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eringow's review against another edition
4.0
Although this is a biography it reads like a novel. There is, admittedly, a lot of guess work about Branwell's emotional motivation and personal responses in order to make the story more interesting and compelling, but the narrative is convincing none the less. It is interesting to see well-documented events in the Bronte family life from another point of view than that espoused by most fans of the sisters. DuMaurier's gothic tone matches the content well, and fleshes out the snippets of Branwell's writing without jarring, sometimes even lending a credibility and power his writing may not posses purely on it's own merit.
doriastories's review against another edition
3.0
Daphne Du Maurier has written a very good and rather scholarly biographer of the little-lamented brother of the famous Brontë sisters. I tend to think that her labors might have been better spent elsewhere, on a more deserving and interesting subject, but apparently she was fascinated by this least-talented of the Brontë family. The book is somewhat over-stuffed with quotes drawn from Branwell's unpublished writings. Ordinarily, I enjoy hearing directly from a primary source in the context of a biography, but in this case, the less I hear from Branwell, the better. Not to put too fine a point on it, but his poetry in particular was longwinded, derivative, lugubrious and tiresome. Here's a sample:
When life's youth, overcast by gathering clouds
Of cares, that come like funeral-following crowds,
Wearying of that which is, and cannot see
A sunbeam burst upon futurity,
It tries to cast away the woes that are
And borrows further joys from times afar.
I'll spare you the remaining twenty lines. His writing remains unpublished for good reason, and even Du Maurier described this particular attempt as "lamentably lacking in inspiration." Why she devoted so much effort to immortalizing Branwell and what she calls his "lame couplets" remains unclear. She herself was a fine writer, even if her subject matter varied widely in terms of taste and interest, so the overall writing is good. Thankfully, the book - like its pathetic subject - does not last terribly long, and in fairness to its author, it is well-researched, including footnotes and an intriguing appendix listing Branwell's unpublished manuscripts, such as they are.
Here is where the appetite is whetted at last. Most of the works listed here were written (or possibly jointly-written) during Branwell and Charlotte and Emily and Anne's adolescence and early twenties, and are a mixture of poetry and elaborate histories of the imaginary lands which he and his sisters spent so many hours - years, really - populating and describing. Theirs was a kind of early home-grown role-playing game, a precursor of sorts to games like Dungeons and Dragons, entirely created by themselves, filled with characters of their own devising, many of which were loosely based upon local personages and places. Later on, his sisters drew very effectively upon these writings as fruitful source material for their famous novels, however their worlds of Angria and Gondal (which, interestingly, Du Maurier used as a private code word with her own sisters) existed in large part as a mutually-shared mental retreat that any or all of them could return to whenever they desired. It was kept strictly private and secret from even close friend and family, and was a source of consuming and greatly treasured excitement, a kind of wellspring of creativity and mental nourishment for all four siblings, each of whom had an alter ego or avatar that existed within this world of their devising.
Sadly, of the four, only Branwell was unable to translate this early hectic writing experience into anything lasting. His was a life of unfulfilled promise and blighted hopes, upon which Du Maurier speculates rather unprofitably. There may not be much mystery here after all.
When life's youth, overcast by gathering clouds
Of cares, that come like funeral-following crowds,
Wearying of that which is, and cannot see
A sunbeam burst upon futurity,
It tries to cast away the woes that are
And borrows further joys from times afar.
I'll spare you the remaining twenty lines. His writing remains unpublished for good reason, and even Du Maurier described this particular attempt as "lamentably lacking in inspiration." Why she devoted so much effort to immortalizing Branwell and what she calls his "lame couplets" remains unclear. She herself was a fine writer, even if her subject matter varied widely in terms of taste and interest, so the overall writing is good. Thankfully, the book - like its pathetic subject - does not last terribly long, and in fairness to its author, it is well-researched, including footnotes and an intriguing appendix listing Branwell's unpublished manuscripts, such as they are.
Here is where the appetite is whetted at last. Most of the works listed here were written (or possibly jointly-written) during Branwell and Charlotte and Emily and Anne's adolescence and early twenties, and are a mixture of poetry and elaborate histories of the imaginary lands which he and his sisters spent so many hours - years, really - populating and describing. Theirs was a kind of early home-grown role-playing game, a precursor of sorts to games like Dungeons and Dragons, entirely created by themselves, filled with characters of their own devising, many of which were loosely based upon local personages and places. Later on, his sisters drew very effectively upon these writings as fruitful source material for their famous novels, however their worlds of Angria and Gondal (which, interestingly, Du Maurier used as a private code word with her own sisters) existed in large part as a mutually-shared mental retreat that any or all of them could return to whenever they desired. It was kept strictly private and secret from even close friend and family, and was a source of consuming and greatly treasured excitement, a kind of wellspring of creativity and mental nourishment for all four siblings, each of whom had an alter ego or avatar that existed within this world of their devising.
Sadly, of the four, only Branwell was unable to translate this early hectic writing experience into anything lasting. His was a life of unfulfilled promise and blighted hopes, upon which Du Maurier speculates rather unprofitably. There may not be much mystery here after all.
andra_cati's review against another edition
The life of the Brontes is a captivating tale in itself.
lissan's review against another edition
4.0
Daphne du Maurier is mostly known for her novels (Rebecca, Frenchman's Creek and a lot of others), but she has actually written some non-fiction books as well. She was asked to write a new introduction to the new edition of Wuthering Heights in 1954 and so she went to Haworth. During her visit there she got intrigued by Branwell and could not understand why he had been ignored by Brontë researchers. From Margaret Forster's excellent biography of Dahpne du Maurier we find the following note:
(it) gave her the opportunity to test herself in a way she had, in fact, always wnated to do. There was a good deal of the scholar manqué in Daphne, in spite of her frequent claims to have a butterfly mind. As it was, she was prepared to teach herself by trial and error...
Du Maurier has a lot of sympathy for Branwell, which of course is a must if you are writing a biography. Having read some Brontë biographies (for example the excellently The Brontës by Juliet Barker) there was not that much new to me. Only one thing that I can not remember having read before and that is that Branwell at one point read from Wuthering Heights when it was still a manuscript and that he indicated that he had been part of writing it. I quote here from a letter written by William Dearden to the Halifax Guardian written only in 1867, when all four Brontës were dead. Some friends met at the Cross Roads Inn and read something they had written. Dearden read the first act of The Demon Queen,
"...but when Branwell dived into his hat - the usual receptacle of his fugitive scraps - where he supposed he had deposited his MS.poem, he found he had by mistake placed there a number of stray leaves of a novel on which he had been trying his 'prentice hand'. Chagrined at the disappointment he had caused, he was about to return the papers to his hat, when both friends earnestly pressed him to read them, as they felt a curiosity to see how he could wield the pen of a novelist. After some hesitation, he complied with the request, and riveted our attention for about an hour, dropping each sheet, when read, into his hat. The story broke off abruptly in the middle of a sentence, and he gave us the sequel 'viva voce' together with the real names of the prototypes of his characters; but as some of these personages are still living, I refrain from pointing them out to the public.
