There is an art to writing biographies.  In the course of my training myself to write on literary horror, I’ve read a number of them.  Those written by literary scholars tend to veer into literary analysis, derailing the narrative.  Academic writing encourages such things, whereas the reader simply itches with boredom until the author gets back to more interesting things, like who the subject met, or what s/he did.  This is a shame, really, since I’ve read many books that could’ve been made much better by leaving the academese out of it.  Scholars far more brilliant than me have argued this for years.  I find it particularly ironic among English professors.  When they write biographies of literary figures, look out.  Obfuscation being mistaken for erudition is the order of the day.  Why do we teach those who study literary expression to make their own writing so turgid?

I know!  I know!  “If you can do better, you’re welcome to try.”  But I’m only after information.  If I’m reading a biography of a writer I don’t want her or his literary output analyzed.  I want to know about their life.  What made them tick.  Chances are, I can read what they wrote for myself and I don’t need anyone to tell me how to do that.  As an editor, I see a lot of academese.  My face falls when I do.  This stuff is so dull that only a true specialist would appreciate it.  Of course, I grew up in an uneducated family and I valued teachers who were good at explaining things.  There’s plenty I don’t understand (i.e., I can’t do it better myself), and I read to try to comprehend.  It reminds me of that witty academic bumper sticker I see from time to time in university towns: eschew obfuscation.

Is it really so difficult to write well?  I suspect some of the less accomplished biographies I read are in reality revised dissertations.  Dissertations are written for a committee, and rare are those that can be read by general readers with any appreciation.  But then, there are so many interesting people in the world who deserve biographies who’ve never been discovered.  The one who realizes this is often the doctoral student and when they begin to write up their findings, they bury this interesting person again under so much unnecessary verbiage that they continue to remain obscure.  Perhaps there’s a reason I was never really welcomed into the academy.  I am, perhaps, too easy to understand.