My life stories autobiography

Recommended by Nick Hornby:

Sarah Bakewell’s book is a biography with a difference. Like every great life in the arts, Montaigne’s is hundreds of years long. He happens to have died in 1592, but his influence is everywhere: in Hamlet’s soliloquies, in every newspaper, on every blog. Montaigne, for better or for worse, invented the personal essay — really — and this singular book explores some of the ideas these essays raised, and traces Montaigne’s survival from generation to generation.

There’s a more conventional biography in here, too, but Bakewell manages to thread it into a philosophical self-help book about grief, conviviality, work, originality and a lot of other subjects that Montaigne wanted us to think about. As a consequence, How To Live is original, accessible, thoughtful, useful, and more fun than you’d ever have thought a 16th-century essayist could be.

I’d like to read a similar book about Elvis, or Shakespeare, or Dickens, or Jane Austen; sometimes the true greatness only emerges years, centuries even, after the last breath has been drawn.

Funny Girl by Nick Hornby is out now (Viking)

Recommended by Colm Tóibín:

Becoming a Poet by David Kalstone, is the story of the relationship between three poets: Elizabeth Bishop, Robert Lowell and Marianne Moore. Using letters and drafts of poems, he shows how Lowell and Moore did everything they could to influence and help and often patronise Elizabeth Bishop. Moore and her eccentric mother even rewrote one of Bishop’s poems for her, just as Lowell made one of Bishop’s stories into a poem, and later, without her permission, one of her letters into a sonnet.

Kalstone, who died in 1986, three years before the book was published, was a scholar with a light touch, a critic with a real interest in what lay behind poetic influence and inspiration. The book manages to tell the story of three sensibilities, and then shows us Bishop’s efforts to float away from her two mentors by writing slowly and meticulously about her childhood in Nova Scotia — some poems took her more than twenty years to complete — and then about Key West, where she lived for a decade, and then later her life in Brazil.

Kalstone’s style is elegant: he manages to make careful and sober judgements. His book is one of the great biographies.

Nora Webster by Colm Tóibín is out now (Viking)

Recommended by Richard Ford:

I’m generally bored rigid by the Civil War. A boyhood in Mississippi will do that to you (or else turn you into a Republican). But SC Gwynne’s superb biography of Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson is a revelation — as is Jackson himself.

Gwynne is an especially informed and felicitous writer, while Jackson poses a challenge to the most resourceful student of human character. Jackson was a compendium of glaring opposites: a pious and uxorious homebody and failed science teacher, who transformed himself (in an absurd and bad cause) into the fiercest and most ingenious of battlefield generals.

A biography of his life, then, needs to, if not reconcile Jackson’s incongruities then at least to get them into the shapely sentences, yet Gwynne is truly remarkable at this.

Don’t let the title throw you off: this is a riveting book.

Let Me Be Frank With You by Richard Ford is now (Bloomsbury)

​Recommended by John Lahr:

Elia Kazan’s autobiography A Life is my favourite book on American theatre.

Kazan was a dynamo. Scratch anywhere in modern American theatre and you’ll find him. As an actor with The Group Theatre, he shouted “Strike, Strike, Strike!” in Clifford Odets’s Waiting for Lefty, the polemical anthem which launched Odets and The Group into stardom in the Thirties.

As a director, his psychological insight and sense of narrative structure helped to shape the most important plays of mid-century theatre: Thornton Wilder’s The Skin of Our Teeth, Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof; Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman.

As if that weren’t enough, he co-founded the Actors Studio, which revolutionised acting, and was the first co-artistic director of Lincoln Centre. All the forces in American theatre come together, one way or another, in him.

At the centre of this furious energy and appetite for life was a combative outsider’s rage. His memoir is unique for its honesty, intimacy, and insight into all the great talents with whom he worked and into his own legendary struggle to be an artist and to be true to his political principles.

The scope of Kazan’s influence, the complexity of his personality and his psychological acumen place this memoir in a class by itself.

Nobody in 20th-century theatre had Kazan’s career, and no memoirist has left a more unabashed witness to the brilliance and barbarity of American individualism.

Tennessee Williams: Mad Pilgrimage of the Flesh by John Lahr is out now (Bloomsbury)

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Recommended by Adam Gopnik:

When it comes to biographies, I always return, in a shamelessly unimaginative spirit, to James Boswell’s The Life of Samuel Johnson.

The most unoriginal of choices, this dramatic biography of the life of a miscellaneous journalist remains the most original of books — in many ways the most original (and still inimitable) book in all the English language.

Instead of the slow-crawl, dutiful chronicling of the life of a great man, piety after piety and year after year, it is a collection of hyper-dramatised vignettes, sometimes comic — “I asked Dr. Johnson whether he thought any man of a modern age could have written such poems? Johnson replied, ‘Yes, Sir, many men, many women, and many children’” — sometimes passionate — “‘I am afraid I may be one of those who shall be damned’ (looking dismally). Dr. Adams: ‘What do you mean by damned?’ Johnson: (passionately and loudly) ‘Sent to Hell, Sir, and punished everlastingly’” — but always utterly alive.

I’ve been reading in it every night for 30 plus years, and never get even slightly bored, though I’ve sometimes wondered why Boswell’s dramatic technique remains so rarely imitated, even in biographies written by intimates of their subjects.

Winter by Adam Gopnik is out now (Quercus)

Recommended by Philip Hoare:

In 2014 we were bombarded with more books about the World War I than bombs that fell in the trenches, so I dug out Dominic Hibberd’s brilliant Wilfred Owen.

Building on Jon Stallworthy’s wonderful first biography of 1974 (sadly, Stallworthy died last year), Hibberd brings a startling, if not counterfactual, new focus to bear on our most celebrated war poet. In 1914, Owen was a perfume salesman in Bordeaux, sporting a floppy fringe and hanging out with decadent anarchist poets. When he did enlist, the following year, it was not to fight for his country, but for poetry.

Hibberd’s biography was the first to deal openly with Owen’s sexuality. He shows that the power of Owen’s poems lies in his passion for the men under his command. Like many of my generation, Owen’s was the authentic voice of protest.

Indeed, his poems only became widely popular in the Sixties, when they were evoked in the opposition to Vietnam. Until Jane Potter’s much-anticipated edition of Owen’s letters emerges later this year, the anniversary of the Great War will have not produced any account so compelling as Owen’s verse, or as revealing as Hibberd’s prose.

The Sea Inside by Philip Hoare is out now (Fourth Estate)

Recommended Irvine Welsh:

A biography should be able to spring surprises, even if you know the subject.

Bernard Sumner’s Chapter and Verse contained poignantly rendered family tragedies, told with warm humour and without a hint of self-pity, that the wider world and even close friends were often previously unaware of.

As well as showing a life saved and made by rock’n’roll, it illustrates somebody almost effortlessly negotiating the rapids of success and stardom, armed only with street smarts and laconic Manc wit.

The passage on a bitter council co-worker’s view on weight gain alone makes it essential. It's a must-read for all Joy Division and New Order fans.

A Decent Ride by Irvine Welsh is out 16 April (Cape)

​Recommended by David Nicholls:

I’ve read some wonderful memoirs over the years, from Blake Morrison’s classic And When Did You Last See Your Father? to, more recently, Damian Barr’s frank and touching Maggie and Me. But if I had to choose one, I think I’d go for The Perfect Stranger by PJ Kavanagh.

It’s a classic coming-of-age story following the young writer’s adventures from a Butlin’s holiday camp to Paris, Korea, Barcelona and Oxford, where he meets the “perfect stranger” of the title.

Funny, poetical, ultimately heartbreaking, it’s a lost classic, out of print for many years but due for republication soon.

Us by David Nicholls is out now (Hodder & Stoughton)

​Recommended by David Thomson

This is a life as told through the letters of Dirk Bogarde: a great actor, a fair writer of novels and memoirs, a man with a natural talent for gardens and houses and a seething enthusiasm for gossip and friendship.

He was gay (but not inclined to admit it), yet some of his most stimulating friendships were with women he adored. As edited (superbly) by John Coldstream, this book gives you the sound of his voice, the pleasure of having him as your host and the fascination of witty, personal letters that are hideously misspelled!

Yet through all the gaiety and humour, you perceive someone always acting and trying to hide a chill and a loneliness that emerge in real biographies of him. Instead, he wanted to be good company and “ever, Dirk”.

What more do you expect from a true biography than a sense of the act he was putting on? I’m not sure honesty makes for good biography or great actors.