He said he had not yet fixed upon a title for his production, and was afraid he should never be able to meet with a publisher who would have the hardihood to usher it into the world. The scene of the fragment which Branwell read, and the characters introduced in it - so far as then developed - were the same as those in Wuthering Heights, which Charlotte Brontë confidently asserts was the production of her sister Emily."
Du Maurier continues to refer to how both Dearden and Leyland (the sculpture who was also present) had been shocked "by the character of Heathcliff in the fragment read, and had earnestly advised Branwell to throw his prospective novel into the fire. Branwell refused to do so, saying his hero should 'live a little longer yet', and that one day he might fill his 'empty exchequer'. If he should suit public taste, then Branwell would produce a 'female mate' and the pair of them would propagate 'a monster race' that might 'quell the heroes and the heroines effete that strut in tinsel through the fictive world'."
Branwell was a bad poet but not a liar. If it was the embryo to the classical book that he read aloud, the reason suggests that this was a first draft of the novel. It could either be a collaboration between the two or Branwell's own work. The siblings were used to collaborate in their Angrian series so they could have done the same here. Another possibility could be that, due to his short-sightedness, he grabbed a manuscript thinking it was his own. When he took it out of his hat he realised that it was a mistake but still read it out loud. It is interesting indeed, but we will never know for sure.
One can not stop thinking what might have gone wrong. Was it too much drinking and drugs, lack of self confidence or too much of it? From Du Maurier's view I get the feeling that Branwell was over confident in his own capabilities. Being spoiled from childhood, being the only boy in the family, might have given him the idea that he would always be nurtured by others and did not have to make an effort himself. When he tried to do something it was not good enough. The same happened to the sisters but they still continued and fought for the poems and novels and in the end became successful. Du Maurier hints that the attacks that repeatedly marred his later life might be due to epilepsy and she also questions why he was not examined by a specialist. When the father was becoming blind they went for eye surgery which must have been quite an operation method at the time. It seems though that Branwell's health was put in the hands of the local doctor and once being blamed on drinks and drugs, never left an opening for another cause.
The story of Branwell's life is a sad one on all accounts but du Maurier tells it with care and compassion. Since she is a story teller you sometimes forget that it is a non-fiction book and not a fiction. There are one or two places where she makes conclusions where she maybe shouldn't. All in all it is an interesting read, if not only because very few books on the Brontës concentrate on Branwell.
(it) gave her the opportunity to test herself in a way she had, in fact, always wnated to do. There was a good deal of the scholar manqué in Daphne, in spite of her frequent claims to have a butterfly mind. As it was, she was prepared to teach herself by trial and error...
Du Maurier has a lot of sympathy for Branwell, which of course is a must if you are writing a biography. Having read some Brontë biographies (for example the excellently The Brontës by Juliet Barker) there was not that much new to me. Only one thing that I can not remember having read before and that is that Branwell at one point read from Wuthering Heights when it was still a manuscript and that he indicated that he had been part of writing it. I quote here from a letter written by William Dearden to the Halifax Guardian written only in 1867, when all four Brontës were dead. Some friends met at the Cross Roads Inn and read something they had written. Dearden read the first act of The Demon Queen,
"...but when Branwell dived into his hat - the usual receptacle of his fugitive scraps - where he supposed he had deposited his MS.poem, he found he had by mistake placed there a number of stray leaves of a novel on which he had been trying his 'prentice hand'. Chagrined at the disappointment he had caused, he was about to return the papers to his hat, when both friends earnestly pressed him to read them, as they felt a curiosity to see how he could wield the pen of a novelist. After some hesitation, he complied with the request, and riveted our attention for about an hour, dropping each sheet, when read, into his hat. The story broke off abruptly in the middle of a sentence, and he gave us the sequel 'viva voce' together with the real names of the prototypes of his characters; but as some of these personages are still living, I refrain from pointing them out to the public.
He said he had not yet fixed upon a title for his production, and was afraid he should never be able to meet with a publisher who would have the hardihood to usher it into the world. The scene of the fragment which Branwell read, and the characters introduced in it - so far as then developed - were the same as those in Wuthering Heights, which Charlotte Brontë confidently asserts was the production of her sister Emily."
Du Maurier continues to refer to how both Dearden and Leyland (the sculpture who was also present) had been shocked "by the character of Heathcliff in the fragment read, and had earnestly advised Branwell to throw his prospective novel into the fire. Branwell refused to do so, saying his hero should 'live a little longer yet', and that one day he might fill his 'empty exchequer'. If he should suit public taste, then Branwell would produce a 'female mate' and the pair of them would propagate 'a monster race' that might 'quell the heroes and the heroines effete that strut in tinsel through the fictive world'."
Branwell was a bad poet but not a liar. If it was the embryo to the classical book that he read aloud, the reason suggests that this was a first draft of the novel. It could either be a collaboration between the two or Branwell's own work. The siblings were used to collaborate in their Angrian series so they could have done the same here. Another possibility could be that, due to his short-sightedness, he grabbed a manuscript thinking it was his own. When he took it out of his hat he realised that it was a mistake but still read it out loud. It is interesting indeed, but we will never know for sure.
One can not stop thinking what might have gone wrong. Was it too much drinking and drugs, lack of self confidence or too much of it? From Du Maurier's view I get the feeling that Branwell was over confident in his own capabilities. Being spoiled from childhood, being the only boy in the family, might have given him the idea that he would always be nurtured by others and did not have to make an effort himself. When he tried to do something it was not good enough. The same happened to the sisters but they still continued and fought for the poems and novels and in the end became successful. Du Maurier hints that the attacks that repeatedly marred his later life might be due to epilepsy and she also questions why he was not examined by a specialist. When the father was becoming blind they went for eye surgery which must have been quite an operation method at the time. It seems though that Branwell's health was put in the hands of the local doctor and once being blamed on drinks and drugs, never left an opening for another cause.
The story of Branwell's life is a sad one on all accounts but du Maurier tells it with care and compassion. Since she is a story teller you sometimes forget that it is a non-fiction book and not a fiction. There are one or two places where she makes conclusions where she maybe shouldn't. All in all it is an interesting read, if not only because very few books on the Brontës concentrate on Branwell.
rebeccajane's review against another edition
5.0
I thought this was so interesting to read. I was curious about Branwell since you usually only hear about the sisters and I ended up really enjoying this book even though it's hard to say what's true and what isn't.
courtneydoss's review against another edition
4.0
Daphne du Maurier is one of my top five favorite authors and considering that the Brontes have become, in a word, an obsession this last month, reading her attempt at a biography about the least appreciated member of Patrick and Maria's brood was high on my priority list. I went into this book knowing that it would be flawed. Du Maurier was, above all, a novelist and there was likely to be a lot of jumping to conclusions (spoiler alert: there was).
