Lawrence, The Uncrowned King of Arabia (1998, Michael Asher)

Publishing Info

Asher, Michael. Lawrence, the Uncrowned King of Arabia. New York: Overlook Press, 1998. 419 pp.

Introduction

Michael Asher is a fine author with several worthwhile books to his credit (I'm especially fond of Khartoum: The Ultimate Imperial Adventure, his account of the Mahdist Wars in Anglo-Egyptian Sudan). Sadly, T.E. Lawrence isn't so well-served by Asher's pen. Rather than the promised groundbreaking "major biography," Lawrence, The Uncrowned King of Arabia mainly rehashes other biographies with little originality or insight.

The Author

Michael Asher (b. 1953) graduated from the University of Leeds, and served in the Parachute Regiment and later the SAS. He later relocated to Africa, beginning a career as teacher, Arabist, explorer and ecologist. Asher's written both nonfiction works and novels, including the popular Death or Glory series, and produced several television documentaries. He currently lives in Nairobi with his wife, photographer and teacher Marieantoniette Peru.

The Review

Asher is a fine narrative historian: he's got a flare for battle writing and character sketches, making even topographical descriptions compelling. When Uncrowned King trades analysis for adventure, it comes to life: Asher recounts familiar battles like Aqaba and Tafileh, locations like Wadi Rumm and personages like Feisal and Auda in typically colorful fashion. One wishes Asher had done a history of the Arab Revolt a la James Barr or David Murphy rather than a biography.

For Asher breaks little new ground. His early chapters liberally mix the interpretations of Richard Aldington (focus on Lawrence's dishonesty) and John E. Mack (probing for psychological explanations of Lawrence's behavior). Hence the fixation on Sarah Lawrence, again depicted as a whip-happy sadist, whose floggings molded Lawrence's attitude towards sex. Hence also the emphasis on Lawrence as a "sensitive" young child (26), as if this were a prerequisite for homosexuality.

Asher revisits Lawrence's old haunts, interviews Bedouin (who largely dismiss Lawrence) and tries to recreate his feats. He devotes one chapter to an attempt by himself, his wife and two Arab guides to replicate Lawrence's 48 hour crossing of the Sinai Peninsula. These segments are entertaining and persuasive. Cynics might conclude that Asher's failure doesn't automatically discount Lawrence's ability to do so. But Asher's expert enough that his conclusions at least provide food for thought - subjective, but more convincing than other logical leaps.

Asher fixates on minor stories to paint Lawrence as a habitual liar. Two prewar letters, where Lawrence relates an anecdote involving bells on a caravan (changing from camels to mules) draw significant analysis: "it's hardly likely that Lawrence could have in the space of a month forgotten what kind of animals they were" (34). Even if we accept Asher's insinuation, so what? We're reminded of Aldington smugly debunking Lawrence's self-consciously absurd claim of reading 50,000 books at Oxford.

Using such trivia, and more substantive incidents like Deraa, Asher argues that Lawrence expressed "reverse exhibitionism" (20). His famous self-denial and "horror of being known to like being known" mask a crippling martyr complex. Thus he takes on responsibility for events and failures not his own, like the Tafas Massacre, and the Arab Revolt's ultimate collapse. Asher uses Mack and other psychologists like Lyn Cowan to bolster his analysis, yet often leans on speculation.

Similarly, Asher reads Lawrence's employing literary allusions as proof of unreliability. When Lawrence unfavorably compares Farraj's demise to Daniel Corkery's Hounds of Banba (310), he's not claiming dissatisfaction with his writing. For Asher, this means it never happened. Deraa becomes a coded admission of sexuality: "It was, perhaps, his final declaration to the world of his conviction... that he was untouchable and unclean" (295). Like Desmond Stewart, he doubts Farraj and Daud even existed, or that Lawrence executed Hamed the Moor.

Asher stands on firmer ground analyzing Bedouin culture. Asher draws heavily on personal experience, so these passages ring with authenticity that much of the book lacks. From his personal experiences, interviews and analysis, Asher's portrait effectively casts doubt on Seven Pillars' account of tribal lifestyles. He questions Lawrence's assertion that homosexuality is commonplace among the Bedouin, writing that "the merest suggestion of it would be like to bring out daggers" (233).

Asher critiques Lawrence and other biographers for Orientalism, but he's not above aureate prose when it suits him. Describing the Bedouin lifestyle, he becomes positively picturesque: (p.155)

They lived not by material wealth... but by the cult of reputation. A man gained honor by displaying courage, endurance, hospitality, generosity and loyalty, and while no strange caravan, nor traveler, nor rival tent was free from his depredations, there was no more honorable traveling companion nor host once he had shared bread and salt. Raiding for camels was the spice of his life, and a means of acquiring reputation, and his hand was turned against every man, unless it suited him. His services could be bought with gold, but his soul could not.

Not since Flora Armitage's The Desert and the Stars has a biographer employed such florid verbiage.

More egregiously, Asher peppers his text with dialogue from Lawrence of Arabia. Hence Dahoum finds England "a fat country, full of fat people" (110), while Alec Kirkbride thinks Lawrence has "a horror of bloodshed" (334). Hence Lawrence initiates Tafas by shrieking "No prisoners!" (331) instead of Seven Pillars' "The best of you brings me the most Turkish dead!" No biographer can entirely avoid David Lean's shadow, but directly quoting him is a temptation best avoided.

