Blake Bailey's Philip Roth: The Biography (2021) chronicles the life of the provocative American novelist Philip Roth (1933–2018), drawing on extensive access Roth granted Bailey before his death. Roth chose Bailey, author of acclaimed bios of John Cheever and Richard Yates, to counter earlier narratives like Claire Bloom's memoir portraying him negatively. The 896-page book blends Roth's literary evolution with his tumultuous personal saga, emphasizing his obsession with writing amid romantic chaos.newrepublic+1
Roth's routine centered on relentless discipline in Connecticut and New Mexico retreats. Mornings began with black coffee and newspapers, followed by hours at his desk revising manuscripts—noon swims or walks interrupted only for lunch. Afternoons resumed writing until exhaustion; evenings involved jazz records, martinis, or dinners with friends like Milan Kundera, avoiding small talk for deep literary debates. He shunned email and cellphones, preferring faxed letters and typed pages, amassing a study cluttered with books, legal pads, and barbell weights for back pain relief. Summers in the Hamptons or Europe mixed celebrity schmoozing (Saul Bellow, Norman Mailer) with isolation; he tracked word counts obsessively, once logging 5,000 daily. Health woes—back surgeries, heart issues—loomed, yet he chain-smoked until 2011, sustaining a monk-like focus that produced 31 books. Relationships punctuated this: girlfriends handled errands, but marriages to Margaret Martinson (1959–1968) and near-marriage to Bloom (1990–1995) erupted in lawsuits over alimony and betrayal claims. Post-divorces, he cultivated a "consortium of mistresses" as muses and aides.bookmarks+2
Bailey portrays Roth as a self-mythologizing genius tormented by misrepresentation—accusations of misogyny, Jewish self-hatred, and autobiography eclipsed his formal innovations. Key theme: Roth's life mirrored his fiction's "counterlives," where persona blurred with reality (Operation Shylock, The Counterlife). Writing was salvation from Newark Jewish immigrant roots, Army drudgery, and fame's traps; he escaped via alter egos like Nathan Zuckerman or Portnoy. Biography stresses grievances: Bloom's Leaving a Doll's House (1996) vilified him as abusive, prompting Roth's unpublished 295-page rebuttal favoring Bailey's sympathetic lens. Roth emerges as work-obsessed outsider, scorning academia, feminism, and political correctness while championing Eastern European dissidents. Legacy control obsessed him—he dictated his Conn. College plaque: "Here, from 1992 to 2018." Bailey echoes Roth's view: success demanded selling out friends, family, lovers for art's sake.newrepublic+1
Bailey's exhaustive research shines: 5,000+ pages of notes, interviews with 200+ associates, and Roth's archives yield vivid anecdotes—like Roth faking a pregnancy test to dodge marriage or Army typing gigs birthing his craft. Narrative grips like a novel, balancing scandal (sex addiction, vasectomy regrets) with craft insights (Portnoy's Complaint as cathartic rage). It humanizes Roth's pettiness without excusing it, letting facts indict; reviewers praise unflinching honesty on his "obsessive, overbearing" traits. As revenge on detractors, it succeeds by sheer detail, affirming Roth's genius amid flaws.nytimes+2
Critics fault Bailey's bias: he rarely challenges Roth's self-exculpation, painting exes like Martinson and Bloom as manipulative harpies while idealizing Roth's routine as besieged heroism. Literary analysis falters—experimental peaks (Sabbath's Theater) get short shrift versus bedroom farce; evolution from postwar realist to postmodern trickster feels cursory. Aversion to domesticity skews sexist: women are nags demanding "errands," reinforcing Roth's worldview uncritically. At 896 pages, it's bloated, prioritizing chronology over themes; ironies Roth mastered (self vs. mask) vanish in hagiographic tone. Post-#MeToo, Bailey's own scandals (abuse allegations) taint reception, though irrelevant to content.bookmarks+1
(Word count: 662)