Books

John Carey, Emeritus Professor of English at Oxford University, has never been afraid to say what he thinks; countless writers have felt the full force of his book reviews, while innumerable students have benefited from the rigour of his teaching style, so I was prepared for a rather stern account of his long academic life.

I was delighted to find that this “life in books” is, in fact, written with warmth and humour, giving an idea of the huge part played in his life by literature of every sort.

Memories of his early years on the leafy fringes of outer London are sparked by his mother’s copy of R.M. Ballantyne’s The Dog Crusoe, a school prize which, he admits, was “an odd choice for an 11-year-old girl”, and we are shown glimpses of larger-than-life relatives like Uncle Eddie, whose turn as Father Christmas causes much puzzlement to the young Carey.

These gentle reminiscences are enlivened by the presence of his brother, Bill, whose disability is a looming presence in the household and results in the family leading a somewhat enclosed existence, so much so that John could derive genuine excitement from an invitation to put his hand into an ice-making compartment to “feel the chill”.

Grammar school had a deep and lasting effect, and Carey is frequently vociferous in his condemnation of those responsible for the demise of selective state education. He clearly flourished there and from it gained the confidence to survive National Service in Egypt as an officer.

It was on completing his time in the military that he began his long association with Oxford and, as the book’s subtitle suggests, it was one of the most rewarding relationships of his life.

I found this to be the most enjoyable section of the book, as Oxford in the 1950s appears as a sort of time capsule, its archaic practices and eccentric professors sealed in a world of mists and spires, crumpets and poetry.

We meet characters like J.B. Leishmann, “tall and gaunt, with a thatch of grizzled hair and the profile of an angry hawk”, Tolkien, whose one lecture endured by Carey was “mostly inaudible”, and Professor H.W. Garrod, who loved games and quizzes and who encouraged students to help de-flea his dog.

Carey’s progress from undergraduate to research student, then on to Fellow and Professor is described engagingly, and at each point in his narrative he is keen to show how his reading affected his life, and vice versa.

Even recollections of the birth of his first child prompt the remark that he was reading Agatha Christie in the waiting room.

He has a deep, genuine love of language and literature and has clearly spent most of his life passing it on to others.

He also relates his love of writing, from schooldays to his lengthy career as a book reviewer, producing pieces of wit and erudition which put this reviewer firmly in his place.

This is a delightful book, full of treasures, witty descriptions, self-deprecating accounts of personal achievements, and it is shot through with flashes of great warmth, such as his descriptions of his father.

With an index which runs from Enid Blyton to Sophocles there is something for everyone here and, in his enthusiastic promotion of reading at the end of the book, Carey provides the perfect summary of this wonderful autobiography: “Reading is vast, like the sea, but you can dip into it anywhere and be refreshed.”