Philip Hensher

It feels somehow improper to witness an author groping for the right words

It even borders on the painful in the case of W.B. Yeats doggedly reworking the first lines of ‘All Soul’s Night’, or Samuel Beckett perfecting the opening of Murphy

A version of the opening of a key chapter of Frankenstein: ‘It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld my man completed with an anxiety that almost amounted to agony...’ Mary Shelley began working on the novel when she was only 18, and the manuscripts show several traces of the suggestions made by Percy Bysshe Shelley. [© Bodleian Library Publishing, Univeristy of Oxford, 2024] 
issue 24 February 2024

Philip Hensher has narrated this article for you to listen to.

The early stages of a literary work are often of immense interest. It is perhaps a rather tawdry kind of interest, like paparazzi shots of a Hollywood starlet taking the bins out before she’s put her make-up on. Of course it’s extraordinary to think that some of the most famous characters, events and lines in literature weren’t as we now know them but had to be struggled towards. Sometimes these efforts have the anachronistic but unavoidable sense of somebody getting it wrong.

Textual bibliographers have carefully classified the different steps a work takes from manuscript to first edition and subsequent versions. Perhaps we could go further in search of a writer’s progress. There are the inchoate thoughts, remote from any conscious intention – perhaps a sound, a mood, a phrase, a voice, a movement. Then some words that might merit being written down, even though no coherence is discernible.

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