It was Jonathan Raban who led me to Phillip Larkin, writing in Coasting of visiting his old friend and ”Don” from Hull University. Larkin became a published and revered poet during the thirty odd years he served as university librarian at the Brynmor Jones Library at the University of Hull , where Raban was an undergrad and tried by various subterfuges to discuss poetry with him – all in vain! Raban describes a reunion, over a Lebanese meal in near-deserted Hull. Larkin is deeply engaged in the role of a slightly loveable, doddery old man insisting on ‘mushy’ food and locking up all of his cars doors at every stop. He was at that time only in his sixties but he died just three years after their meeting. England mourned him “they minded his dying’ says Raban, “in a way that seemed strange for a poet’.

Posthumously Larkin letters were published to an immense furor in the media, every politically-correct ‘talking head’ screamed protests at the apparent racism, sexism and downright scandalous side of Larkin they saw in his private correspondence. Particularly his long time letter exchange with Kingsley Amis, where they joked about wenches and blacks and indulged in mutual enjoyment of ‘soft porn’. The obvious humour of this exchange – with Amis mind, one of Britain’s greatest wits – was ignored, the playful escalation of each goading the other, was denied and Larkin’s reputation, at least in the circles of media and academia, suffered severely. Yet in that same group of letters – Larkin to John Betjeman – we read:
"The American Negro is trying to take a step forward that can be compared only to the ending of slavery in the nineteenth century. And despite the dogs, the hosepipes and the burnings, advances have already been made towards giving the Negro his civil rights that would have been inconceivable when Louis Armstrong was a young man. These advances will doubtless continue. They will end only when the Negro is as well-housed, educated and medically cared for as the white man."

Larkin declined the honor and post as Britain’s Poet Laureate, claiming he no longer was capable of crafting good work. Yet the general public admired and loved his poetry.

Richard Bradford’s book gently redresses the excesses of that derogatory period of hateful attack, without softening some of the harder edges of the poet. We read accounts of his affairs and gentle, admiring lusting, his petulant sulking and the role-playing doddering. Larkin’s essential humanity comes through very clearly in this admirable and readable Biography, supporting the general public’s view that Larkin spoke truths we can all relate to in his work. Certainly, as I also dodder into being more elderly Larkin’s words thump me more heavily in the gut, I respond to his words, and my admiration of his work increases.

Life is first boredom, then fear.
Whether or not we use it, it goes,
And leaves what something hidden from us chose,
And age, and then the only end of age

Philip Larkin, “Dockery and Son” from Collected Poems.