Why Acting Matters by David Thomson is out on 23 April (Yale)

Recommended by Andrew O'Hagan:

I find it hard to choose my favourite biography because I love so many. It could easily be James Boswell’s Life of Johnson, a deathless book filled with drama and comedy. (It’s a classic because it makes you realise what the art of biography means.) But what about Richard Ellmann’s biography of Oscar Wilde, Fred Laurence Guiles’ of Marilyn Monroe, Hilary Spurling’s two-volume masterpiece on Matisse, or Miranda Carter’s account of the lives of Anthony Blunt?

Whatever it is that makes a great biography, the element is in short supply. Yet the book I’ve decided to choose is different from most biographies; it’s more edited than authored, and it happens to be about a person who is quite marginal.

Edie by Jean Stein is the story of Andy Warhol’s associate Edie Sedgwick as told by those who knew her. Edie was a beautiful young socialite who made a splash in the underground art scene before dying of a drug overdose at the age of 28. It might not sound like much of a life, but great biographies are often a record of a period as much as a person, and Stein’s book is a brilliant book about the Sixties.

It also cuts to the core of what we now understand to be a general obsession with celebrity. The book is the first and best of what is called “oral biography”: the story is told through hundreds of interviews and is orchestrated with terrific brio.

The Illuminations by Andrew O’Hagan is out on 5 February (Faber)

Recommended by Iain Sinclair:

A culture, at any given time, can be judged by its poets. And by the way those poets are appreciated or ignored. In the ground beside a Quaker Meeting House, near Sedbergh, is the plain stone that serves as a memorial to the Northumbrian poet Basil Bunting. Bunting did not look for a biography. He kept predatory academics and gossipmongers at arm’s length. He burnt letters. The story, in so far as he wanted to tell it, was a single poem, Briggflatts: the myth of self as a memory-song or river echo. “Descant on Rawthey’s madrigal.”

But we want the mystery unpacked and explained. Richard Burton, in A Strong Song Tows Us, has been diligent. Bunting in prison as a conscientious objector during the First World War. Carousing with Hemingway in Paris. Hanging out with Ezra Pound in Rapallo. Diplomat and spy in Persia. Rescued from newspaper drudgery by young Tom Pickard. Feted by Allen Ginsberg. A man acclaimed, then reforgotten. Here is a life that covers most of the 20th century. It comes back in the end, to the sound heard in Briggflatts: the mason’s mallet spelling out a name for a gravestone.

London Overground: A Day’s Walk Around the Ginger Line by Iain Sinclair is out on 4 June (Hamish Hamilton)

Recommended by Mick Brown:

“I Say A Little Prayer”, “Walk on By”, “The Look of Love”, “This Guy’s in Love With You” – Burt Bacharach has been responsible for writing and producing some of the most memorable, and romantic, songs in post-war popular music, but he is also a highly entertaining, and surprisingly candid, raconteur. The Broadway lyricist Sammy Cahn once said of Bacharach that he was the only songwriter who didn’t look like a dentist. Rather, he was the epitome of cool, an urbane ladykiller as smooth as his orchestral arrangements, who plied his trade in a world of rapacious agents, self-destructive singers, broads, highballs and frequent dinners at Italian joints “where Sinatra liked to hang out”.
This autobiography is vividly illuminating on the craft of the songwriter, Bacharach’s oddly distanced relationship with his lyricist Hal David, and the hurly-burly of life around New York's Brill Building — a kind of hit factory of Sixties pop music. It also spares nothing of an energetic love life featuring such walk-on players as the wonderfully named Slim Brandy (real name Shirley Orenstein), who danced in the line at the Sands Hotel in Vegas, and Tracy Fisher, a showgirl who owned a poodle named Killer and who, Bacharach notes laconically, “eventually wound up living with some low-level hood, who killed her on a boat.” Bacharach floats across the pages, radiating charm and talent as seemingly effortless as his melodies.

Tearing Down The Wall of Sound: The Rise and Fall of Phil Spector by Mick Brown is out now (Bloomsbury)

Recommended by Tom McCarthy:

This is an extraordinary biography (it took 25 years to write) of an extraordinary person. Félix Fénéon was an immaculately-dressed man-about-the-boulevards; a brilliant art critic who championed the Post-Impressionists at a time when the Academy dismissed them as irrelevant; editor of several literary magazines; and bomb-throwing anarchist who liked planting incendiary devices in flowerpots on the windowsills of restaurants packed with politicians and diplomats. When put on trial for acts of which he was self-evidently guilty, he charmed his way off the hook, and even had the jury rolling in their chairs (”It is alleged that I was seen talking with the German terrorist Kampfmeyer ‘behind a lamppost?’ But a lamp-post is round…”). Here is the outline of his “psychological novel” The Muzzled Woman:
1st Part: Uh! 2nd Part: Two purplish butterflies alight on Jacqueline’s zygomatic muscle. 3rd Part: Paul's Sa’s bed. 4th Part: The menacing eye of the lewd druggist.
Did he actually write it? Of course not. Who needs to when the outline is that good? Later in life, he pioneered the three-line news-haiku, otherwise known as fait divers: It was his turn at nine-pins when a cerebral haemorrhage felled M. André, 75, of Levallois. While his ball was rolling, he ceased to be.

Satin Island by Tom McCarthy is out on 12 March (Vintage)

Recommended by Mark Lawson:

Most biographers devote a short part of their own life to a long stretch of somebody else’s, but US writer Robert A Caro has achieved more than a 1:1 ratio. President Lyndon Baines Johnson had a 32-year political career, culminating in the White House after JFK’s assassination; and Caro has so far spent four decades describing that CV. Starting work shortly after LBJ’s death in 1973, he published the first volume, The Path to Power, in 1982 and three more have appeared at intervals of roughly a decade, with the concluding fifth book (presidency and post presidency) currently under-way. The cumulative result is the greatest work ever written about the motives, tactics and consequences of elective power. Anyone contemplating taking a position from tennis club treasurer to Mayor of London should read the third book, <Master of the Senate>, a riveting account of beguiling rivals and opponents to do what you want. And, although there had been thousands of accounts of the Kennedy assassination by the time that Caro published The Passage of Power in 2012, his version, told from the viewpoint of Johnson on the floor of the following car, is the most intense and affecting. Caro never denies the vulgarity and corruption that were a part of LBJ but also shows that he did more to shape American society than JFK had.

The Deaths by Mark Lawson is out now (Picador)

Recommended Adam Thirlwell:

So often I’m distrustful of biography as a form, and especially the biographies of writers — all those novels reduced to psychosomatic neuroses! But I love Judith Thurman’s of Isak Dinesen. Now, I understand, Dinesen is not — not any more — the most famous of names. She was the author of the memoir Out of Africa, and a sequence of Gothic tales that’s unlike any other fiction in the 20th century. But then, Dinesen was unlike any other author. She was born into the Danish aristocracy. Her real name was Karen Dinesen; she published fiction in English as Isak Dinesen, then in Danish as Karen Blixen – which is also the name on her tombstone. But she was known in Denmark simply as Baronessen, the Baroness. And you need to read this biography not only for the outré details – like the dinner she once had with Carson McCullers, Arthur Miller, and Marilyn Monroe (Monroe, she said, reminded her of a lion cub) – but for the elegance of Thurman’s composition, which transforms a life into a patterned process. And that, amigos, is what biography should be.

Lurid and Cute by Adam Thirlwell is out now (Cape)

Recommended by Mark Ellen:

This is the most gripping and evocative rock memoir I’ve ever read. It opens like a black and white movie about a broken-home childhood in the late-Fifties, becomes a Grimm’s Fairy Tale of outrageous teenage adventure, then a punk pantomime with her game-changing all-girl band The Slits, then a brutally honest attempt to make sense of marriage, motherhood and middle-age with clothes, music and boys the three irresistible forces that steer her path and fire her imagination. Every split-second is so vivid and powerfully observed: the less than fragrant sex (Pistols, Mick Jones, Johnny Thunders), the head-warping drug episodes, the emotional highs and menstrual miseries of being a girl in a ballet dress playing electric guitar. Here’s a taste, Viv has run away with a friend to Amsterdam and is about to spend the night with a junkie (it’s 1970, she’s 15): “Out of the gloom a double mattress begins to materialise and, lounging on it, languishing behind a veil of smoke from a joint like the caterpillar in Alice In Wonderland, is an angelic boy with long golden ringlets. He looks us over and smiles.” That’s nothing: wait till she’s on tour with The Clash...