Du Maurier also wrote this book in 1961 and the access that she had to information about the time period was limited by what books, artifacts, and experts she could get her hands on. Modern biographies have the benefit of the internet, and each other, to help compile multiple pieces of evidence to support particular theories regarding the Bronte siblings, such as why Branwell was released from his position with the Robinsons and whether or not Anne Bronte was in love with the charming clergyman William Weightman. Perspectives of the time period the books are written in also color interpretations of presented facts, such as a modern biography positing that Charlotte Bronte was bisexual although unlikely to be aware of her own sexuality. No earlier biographer would have dared bring forward such a theory. They were just gals being pals.
Lastly, the personality of the biographer colors the information quite a bit. Some biographers really like Charlotte, and so place her on this pedestal as a passionate, intelligent woman suppressed by her time. Others, who find Charlotte less likable, will portray her as a crabby, jealous and bossy. The truth, as always, is usually somewhere between the two extremes. The Infernal World of Branwell Bronte is not immune to this. Daphne du Maurier puts a lot of herself in this book, interpreting Charlotte's interest in writing from a male perspective as indicative of a dual nature, like she herself had in her writing, rather than an imitative choice based upon all of the works that Charlotte admired. She interprets the Bronte family as writers in the same way that she views herself as a writer, failing to take into account the differences in style, personality, and environment.
Regardless of any flaws in the makeup of this biography, it has merit. It is an intensely compassionate retelling of the life of a troubled young man who history has maligned. Raised as the golden child by his father, Branwell suffered from what a modern person might call "gifted kid syndrome". The constant ego stroking of childhood, where accomplishments beyond one's age are viewed as extraordinary, combined with the seemingly abrupt plateau of skill in adulthood can breed confusion, anger, and anxiety. Branwell Bronte was depressed and angry a lot in his life, frustrated by the lack of recognition for what he believed were incredible works of poetry. His letters to publishers, while amusing to read, show someone who was begging for validation, assured of his own talents and praying that someone else would see it.
Combining this failure to live up to his own expectations with an eventual addiction to alcohol and laudanum, Branwell Bronte was not always a likable person in his life. His sister Charlotte, with whom he shared an entire imaginary world and years of childhood happiness, found him to be pitiful in his final years. The woman he loved rejected him, every attempt he made to earn a living resulted in rejection or dismissal, and his family had come to view him as a burden. The tragedy of it all is that Branwell was actually talented. His poetry was good. His extensive stories of Angria with his sister Charlotte were fun and could have been reworked into something as popular as Jane Eyre. He had the potential, but it died with him.
An interesting difference between this particular biography and others that I have read is the theory that the historical figures about which du Maurier is writing might not be correct in their perspectives. Du Maurier posits that Branwell's love for Lady Robinson was unreturned and largely in his head. She theorizes that Branwell and his sister Charlotte were so entranced by their fictional world that they viewed the entire of reality through the lens of fiction, interpreting illicit plots in everyday occurrences. While I don't know that I would go so far as to agree with du Maurier in this, I do think that it is an interesting idea to bring up. How much of the Brontes' perceptions were accurate? How much of their perceptions were flawed by internal bias or insecurities?
Overall, I think that this book was an incredibly moving ode to the least appreciated Bronte. I appreciated the way du Maurier handled the facts of Branwell's life, displaying him in all his troubled glory, but also taking care to show compassion in her portrayal. I had some issues with her conclusions, particularly those with no evidentiary merit. But overall, I felt that du Maurier's affection for the whole Bronte family was felt in this book.
Du Maurier also wrote this book in 1961 and the access that she had to information about the time period was limited by what books, artifacts, and experts she could get her hands on. Modern biographies have the benefit of the internet, and each other, to help compile multiple pieces of evidence to support particular theories regarding the Bronte siblings, such as why Branwell was released from his position with the Robinsons and whether or not Anne Bronte was in love with the charming clergyman William Weightman. Perspectives of the time period the books are written in also color interpretations of presented facts, such as a modern biography positing that Charlotte Bronte was bisexual although unlikely to be aware of her own sexuality. No earlier biographer would have dared bring forward such a theory. They were just gals being pals.
Lastly, the personality of the biographer colors the information quite a bit. Some biographers really like Charlotte, and so place her on this pedestal as a passionate, intelligent woman suppressed by her time. Others, who find Charlotte less likable, will portray her as a crabby, jealous and bossy. The truth, as always, is usually somewhere between the two extremes. The Infernal World of Branwell Bronte is not immune to this. Daphne du Maurier puts a lot of herself in this book, interpreting Charlotte's interest in writing from a male perspective as indicative of a dual nature, like she herself had in her writing, rather than an imitative choice based upon all of the works that Charlotte admired. She interprets the Bronte family as writers in the same way that she views herself as a writer, failing to take into account the differences in style, personality, and environment.
Regardless of any flaws in the makeup of this biography, it has merit. It is an intensely compassionate retelling of the life of a troubled young man who history has maligned. Raised as the golden child by his father, Branwell suffered from what a modern person might call "gifted kid syndrome". The constant ego stroking of childhood, where accomplishments beyond one's age are viewed as extraordinary, combined with the seemingly abrupt plateau of skill in adulthood can breed confusion, anger, and anxiety. Branwell Bronte was depressed and angry a lot in his life, frustrated by the lack of recognition for what he believed were incredible works of poetry. His letters to publishers, while amusing to read, show someone who was begging for validation, assured of his own talents and praying that someone else would see it.
Combining this failure to live up to his own expectations with an eventual addiction to alcohol and laudanum, Branwell Bronte was not always a likable person in his life. His sister Charlotte, with whom he shared an entire imaginary world and years of childhood happiness, found him to be pitiful in his final years. The woman he loved rejected him, every attempt he made to earn a living resulted in rejection or dismissal, and his family had come to view him as a burden. The tragedy of it all is that Branwell was actually talented. His poetry was good. His extensive stories of Angria with his sister Charlotte were fun and could have been reworked into something as popular as Jane Eyre. He had the potential, but it died with him.
