually couldn't finish, too sad.
How little our careers express what lies in us, and yet how much time they take up. It's sad, really.
I hate it when you go, for the dreary failure & selfishness on my part it seems to symbolise - this is nothing to do with Maeve, you've always come before her; it's my own unwillingness to give myself to anyone else that's at fault - like promising to stand on one leg for the rest of one's life...
My great trouble, as usual, is that I lack desires. Life is to know what you want, & to get it. But I don’t feel I desire anything. I am unconvinced of the worth of literature. I don’t want money or position. I find it easier to abstain from women that sustain the trouble of them & the creakings of my own monastic personality.
Silliness abounds, particularly in the spells where he and Amis are railing against the world:
Now there can only be don't normally take anyone over 55, like to do a few tests if you don't mind, am returning it because it isn't really up to your own high standard, afraid I must stop coming Mr Larkin hope you find another cleaning lady to
AAAARRRRGHGHGHGHGH
And he is totally obsessed with the passage of time throughout his entire life.
I'm terrified of the thought of time passing (or whatever is meant by that phrase) whether I 'do' anything or not. In a way I may believe, deep down, that doing nothing acts as a brake on 'time's - it doesn't of course. It merely adds the torment of having done nothing, when the time comes when it really doesn't matter if you've done anything or not.
His existential decline is so steep in the 70s that I actually couldn't finish, too sad.
May 29, 2017
Reading other people’s letters is one of my guilty pleasures. I first read this selection of Philip Larkin’s letters in 1993, writing to a friend shortly after I’d begun: ‘So far, the guy seems a bit of a prat.’ But I ended up enjoying the book immensely, Larkin’s prattish moments notwithstanding.
Be warned, there is plenty of misogyny, racism, xenophobia, Toryism and jazz in these letters, but there are also plenty of affectionate letters. And there are also many humorous moments. Like this, in which the young Larkin describes beginning work as a librarian in Shropshire
Or this, in which he describes a neighbour playing atonal classical music:
Or this, on the poetry of a future Poet Laureate:
The misogyny, racism and xenophobia make uncomfortable reading, and damaged Larkin’s posthumous reputation. The fact that the letters containing them were limited to a relatively small number of recipients made me suspect there was more than an element of puerile, exaggerated, politically incorrect in-joking with ‘the lads’. But I also strongly suspect that Larkin’s misogyny, racism and xenophobia, while not being as extreme as they might sound on a literal reading of these letters, were genuine enough.
Misgivings aside, well worth a second reading. Recommended.
Be warned, there is plenty of misogyny, racism, xenophobia, Toryism and jazz in these letters, but there are also plenty of affectionate letters. And there are also many humorous moments. Like this, in which the young Larkin describes beginning work as a librarian in Shropshire
The library is a very small one, I am entirely unassisted in my labours, and spend most of my time handing out tripey novels to morons.
Or this, in which he describes a neighbour playing atonal classical music:
[It s]ounded like a ferry boat trying to get out of a piano factory…
Or this, on the poetry of a future Poet Laureate:
At Ilkley literature festival a woman shrieked and vomited during a Ted Hughes reading. I must say I’ve never felt like shrieking.
The misogyny, racism and xenophobia make uncomfortable reading, and damaged Larkin’s posthumous reputation. The fact that the letters containing them were limited to a relatively small number of recipients made me suspect there was more than an element of puerile, exaggerated, politically incorrect in-joking with ‘the lads’. But I also strongly suspect that Larkin’s misogyny, racism and xenophobia, while not being as extreme as they might sound on a literal reading of these letters, were genuine enough.
Misgivings aside, well worth a second reading. Recommended.
Want to read
November 25, 2022Why this book? Over 700 letters!!!
January 11, 2023
developed thyroiditis during this and was convinced i had throat cancer
September 23, 2024
Gives an astounding level of insight
January 17, 2025
Larkin was a great poet, but led a suburban life and didn't do much. Plus, he never strayed far from home. As a result, his letters are somewhat dull. Well-written but boring.
August 3, 2015
If L lived to this age, and if he cared to open a Twitter account just for the sake of insulting and offending anyone/anything displeases him, the landscape of the Internet would have been greatly improved. Hardly anyone could match his wisdom, grumpiness and humour.
May 19, 2015
Poor old PL.
May 12, 2012
Magnifique!
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews