There are already three biographies of E. M. Forster: P. N. Furbank’s two- volume, authorised heavyweight; Nicola Beauman’s less compendious, more engaging middleweight; and my own bantamweight, little more than an extended essay.
There are already three biographies of E. M. Forster: P. N. Furbank’s two- volume, authorised heavyweight; Nicola Beauman’s less compendious, more engaging middleweight; and my own bantamweight, little more than an extended essay. For readers who want a coherent, psychologically penetrating, well-written account of the life, with a minimum of critical analysis, this new biography is the one that I now recommend.
Most people would regard the writing of his novels as the dominant preoccupation of Forster’s life. But to that, most convincingly, Moffat adds another one, his sexuality, dealing with this aspect far more lengthily and frankly than her predecessors have done. Forster had already passed the age of 40 when, working as a ‘Head Researcher’ for the British Red Cross in Alexandria during the first world war, he at last found total emotional and physical satisfaction with a young Egyptian tram-conductor.
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