An interesting difference between this particular biography and others that I have read is the theory that the historical figures about which du Maurier is writing might not be correct in their perspectives. Du Maurier posits that Branwell's love for Lady Robinson was unreturned and largely in his head. She theorizes that Branwell and his sister Charlotte were so entranced by their fictional world that they viewed the entire of reality through the lens of fiction, interpreting illicit plots in everyday occurrences. While I don't know that I would go so far as to agree with du Maurier in this, I do think that it is an interesting idea to bring up. How much of the Brontes' perceptions were accurate? How much of their perceptions were flawed by internal bias or insecurities?
Overall, I think that this book was an incredibly moving ode to the least appreciated Bronte. I appreciated the way du Maurier handled the facts of Branwell's life, displaying him in all his troubled glory, but also taking care to show compassion in her portrayal. I had some issues with her conclusions, particularly those with no evidentiary merit. But overall, I felt that du Maurier's affection for the whole Bronte family was felt in this book.
balancinghistorybooks's review against another edition
4.0
When my copy of Daphne du Maurier’s The Infernal World of Bramwell Bronte arrived, I was pleased to note that it had originally been purchased from the Howarth Bronte shop and still bore a sticker proclaiming this in its bottom right hand corner. Of the du Mauriers which I had planned to read during my du Maurier December project, The Infernal World of Branwell Bronte was one of those which I was most intrigued by. Before beginning to read, I knew a little about Branwell Bronte, but only in the context of his sisters. I was therefore so interested to learn what he was like as an entirely separate being.
In her introduction, du Maurier sets out her reasons for producing a biography of a figure who was largely overshadowed by the fame of his three surviving sisters, Charlotte, Emily and Anne: ‘One day the definitive biography of this tragic young man will be published. Meanwhile, many years of interest in the subject, and much reading, have prompted the present writer to attempt a study of his life and work which may serve as an introduction to both’.
Branwell and his sisters spring to life immediately. Their sad beginning – their mother dying when Branwell was tiny, and the consequent deaths of the eldest two Bronte sisters, Maria and Elizabeth, in 1825 – caused the four remaining siblings to mould themselves into an impenetrable group. From the very beginning, du Maurier states that Charlotte, Emily and Anne were all greatly inspired by their brother, particularly during their early childhood: ‘None of these novels [Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall] would have come into being had not their creators lived, during childhood, in this fantasy world, which was largely inspired and directed by their only brother, Patrick Branwell Bronte’. She goes on to say that in their childhood, the four children wrote tiny books together in ‘a blend of Yorkshire, Greek and Latin which could only be spoken among the four of them, to the mystification of their elders’. Branwell certainly comes across as an inventive child: ‘Imitative as a monkey, the boy was speaking in brogue on a Monday, broad Yorkshire on a Tuesday and back to the west country on the Wednesday’, and it is clear that du Maurier holds compassion for him.
Du Maurier discusses Branwell’s work throughout, often relating his creative output to the things which he was experiencing in life: ‘Although, on examination, Branwell’s manuscripts show that he did not possess the amazing talent of his famous sisters, they prove him to have had a boyhood and youth of almost incredibly productivity, so spending himself in the process of describing the lives and loves of his imaginary characters that invention was exhausted by the time he was twenty-one’. His poetry particularly is often vivid:
“Backward I look upon my life,
And see one waste of storm and strife,
One wrack of sorrows, hopes and pain,
Vanishing to arise again!
That life has moved through evening, where
Continual shadows veiled my sphere;
From youth’s horizon upward rolled
To life’s meridian, dark and cold.”
The secondary materials included – a large bibliography, notes, sources, and a list of Branwell’s manuscripts – are extensive, and it is clear that du Maurier did an awful lot of research on and around her subject before putting pen to paper. The Infernal World of Branwell Bronte includes quotes from Branwell’s letters, as well as his own prose. Secondary documents of Charlotte’s have been taken into account, particularly when discussing Branwell’s illness and death. Instances of literary criticism from a handful of different sources are also present. Du Maurier marvellously weaves in the social history of the period – the death of kings and queens, for example.
Whilst he is not always likeable, Branwell is an incredibly interesting subject for a biography, particularly for an author such as du Maurier to tackle. She has demonstrated the many sides of his character, some of which were reserved particularly for certain people. Du Maurier does continually talk of Charlotte, Emily and Anne, particularly during their childhoods, but one expects that it would be hard to write such a biography without taking them into account so often. She does continually assert the place of Branwell in the Bronte family, however, and admirably, he is always her main focus.
Of the portrait of the Bronte sisters shown, du Maurier writes: ‘Close inspection of the group has lately shown that what was thought to be a pillar is, in reality, the painted-out head and shoulders of the artist himself. The broad high forehead, the hair puffed at the sides, the line of coat and collar, all are there. Perhaps Branwell did not consider that he had done his own face justice, and in a fit of irritation smudged himself into oblivion’.
The Infernal World of Bramwell Bronte was first published in 1960, and remains an accessible and fresh portrait of a shadowy – and often overshadowed – character. Du Maurier’s non-fiction is eloquent, and is written so beautifully. She uses lush descriptions throughout, so much so that it occasionally feels as though you are actually reading a novel. The Infernal World of Bramwell Bronte is quite slim in terms of biography; it runs to just 231 pages in the Penguin edition. The Infernal World of Branwell Bronte does follow a largely chronological structure. Interestingly, however, the book’s initial chapter deals with his death, and then loops back to his childhood. Through du Maurier, one really gets an understanding of Branwell’s personality, as well as learning of his hopes and fears.
The Infernal World of Bramwell Bronte is extremely well set out, and is easy to read. The chapters are all rather short, and consequently it can be dipped in and out of, or read alongside other books. Again, du Maurier’s wrork is thorough and well plotted, and provides an insightful and rewarding look into a relatively neglected part of the Bronte quartet.
In her introduction, du Maurier sets out her reasons for producing a biography of a figure who was largely overshadowed by the fame of his three surviving sisters, Charlotte, Emily and Anne: ‘One day the definitive biography of this tragic young man will be published. Meanwhile, many years of interest in the subject, and much reading, have prompted the present writer to attempt a study of his life and work which may serve as an introduction to both’.
Branwell and his sisters spring to life immediately. Their sad beginning – their mother dying when Branwell was tiny, and the consequent deaths of the eldest two Bronte sisters, Maria and Elizabeth, in 1825 – caused the four remaining siblings to mould themselves into an impenetrable group. From the very beginning, du Maurier states that Charlotte, Emily and Anne were all greatly inspired by their brother, particularly during their early childhood: ‘None of these novels [Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall] would have come into being had not their creators lived, during childhood, in this fantasy world, which was largely inspired and directed by their only brother, Patrick Branwell Bronte’. She goes on to say that in their childhood, the four children wrote tiny books together in ‘a blend of Yorkshire, Greek and Latin which could only be spoken among the four of them, to the mystification of their elders’. Branwell certainly comes across as an inventive child: ‘Imitative as a monkey, the boy was speaking in brogue on a Monday, broad Yorkshire on a Tuesday and back to the west country on the Wednesday’, and it is clear that du Maurier holds compassion for him.