Rock Stars Stole My Life!: A Big Bad Love Affair With Music by Mark Ellen is out in paperback on 8 May (Coronet Books)

Recommended by Richard Benson:

For a sport that prides itself on its chivalry, fair play and liking for cucumber sandwiches, cricket produces an awful lot of autobiographies with dodgy exposes and anger-management issues. Who can forget, for example, Ian Botham’s Eighties masterpiece Don’t Tell Kath, or Kevin Pietersen’s KP last year? Fred Trueman’s Ball of Fire, written with a ghost writer in 1976, is the snorty king of them all, a spectacular 150-page venting of arrogance, resentment, and Yorkshire chippiness. Trueman, active between 1949 and 1968, was arguably England’s greatest-ever fast bowler, controversial and aggressive. He later enjoyed a successful TV career as presenter and pundit. Ball of Fire features great anecdotes from his cricketing career, several blood-soaked, since this was a man who settled scores by breaking opponents’ jaws with bouncers. But it’s the drama (sample chapter titles: “The Curse of the Truemans”, “The White English Bastard”, “I Could Have Been Skipper!”) and furious showing off (“I bowled faster over a longer period than anyone else on earth”; “Some of those old-timers talked a load of old cock!”) that make it. Reading like a combination of Morrissey and Roy Keane, it’s as good an antidote to bland sports autobiographies as you’ll ever read.

The Valley: A Hundred Years in the Life of a Family by Richard Benson is out now (Bloomsbury)

Recommended by Kevin Maher:

Over 800 pages of clear-cut analysis and no-nonsense insight, this is the book for anyone who’s made it as far as the third chapter of James Joyce’s Ulysses, glared at the opening words, “Ineluctable modality of the visible..”, and thought, “You know what? Fuck this!”

Because Ellmann’s biography of Joyce is not just a ten-years-in-the-making masterwork in its own right, described by Anthony Burgess as, “the greatest literary biography of the 20th century.” It is also the great calmative that approaches the work of Joyce without pretension, and makes it entirely comprehensible by simply rooting it back into the life of an affable Irish overachiever who once boasted of Ulysses, “I’ve put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries.”

Highlights here include a high-stakes 1902 face-off between Joyce and the much older (and more famous) WB Yeats in a Dublin café (think Michael Mann’s Heat, but with extra rhetorical flourishes) in which the younger man dismisses his elder as a pompous relic. Or the many wildly intimate letters sent between Joyce and eventual wife Nora Barnacle in which the writer expresses his desire to, in so many words, let her do pee-pee and poo-poo all over him.

But mostly what Ellmann gives you is a gorgeous portrait of an artist who was determined to transform his life into literature. And by documenting that life in dense, breathtaking detail, Ellmann brings the literature alive and, thankfully, finally, takes the enigmas and the puzzles to pieces.

Last Night on Earth by Kevin Maher is out on 2 April (Little, Brown)

Recommended by Alan Hollinghurst:

Penelope Fitzgerald presents a special kind of problem for a biographer.

Known now as one of the finest English novelists of the Seventies and Eighties, she didn’t publish her first book till she was 59, and her last and greatest, The Blue Flower, until she was nearly 80.

For much of her long and difficult life, she was a genius in waiting, and in her famous old age became something of a tease about her own history. She wrote glancingly about her marriage and career in the novels she produced at first at the rate of one a year, and all fans of her fiction will have longed to know more.

In Hermione Lee she has found the supreme biographer, not only tirelessly interested in every detail of Fitzgerald’s life, but with a profound sense of the imaginative compulsions which produced her utterly original novels.

This is a masterpiece worthy of its subject.

The Stranger’s Child by Alan Hollinghurst is out now (Picador)

Recommended by David Vann:

I’ve written a portrait of a school shooter, a mass murderer, so I’m biased, but Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood is still the biography I remember most.

It was in some ways a life-destroying act of empathy, and maybe that’s what biography demands: the erasure of the author. I know that I will never write about another murderer.

He’s become a part of my life, made my view of America and of men much darker, and if I could go back, I would not have written the book. And I wasn’t very good at it. I became impatient, wanted him out of my life, and finished the book quickly after writing the initial article for Esquire in the US.

What Capote did was remain immersed in that dark place for years. He went beyond any safety. And because of that, what we can find in his book is a part of our humanity, a recognition. This is rare.

In Dave Cullen’s bestselling book, Columbine, by contrast, we have the great lie of American heroes overshadowing any willingness to look at ourselves. He spent ten years, but all wasted.

Aquarium by David Vann is out on 5 March (William Heinemann)