*This* is how you write a biography. I can't help but think of an execrable biography of Malcolm Lowry I read last year, "Pursued by Furies," written by some Oxbridge don who bragged on the dust jacket of teaching "biographical technique." Well, the gimmick of stuffing a biography full of factual minutiae, hanging every life event upon some risible, unifying notion (Lowry is "pursued by furies!" His dark angels overtake his better angels!), and displaying a bizarre unwillingness to explore surprising personal facets (Lowry's sudden homosexual experimentation is shunted aside as quickly as the author can manage) - these are the methods of a hack.
Biography tends to give is a sense of the biographer - how does one approach the task of measuring somebody else's entire life? In this, I can tell, where the aforementioned scribbler is haughty and not clever by half, Anthony Cronin is an intelligent, modest, honest and decent man. And he has produced a fine book about an author I admire greatly, Brian O'Nolan, AKA Myles na cGopaleen, AKA Flann O'Brien.
Perhaps part of the book's strength is derived from the rather shabby circumstances of O'Nolan's life. The temptation to flights of fancy or hagiography in profiling O'Nolan's bete noir, Joyce, would be strong; the romance of the Lost Generation, the overweening break from the Church and Ireland, the familial tragedy, etc etc. There is little romance in the facts of Brian O'Nolan's life, and, indeed, in his work.
And so the facts, as we hear them, are of squandered talent, his best work produced early, and followed by a long, ugly slide into alchoholism, and the work of a poetaster. But Cronin is too good a man to ever delight in this decline. He is admirably even in puncturing O'Nolan's pretensions and, often, lies, but always as the friend in the barroom. There are many riddles that Cronin does not and cannot solve. His relations (or lack thereof) with women, as well as his late marriage, are an enormous mystery.
But Cronin is a perceptive critic of the work! The work is to be celebrated, and Cronin celebrates it. If O'Nolan was a man wracked with self-doubt, Cronin provides ample evidence of the baselessness of this anxiety, second only to reading "At Swim-Two-Birds" itself.