Du Maurier discusses Branwell’s work throughout, often relating his creative output to the things which he was experiencing in life: ‘Although, on examination, Branwell’s manuscripts show that he did not possess the amazing talent of his famous sisters, they prove him to have had a boyhood and youth of almost incredibly productivity, so spending himself in the process of describing the lives and loves of his imaginary characters that invention was exhausted by the time he was twenty-one’. His poetry particularly is often vivid:
“Backward I look upon my life,
And see one waste of storm and strife,
One wrack of sorrows, hopes and pain,
Vanishing to arise again!
That life has moved through evening, where
Continual shadows veiled my sphere;
From youth’s horizon upward rolled
To life’s meridian, dark and cold.”
The secondary materials included – a large bibliography, notes, sources, and a list of Branwell’s manuscripts – are extensive, and it is clear that du Maurier did an awful lot of research on and around her subject before putting pen to paper. The Infernal World of Branwell Bronte includes quotes from Branwell’s letters, as well as his own prose. Secondary documents of Charlotte’s have been taken into account, particularly when discussing Branwell’s illness and death. Instances of literary criticism from a handful of different sources are also present. Du Maurier marvellously weaves in the social history of the period – the death of kings and queens, for example.
Whilst he is not always likeable, Branwell is an incredibly interesting subject for a biography, particularly for an author such as du Maurier to tackle. She has demonstrated the many sides of his character, some of which were reserved particularly for certain people. Du Maurier does continually talk of Charlotte, Emily and Anne, particularly during their childhoods, but one expects that it would be hard to write such a biography without taking them into account so often. She does continually assert the place of Branwell in the Bronte family, however, and admirably, he is always her main focus.
Of the portrait of the Bronte sisters shown, du Maurier writes: ‘Close inspection of the group has lately shown that what was thought to be a pillar is, in reality, the painted-out head and shoulders of the artist himself. The broad high forehead, the hair puffed at the sides, the line of coat and collar, all are there. Perhaps Branwell did not consider that he had done his own face justice, and in a fit of irritation smudged himself into oblivion’.
The Infernal World of Bramwell Bronte was first published in 1960, and remains an accessible and fresh portrait of a shadowy – and often overshadowed – character. Du Maurier’s non-fiction is eloquent, and is written so beautifully. She uses lush descriptions throughout, so much so that it occasionally feels as though you are actually reading a novel. The Infernal World of Bramwell Bronte is quite slim in terms of biography; it runs to just 231 pages in the Penguin edition. The Infernal World of Branwell Bronte does follow a largely chronological structure. Interestingly, however, the book’s initial chapter deals with his death, and then loops back to his childhood. Through du Maurier, one really gets an understanding of Branwell’s personality, as well as learning of his hopes and fears.
The Infernal World of Bramwell Bronte is extremely well set out, and is easy to read. The chapters are all rather short, and consequently it can be dipped in and out of, or read alongside other books. Again, du Maurier’s wrork is thorough and well plotted, and provides an insightful and rewarding look into a relatively neglected part of the Bronte quartet.
girlwithherheadinabook's review against another edition
2.0
For my full review: http://girlwithherheadinabook.co.uk/2018/05/review-the-infernal-world-of-branwell-bronte-daphne-du-maurier.html
As a child, I remember being puzzled to learn that the Brontë sisters had actually had a brother, even more so when I learnt that he was represented by the weird ghostly object standing behind them in the portrait. That painting has become the symbol of Branwell over time - present yet absent, the phantom at the feast. Branwell's very blankness has made him a canvas on which Brontëphiles can write any story they wish. So, Branwell is the tortured soul, the thwarted poet, the inspiration for Heathcliff, the first of the siblings to be published, surely as talented as they - and so the tales have grown taller until the Brontës' benighted brother becomes the true author of everything they ever wrote. The idea that three talented women who lived under one roof must have needed masculine inspiration is never one that has appealed to me, but one can imagine that to the author of Rebecca, someone with an established fascination with the power of the absentee, the figure of Branwell must have seemed full of imaginative potential. Infernal World always had the lowest sales out of all du Maurier's works, but it was a true passion project for its creator. Was it possible that du Maurier would be able to win me over to Branwell's cause?
Du Maurier was a lifelong Brontë aficionado; critics caught early the parallels between Jane Eyre and du Maurier's Rebecca and even in her final days, the nurses reported that she found talking about the Brontës was 'the best therapy'. However, in the late 1950s, there were various personal factors which meant that Branwell was perhaps her most relevant Brontë, not least the fact that her husband had recently suffered an alcohol-induced nervous breakdown. Even while this may have made her more sympathetic to Branwell's waves of depression and collapse, it may also explain the tone of frustration which seeps through in her attitude towards her subject. Add to that, in the middle of her research, du Maurier discovered that Winifred Gerin was also writing a biography on Branwell, which seems to have prompted a good deal of self-imposed pressure to get her book finished first. Of course, the irony is that all of Gerin's biographies are currently out of print but thanks to its author's fame, Infernal World has retained its place in Brontë scholarship.
In truth, the book is something of a period piece. du Maurier's description of spotting Branwell's outline in the Pillar Portrait does feel quite antiquated, 'Close inspection of the group has lately shown that what was thought to be a pillar is, in reality, the painted-out head and shoulders of the artist himself. The broad high forehead, the hair puffed at the sides, the line of coat and collar, all are there.' In 1960, the notion of Branwell lurking in the background was intriguing, but flash forward another sixty years and as the oils on the canvas degrade further (Branwell never did quite the hang of the medium), he is becoming increasingly hard to miss.
Similarly, du Maurier intones solemnly that the Deceased Wife's Sister Act prevented any union between Branwell's father Patrick and their live-in Aunt Branwell. For du Maurier, this law is still in recent history and so she sees the Brontë household as one of the many the sad consequences of this unjust legislation. We do not necessarily look on them in that light now. Infernal World is also dated by lack of access to more recently discovered information, so she spends time pondering Branwell's failure to get into the Royal Academy while Juliet Barker has since proven that he never went to London to apply for a place. Even the very fact that du Maurier's Preface pays tribute to the 'unsurpassed' Life of Charlotte Brontë as the definitive word on the family emphasises her book's vintage, given that for many years Mrs Gaskell's once respected book has been filed under fiction.
