Clive James

Clive James, †27 November 2019

Vivat Monty Jamesius

J. K. Stephen was destined to bear unfavourable comparison long before the Potter author adopted his initials. Cousin to Virginia Woolf, tutor to Prince Albert Victor, friend to M. R. James. He wrote better poetry than his eccentric Latin, but the Latin, being eccentric, is memorable.

Perhaps Clive James was like that. He suffered by unfortunate comparison with greater contemporaries. Of the Anglo-Australian set, Barry Humphries had greater wit and Germaine Greer greater intellectual heft, though James had a measure of both. His most memorable work, on television sneering at other television, was probably not his best.

The swaggering intellect hid depths of self-awareness, which emerged here and there, in verse or in interviews.

After framing an extended and somewhat indulgent metaphor, Sydney Harbour as the maternal womb:
"You can't trust poets, you see. They go for the metaphor. The beautiful statement is almost always misleading."

Vivat Clivesy Jamesius.
(Mortuus est.)

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