Reviews for Baudelaire in Chains: A Portrait of the Artist as a Drug Addict

The average rating for Baudelaire in Chains: A Portrait of the Artist as a Drug Addict based on 2 reviews is 2.5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2008-11-02 00:00:00 Susans Szabo More a slanted biography than a piece of literary criticism, Baudelaire in Chains is the sort of book that inspires reductionist biographical movies that boil artists down to their vices. Sylvia Plath is depressed. Iris Murdoch suffers from Alzheimer's. And Charles Baudelaire, author of a couple volumes of flamboyantly filthy-gorgeous 19th Century French poetry, is a drug addict. There are merits to this book. Hilton is a good writer, and when he's excerpting Baudelaire's letters or recounting anecdotes, his book is extremely readable. I'd even call it enjoyable. Problem is, he is so intent upon attributing all Baudelaire's mysteries and idiosyncrasies to his purported "enslavement" to opium that, well, after a while he begins to shrill. Baudelaire had trouble keeping track of his money? Obviously he spent it all on laudanum. Baudelaire couldn't maintain a pleasant relationship with anyone in his family? Obviously his addiction to opium prevented him from discerning the consequences of his vitriolic outbursts. Baudelaire suffered from stomach cramps and sometimes overslept? Obviously his body suffered from long-term opium abuse. Don't get me wrong: Hilton probably has a point -- that Baudelaire's mostly 19th-Century biographers don't give full consideration to the effects of his use of opium. But Hilton takes that point to the ends of the earth in this book. Okay, I wanted to say, after two hundred and twenty pages, I've got it. THE MAN WAS ADDICTED TO OPIUM. Now, what?

Review # 2 was written on 2015-08-04 00:00:00 Aimee Luther I greatly admire Cranston's biography of Rousseau. Cranston is most successful in conveying Rousseau's mania for maintaining his independence of mind and thought. He is also quite insightful in describing Rousseau's principle philosphical/literary project. It's hard to call his work philosophy, at least in my understanding of the discipline, and yet it's not exactly imaginitive literature either. I do grow impatient with biographers who seem to transcribe their subject's appointment book into a biography. I do not need or want to learn of every one of his dinner engagements with one grandee or another, or of his little spats with nearly everyone. His major quarrels are interesting and important, and more than enough. But perhaps it's important to know how petty and small minded great men can be.