It was fascinating however to read in Infernal World the push-pull between biographer and subject. Du Maurier is clearly drawn to the young boy full of promise, determined to find him a Byronic hero. She sets out her stall early that she wishes to understand why Branwell could never break free of his own imagination, why he was never able to equal his sisters despite his early promise, but yet over time the reader begins to sense her frustration with him. His letters to Blackwood's Magazine demanding to be published are incredibly arrogant. His poetry is inferior to that of Emily or Anne. For all that he wrote about dynamic heroes in his Angrian tales, he was demonstrably not of that ilk himself. As she realises that he fails to live up to what she had expected him to be, du Maurier noticeably loses interest.
Infernal World is kin to Gaskell's book in that it tells us as much about the preoccupations of its creator as it does about its intended central focus. Du Maurier refuses to engage with the notion of Branwell having had an affair at Thorp Green with Mrs Lydia Robinson, his employer's wife, although documented evidence released in subsequent years does tend to support this as the only likely explanation for his dismissal from his role as tutor. Instead, she muses on a possible infatuation with Mrs Robinson's daughter, confusingly also called Lydia, who somehow became confused in his addled mind with her mother. More obliquely, she also suggests that he may have misbehaved with his young charge Edmund, who was only fourteen. The suggestion is that the debauched Branwell was unable to disentangle himself from his fictional Angrian avatar Percy and that this caused him to somehow expose himself at Thorp Green belongs more within the pages of du Maurier's fiction than here.
In a similar vein, du Maurier's attempts to gather evidence that Emily and Branwell collaborated at some point on Wuthering Heights fail to convince. She seems to rely on the popular (but entirely undocumented) theory that Emily and Branwell were somehow close. Furthermore, du Maurier's decision that Branwell must have suffered from epilepsy feels wildly speculative. Du Maurier has carried out her research, read all available texts, but then has chosen to go her own way in terms of biographical content. There is a distinct flavour of cherry-picking to suit her own theories, so Anne Brontë's Agnes Grey is deemed to not be intended as a realistic depiction of the Robinson family as du Maurier is sure that Anne would never have suggested her brother to come work at Thorp Green had her employer been as likely to lead him astray as the Murrays in Agnes. Then, mere paragraphs later, du Maurier cites the description in Agnes Grey of Rosalie Murray as proof of Lydia Robinson's beauty and a sure sign that it was she rather than her mother who caught Branwell's eye. Reading other people's reviews of Infernal World, I was surprised to read so many regarded it as a reliable portrayal of the 'true' Branwell Brontë.
Infernal World is a confused little book, both readable and yet not necessarily a book I imagine myself returning to. Finishing it, I did not feel that I had gained any greater understanding of Branwell himself, although du Maurier's extensive quotations of his poetry was enough to make it sadly clear that any notions of him having ghost-written his sister's books are entirely built on fantasy. What came across most of all was how many excuses have been made for Branwell down the years - he was too delicate for school, he was the hope and pride of the family, he would be a celebrated portrait painter, he would be a fine tutor, he would become rich on the railways, he would, he would, he would. He never did. He never did anything. He died as a man in his thirties living off his father, scamming money from anyone soft-hearted enough to lend it to him, in debt and addicted to gin and opium.
To describe him as 'tortured' and 'misunderstood' or 'in need of help' abdicates him of his responsibilities. The world we live in is very keen to make excuses for men who are old enough to know better, to recast them as boys who need to be saved. Even du Maurier is keen to excuse Branwell, to cry out against the injustice that Charlotte and Emily got to study abroad in Belgium while Branwell did not, despite the fact that they did so after carefully presenting a business proposal to Aunt Branwell that said studying would help their future employment prospects. Branwell's sisters were women making their way in the nineteenth century, an unforgiving time for women. They knuckled down and they worked. To make excuses for Branwell's lack of focus, to imply that his family did not put him front and centre, goes beyond the myth-making which sets the tone for Infernal World and becomes truly ludicrous.
I put off reading Infernal World for years because I suspected that du Maurier was attempting to make excuses for Branwell's mis-spent life at the expense of his sisters. I have always been baffled and rather affronted by how keen people are to look past the three talented women to gaze instead upon their ne'er-do-well brother as the most fascinating fact about them. Ultimately, I enjoyed it more than I anticipated because Daphne du Maurier is a highly atmospheric writer who was also clearly a devoted Brontë fan. What she lacks in academic rigour, she makes up for in how she sets the scene, so that while I agreed with but few of her theories, I could nonetheless enjoy the ride. Because of this, Infernal World was of greater interest to me as a fan of du Maurier than for effective Brontë brooding material. I have a theory that the secret of Branwell Brontë is that he was the least interesting resident of Haworth Parsonage but I am not sure if that idea is one likely to catch on.
As a child, I remember being puzzled to learn that the Brontë sisters had actually had a brother, even more so when I learnt that he was represented by the weird ghostly object standing behind them in the portrait. That painting has become the symbol of Branwell over time - present yet absent, the phantom at the feast. Branwell's very blankness has made him a canvas on which Brontëphiles can write any story they wish. So, Branwell is the tortured soul, the thwarted poet, the inspiration for Heathcliff, the first of the siblings to be published, surely as talented as they - and so the tales have grown taller until the Brontës' benighted brother becomes the true author of everything they ever wrote. The idea that three talented women who lived under one roof must have needed masculine inspiration is never one that has appealed to me, but one can imagine that to the author of Rebecca, someone with an established fascination with the power of the absentee, the figure of Branwell must have seemed full of imaginative potential. Infernal World always had the lowest sales out of all du Maurier's works, but it was a true passion project for its creator. Was it possible that du Maurier would be able to win me over to Branwell's cause?
Du Maurier was a lifelong Brontë aficionado; critics caught early the parallels between Jane Eyre and du Maurier's Rebecca and even in her final days, the nurses reported that she found talking about the Brontës was 'the best therapy'. However, in the late 1950s, there were various personal factors which meant that Branwell was perhaps her most relevant Brontë, not least the fact that her husband had recently suffered an alcohol-induced nervous breakdown. Even while this may have made her more sympathetic to Branwell's waves of depression and collapse, it may also explain the tone of frustration which seeps through in her attitude towards her subject. Add to that, in the middle of her research, du Maurier discovered that Winifred Gerin was also writing a biography on Branwell, which seems to have prompted a good deal of self-imposed pressure to get her book finished first. Of course, the irony is that all of Gerin's biographies are currently out of print but thanks to its author's fame, Infernal World has retained its place in Brontë scholarship.
In truth, the book is something of a period piece. du Maurier's description of spotting Branwell's outline in the Pillar Portrait does feel quite antiquated, 'Close inspection of the group has lately shown that what was thought to be a pillar is, in reality, the painted-out head and shoulders of the artist himself. The broad high forehead, the hair puffed at the sides, the line of coat and collar, all are there.' In 1960, the notion of Branwell lurking in the background was intriguing, but flash forward another sixty years and as the oils on the canvas degrade further (Branwell never did quite the hang of the medium), he is becoming increasingly hard to miss.
