Robert Lowell, Setting the River on Fire: A Study of Genius, Mania, and Character

Following his death in 1977, obituaries for Robert “Cal” Lowell (detailed by Jamison on pp. 188–190) observed that he was “…generally considered the most distinguished poet writing in English, of his generation” (London Times), that “Boston has lost its greatest writer” (Boston Herald), that “no other American poet of mid-century could challenge Lowell in the majesty of the total achievement” (Boston Globe), and that he was “the foremost American poet of his time” (Washington Post).

The most definitive biography of Lowell was published by Ian Hamilton (1). As noted by Jamison, Hamilton portrayed the Pulitzer Prize winner as “loutish, mad, humourless, a snob, and an overrated poet,” and another critic observed that Lowell turned his “fame into infamy” (pp. 9–10).

Jamison states that her book “is not a biography” (p. 5) (although it is necessarily so, as it provides a substantive revisionist argument to Hamilton’s acerbic ad hominem judgments). Jamison’s stated primary objective is to provide a psychological account of Lowell’s life and mind and a narrative of the manic-depressive illness that ran through his family and so deeply affected him. In essence, Jamison considers how Lowell came to be the metaphorical and allegorical poet he was; why his poetry matters; what he teaches us about the ambition of art, the fragility of sanity, and the “strands that link madness to action and imagination”; and why character “matters so deeply” (p. 11).

In 1993, Jamison published a brilliant overview (2) of the links between bipolar disorder and artistic genius. Lowell was included in the stellar set of luminaries described in the book, but Jamison therein seemingly favored Byron who was not only the cover boy but, by his “mad, bad, and dangerous to know” reputation, nearly led Lady Caroline Lamb to be slaughtered. Now, Lowell—whose extraordinary intelligence, artistic brilliance, and behaviors during his manic states mirrored Byron—moves from the chorus to center stage, with Jamison providing a fine-grained, meticulously researched portrayal of this genius who, she establishes, continued to develop rather than repeat his skills and was always searching for “new ways to shape form and content” (p. 317).

The book details Lowell’s lineage (including a family history of manic-depressive illness as rich as Churchill’s dukes of Marlborough ancestors), New England heritage, the extremes of his bipolar mood swings (including rebreaking the nose of one of his three wives and trying to strangle her, prodigious alcohol intake, rage and vituperative attacks on close friends, multiple affairs, and believing he was both Jesus and the Virgin Mary), his many hospitalizations, and the eventual benefit of lithium. In addition, the book is enriched by many of his poems.

Jamison’s observations are enriched by succinct insights. For example, she writes, “Mania insinuates its way into its hosting brain: intoxicating enough to be dangerous, original enough to be valuable. Narrow walking indeed” (p. 5). Her observations also are enriched by incandescent writing, particularly in contemplating why bipolar disorder is overrepresented in those who are unusually creative, as shown from multiple studies. “Mania is generative; it speeds the mind and fills it with words, images, and possibility, … blasts buried recollection into consciousness, … provokes the appalling and the violent (and) beautiful…. To be in the grip of mania is to experience the unimaginable, try the unthinkable, do the unforgiveable.… [M]ania vaults over the rules of syntax and grammar” (pp. 283–284, 307). By contrast, she observes, “Depression is a ruminative, highly self-critical state, ideal in a way for revising work (as it) … prunes and edits” (pp. 308–309). She notes how a friend of Lowell’s observed that his mind appeared to intuit sensory experience, suggesting that creativity may also be enhanced in those with a bipolar disorder as a consequence of changes in sensory thresholds. Few great works have been produced during depressive periods by those with bipolar disorder for understandable reasons, but Lowell took advantage of both mood states (“I write in mania and revise in depression” [p. 306]).

Jamison focuses on Lowell’s “character,” even including it in the book’s title, which she defines as “the struggle to master the difficult, the impossible; the determination to persist” (p. 411), but which perhaps equates more to courage than morality. Jamison emphasizes Lowell’s courage not only in the way he was prepared to fight for his principles but how, on 16 occasions, he had “been down on his knees in madness … (but had on each occasion) … gotten up … [and] faced down uncertainty and madness” (p. 411). Beckett’s words “I can’t go on … I’ll go on” capture Lowell’s trajectory, while Churchill’s judgment that “[c]ourage is rightly esteemed the first of human qualities … because it is the quality which guarantees all others” goes to the heart of Jamison’s overall interpretation of Lowell’s “character.”

In her writings over the decades, Jamison has varied her tone to respect the topic, being variably academic or intensely and grippingly personal. In this book, she affirms her scholarship of the highest order, analyzes the conjoined worlds of manic-depressive illness and creativity with imagination, demonstrates a brilliant use of language and image, and via a deeply compassionate portrayal, gently encourages the reader to look beyond (to my mind) many of Lowell’s doubtful behaviors to understand his true inner strengths. The last theme reflects her humanity and innate generosity of spirit, saying as much about Jamison as about Lowell and effectively reminding us of Menninger’s injunction, “When in doubt, be human.”