Similarly, du Maurier intones solemnly that the Deceased Wife's Sister Act prevented any union between Branwell's father Patrick and their live-in Aunt Branwell. For du Maurier, this law is still in recent history and so she sees the Brontë household as one of the many the sad consequences of this unjust legislation. We do not necessarily look on them in that light now. Infernal World is also dated by lack of access to more recently discovered information, so she spends time pondering Branwell's failure to get into the Royal Academy while Juliet Barker has since proven that he never went to London to apply for a place. Even the very fact that du Maurier's Preface pays tribute to the 'unsurpassed' Life of Charlotte Brontë as the definitive word on the family emphasises her book's vintage, given that for many years Mrs Gaskell's once respected book has been filed under fiction.
It was fascinating however to read in Infernal World the push-pull between biographer and subject. Du Maurier is clearly drawn to the young boy full of promise, determined to find him a Byronic hero. She sets out her stall early that she wishes to understand why Branwell could never break free of his own imagination, why he was never able to equal his sisters despite his early promise, but yet over time the reader begins to sense her frustration with him. His letters to Blackwood's Magazine demanding to be published are incredibly arrogant. His poetry is inferior to that of Emily or Anne. For all that he wrote about dynamic heroes in his Angrian tales, he was demonstrably not of that ilk himself. As she realises that he fails to live up to what she had expected him to be, du Maurier noticeably loses interest.
Infernal World is kin to Gaskell's book in that it tells us as much about the preoccupations of its creator as it does about its intended central focus. Du Maurier refuses to engage with the notion of Branwell having had an affair at Thorp Green with Mrs Lydia Robinson, his employer's wife, although documented evidence released in subsequent years does tend to support this as the only likely explanation for his dismissal from his role as tutor. Instead, she muses on a possible infatuation with Mrs Robinson's daughter, confusingly also called Lydia, who somehow became confused in his addled mind with her mother. More obliquely, she also suggests that he may have misbehaved with his young charge Edmund, who was only fourteen. The suggestion is that the debauched Branwell was unable to disentangle himself from his fictional Angrian avatar Percy and that this caused him to somehow expose himself at Thorp Green belongs more within the pages of du Maurier's fiction than here.
In a similar vein, du Maurier's attempts to gather evidence that Emily and Branwell collaborated at some point on Wuthering Heights fail to convince. She seems to rely on the popular (but entirely undocumented) theory that Emily and Branwell were somehow close. Furthermore, du Maurier's decision that Branwell must have suffered from epilepsy feels wildly speculative. Du Maurier has carried out her research, read all available texts, but then has chosen to go her own way in terms of biographical content. There is a distinct flavour of cherry-picking to suit her own theories, so Anne Brontë's Agnes Grey is deemed to not be intended as a realistic depiction of the Robinson family as du Maurier is sure that Anne would never have suggested her brother to come work at Thorp Green had her employer been as likely to lead him astray as the Murrays in Agnes. Then, mere paragraphs later, du Maurier cites the description in Agnes Grey of Rosalie Murray as proof of Lydia Robinson's beauty and a sure sign that it was she rather than her mother who caught Branwell's eye. Reading other people's reviews of Infernal World, I was surprised to read so many regarded it as a reliable portrayal of the 'true' Branwell Brontë.
Infernal World is a confused little book, both readable and yet not necessarily a book I imagine myself returning to. Finishing it, I did not feel that I had gained any greater understanding of Branwell himself, although du Maurier's extensive quotations of his poetry was enough to make it sadly clear that any notions of him having ghost-written his sister's books are entirely built on fantasy. What came across most of all was how many excuses have been made for Branwell down the years - he was too delicate for school, he was the hope and pride of the family, he would be a celebrated portrait painter, he would be a fine tutor, he would become rich on the railways, he would, he would, he would. He never did. He never did anything. He died as a man in his thirties living off his father, scamming money from anyone soft-hearted enough to lend it to him, in debt and addicted to gin and opium.
To describe him as 'tortured' and 'misunderstood' or 'in need of help' abdicates him of his responsibilities. The world we live in is very keen to make excuses for men who are old enough to know better, to recast them as boys who need to be saved. Even du Maurier is keen to excuse Branwell, to cry out against the injustice that Charlotte and Emily got to study abroad in Belgium while Branwell did not, despite the fact that they did so after carefully presenting a business proposal to Aunt Branwell that said studying would help their future employment prospects. Branwell's sisters were women making their way in the nineteenth century, an unforgiving time for women. They knuckled down and they worked. To make excuses for Branwell's lack of focus, to imply that his family did not put him front and centre, goes beyond the myth-making which sets the tone for Infernal World and becomes truly ludicrous.
I put off reading Infernal World for years because I suspected that du Maurier was attempting to make excuses for Branwell's mis-spent life at the expense of his sisters. I have always been baffled and rather affronted by how keen people are to look past the three talented women to gaze instead upon their ne'er-do-well brother as the most fascinating fact about them. Ultimately, I enjoyed it more than I anticipated because Daphne du Maurier is a highly atmospheric writer who was also clearly a devoted Brontë fan. What she lacks in academic rigour, she makes up for in how she sets the scene, so that while I agreed with but few of her theories, I could nonetheless enjoy the ride. Because of this, Infernal World was of greater interest to me as a fan of du Maurier than for effective Brontë brooding material. I have a theory that the secret of Branwell Brontë is that he was the least interesting resident of Haworth Parsonage but I am not sure if that idea is one likely to catch on.
sarah42783's review against another edition
2.0
What a disappointment this book was! It seems there was very little biographical research involved here and all Du Maurier does most of the time is speculate. Information about the Brontës might not have been easily available when du Maurier wrote this book, which might explain the constant speculation. I didn't enjoy Du Maurier's writing style either and don't she makes a good biographer at all... A friend recommended I read "The Brontës" by Juliet Barker, which is considered *the* biography of the Brontë children. Will do! :)
jaironside's review against another edition
4.0
This was an interesting look at the Bronte sisters' infamous brother, Branwell. Du Maurier, while not entirely free of the utter rubbish put about by Elizabeth Gaskell in her 'The Life of Charlotte Bronte' nevertheless manages to present a moderate biographical account free from inclination towards melodramatics. Most biography is at least partially biased by the author because in order for the author to have written a book about someone's life, they have to find that person interesting. It would be nigh on impossible to do this without forming an opinion on your subject. While I found du Maurier fell into some of the more common traps - of minimising Rev Patrick Bronte as an over religious and rather ineffectual old man and father, of Anne being less talented than her sisters and of Emily being a self contained misanthrope, and we know that at least two of those misconceptions are utterly false - she does present a compelling case for Branwell's nature and personality, together with educated guesses as to how he came to the pass he did.
I found myself at turns sympathising with Branwell, understanding his behaviour while not condoning it and occasionally despising his weakness. So much was expected of him that any failure was anathema and prostrating. He had a great deal of talent in many areas and was made much of for being a prodigy as a child, and between this indulgence and confinement for health reasons, was never taught that all the genius in the world is no substitute for hard work and the willingness to apply effort. Far better for him if things had not come so easily, if his family had not called him a prodigy and made him work for the praise and recognition he craved, he would have got a lot further.
I do agree with du Maurier and other Bronte Scholars that he suffered from epilepsy. In fact if you look at Charlotte and her predisposition to both severe migraines and fantasy being inseparable from reality, you might be forgiven for thinking she also was a sufferer of a particular type of epilepsy. There are many forms of epilepsy that do not involve full complex seizures. To me - and admittedly as a sufferer myself - the symptoms added together sound very like temporal lobe epilepsy. TLE goes hand in hand with severe migraines. One of its main symptoms is that it does not let you sleep. Sufferers are constantly awakened by micro seizures through out the night so they always wake with a feeling of disturbed rest. Another major symptom is that it alters the sufferer's ability to perceive reality - think of Lewis Carroll or Van Gogh (who probably wasn't schizophrenic but most likely suffered TLE). It causes chronic headaches and often synesthesia. Even today, sufferers are misdiagnosed with Schizophrenia rather than a form of epilepsy. Weirdly, it does seem to go hand in hand with a huge creative desire and an ability to make such creations quite extraordinary. Sudden swooping lows of depression and highs of vitality are another side effect. We'll never really know if any of the people I have just mentioned suffered TLE but it is interesting, to me at least, how many points of coincidence there are.
Whatever Branwell suffered from health wise - and if it was a form of epilepsy then Patrick Bronte was probably right to keep it quiet (bear in mind that well up into the 1950s and 60s in UK, epileptics were often shut quietly away by their families who didn't know what to do with them. This included the Windsors. In 19th C epilepsy was considered akin to 'madness' and could get you put for life in an asylum.) - while it may have started him off taking small does of laudanum, and alcohol too, it was Branwell's own weakness of character that saw him fail as hard as he did. That said, a little more understanding rather than censure and disapproval, and a bit more medical intervention might have seen him turn out differently.
An interesting point du Maurier made with regard to the poor infamous Mrs Lydia Robinson, was that the 'affaire' most likely never happened at all. It seems as if, like Charlotte with Monsieur Constantine Heger, Branwell construed the entire thing through a few glances and smiles, then unable to detach fantasy from reality, spread his version of events for which there was not a scrap of evidence. There is in fact a fair amount of evidence that it never happened. Obviously a talented young an taken in of by a scheming, mature woman of social advantage and station, falling in love and destroying himself over it is a far more exciting story - replete with the Byronic flourishes of Emily or Charlotte themselves - and therefore more enticing for the Bronte scholar and more fitting for the Bronte who in the end did so little with his gifts. But the fact of the matter is that it most likely only took place in Branwell's head.
This book is well worth a read for anyone interested in that famous literary family, and stands on its own merit as a faithful attempt at a portrait over a young man we know comparatively little about. My main criticism is that like so many of du Maurier's books, it doesn't end, it just stops, leaving the reader feeling somewhat cheated.
I found myself at turns sympathising with Branwell, understanding his behaviour while not condoning it and occasionally despising his weakness. So much was expected of him that any failure was anathema and prostrating. He had a great deal of talent in many areas and was made much of for being a prodigy as a child, and between this indulgence and confinement for health reasons, was never taught that all the genius in the world is no substitute for hard work and the willingness to apply effort. Far better for him if things had not come so easily, if his family had not called him a prodigy and made him work for the praise and recognition he craved, he would have got a lot further.
I do agree with du Maurier and other Bronte Scholars that he suffered from epilepsy. In fact if you look at Charlotte and her predisposition to both severe migraines and fantasy being inseparable from reality, you might be forgiven for thinking she also was a sufferer of a particular type of epilepsy. There are many forms of epilepsy that do not involve full complex seizures. To me - and admittedly as a sufferer myself - the symptoms added together sound very like temporal lobe epilepsy. TLE goes hand in hand with severe migraines. One of its main symptoms is that it does not let you sleep. Sufferers are constantly awakened by micro seizures through out the night so they always wake with a feeling of disturbed rest. Another major symptom is that it alters the sufferer's ability to perceive reality - think of Lewis Carroll or Van Gogh (who probably wasn't schizophrenic but most likely suffered TLE). It causes chronic headaches and often synesthesia. Even today, sufferers are misdiagnosed with Schizophrenia rather than a form of epilepsy. Weirdly, it does seem to go hand in hand with a huge creative desire and an ability to make such creations quite extraordinary. Sudden swooping lows of depression and highs of vitality are another side effect. We'll never really know if any of the people I have just mentioned suffered TLE but it is interesting, to me at least, how many points of coincidence there are.
Whatever Branwell suffered from health wise - and if it was a form of epilepsy then Patrick Bronte was probably right to keep it quiet (bear in mind that well up into the 1950s and 60s in UK, epileptics were often shut quietly away by their families who didn't know what to do with them. This included the Windsors. In 19th C epilepsy was considered akin to 'madness' and could get you put for life in an asylum.) - while it may have started him off taking small does of laudanum, and alcohol too, it was Branwell's own weakness of character that saw him fail as hard as he did. That said, a little more understanding rather than censure and disapproval, and a bit more medical intervention might have seen him turn out differently.
An interesting point du Maurier made with regard to the poor infamous Mrs Lydia Robinson, was that the 'affaire' most likely never happened at all. It seems as if, like Charlotte with Monsieur Constantine Heger, Branwell construed the entire thing through a few glances and smiles, then unable to detach fantasy from reality, spread his version of events for which there was not a scrap of evidence. There is in fact a fair amount of evidence that it never happened. Obviously a talented young an taken in of by a scheming, mature woman of social advantage and station, falling in love and destroying himself over it is a far more exciting story - replete with the Byronic flourishes of Emily or Charlotte themselves - and therefore more enticing for the Bronte scholar and more fitting for the Bronte who in the end did so little with his gifts. But the fact of the matter is that it most likely only took place in Branwell's head.
This book is well worth a read for anyone interested in that famous literary family, and stands on its own merit as a faithful attempt at a portrait over a young man we know comparatively little about. My main criticism is that like so many of du Maurier's books, it doesn't end, it just stops, leaving the reader feeling somewhat cheated.