Asher's text contains other oddities. There are niggling errors, like his claim that Feisal's nemesis Abd el-Kadr died in November 1917 (286) (off by a year) or that Aldington published his biographical enquiry in "the '60s" (353) (off by a decade). There are odd misjudgments, like reducing General Allenby and Lawrence's French allies to bit players. There are also unaccountable elisions: Asher compresses Lawrence's entire postwar life into two terse chapters. So much for a "major biography."

Most often Lawrence, the Uncrowned King of Arabia is unremarkable when not inadequate. Just sixteen years on, Asher's work has already been eclipsed by Michael Korda and Scott Anderson's far more comprehensive (and persuasive) tomes. In contrast, King is a pedestrian work that contributes little to a crowded field.

Lawrence in Arabia: War, Deceit, Imperial Folly and the Making of the Modern Middle East (2013, Scott Anderson)

Publishing Info:
Anderson, Scott. Lawrence in Arabia: War, Deceit, Imperial Folly and the Making of the Modern Middle East. New York: Doubleday, 2013. 577 pp.

Introduction:
Just three years after the last major Lawrence biography (Michael Korda's Hero) comes this volume. Veteran journalist Scott Anderson further probes the Lawrence enigma, fitting him into the broader wartime canvas. In his view, "Lawrence was able to become Lawrence of Arabia because no one was paying much attention" to this marginal theater of war (3). Anderson's critical view of Lawrence nearly provides a throwback to Aldington-era skepticism.

The Author:

Scott Anderson is a New York-based journalist and author. As a war correspondent, Anderson covered conflicts ranging from Northern Ireland and Checnya to the Sudan. He's published several nonfiction books, along with novels including Triage and Moonlight Hotel. Anderson discusses his book with NPR here.

The Review:
As the subtitle suggests, Anderson attempts a broader view of World War's Middle Eastern Theater, focusing mainly on the Arab Revolt (though bringing Allenby's Palestinian campaign and the muddled Mesopotamian adventure in where appropriate). For that matter, he's more concerned with the war's diplomatic and political finagling than its military dimensions. In this regard it's more akin to David Fromkin's A Peace to End All Peace, or James Barr's Setting the Desert on Fire, than a straight biography.

To flesh out his narrative, Anderson compares Lawrence with several contemporaries. These are Aaron Aaronsohn, the agricultural expert-turned-Zionist agent who became an intelligence asset to the British (see also Ronald Florence's Lawrence and Aaronsohn); Curt Prufer, Germany's chief intelligence operative in Turkey; and William Yale, a Standard Oil official who became General Allenby's American military attache. Anderson argues that in this military backwater, "these men drew upon a very particular set of personality traits... to both forge their own destiny and alter the course of history" (4).

These individuals are interesting in their own right, and occasionally clarify Lawrence's story. For instance, Anderson uses Prufer's correspondence to demonstrate that Lawrence's nemesis Abd el-Kadr was indeed on Djemal Pasha's payroll (385). Aaronsohn provides a window not only into nascent Zionism, but his contacts with Djemal allow readers to appreciate the actions of Turkey's government. But Anderson treats them superficially; they appear irregularly through the narrative, without making strong impressions. By default, Lawrence becomes the central figure.

Anderson's is primarily a disillusioned imperialist. He starts the book with Lawrence refusing the VC from King George V and follows this strand throughout. Lawrence's prewar intelligence work and early years at the Arab Bureau give way to bitter disillusionment. Anderson makes Lawrence's involvement in the Siege of Kut, trying to negotiate the ransom of General Townshend's besieged garrison, a turning point in Lawrence's worldview. Along with his Cairo experiences, Kut taught Lawrence to distrust the "toxic fusion of racism and British notions of military superiority" (170) that shaped British attitudes towards Arab and Turk alike.

Anderson views Lawrence as not only cynical towards his government, but actively siding with the Arabs. Lawrence not only opposes landing troops in Alexandretta and informs Feisal of Sykes-Picot but, in Anderson's view, encourages his March 1918 negotiations with Mehmet Djemal. Apparently Lawrence saw the negotiations "as a powerful potential weapon to use against his government" (447). Anderson views this as a reaction to Mark Sykes' devious diplomacy ("[he] had a very hard time keeping his facts, even his own beliefs, straight" (155)) and French Colonel Bremond's brusque arrogance. This tallies also with Lawrence's habit of cavalierly disregarding orders.

Post-Aqaba, Lawrence relished throwing his weight around, spiting not only officers like Cyril Wilson he disliked but "pushing aside" his friend Stewart Newcombe (352). Anderson thoroughly plumbs Lawrence's relationship with Emir Faisal: he respects the chieftain's "unshaken ambition" (246) but grows wary at his "propensity for vacillation" (289). Where Korda recounts Lawrence's postwar meetings with Feisal as happy occasions, Anderson shows them as "awkward gatherings" (504). Not an overt "debunking" work, it's surely the most cynical treatment of Lawrence since Michael Asher. 

Anderson isn't entirely convincing. Lawrence's disgust at Allied perfidy is evident throughout his writings; it's hard to credit authors like Suleiman Mousa and Phillip Knightley who strenuously argue him a heartless imperialist. But extreme suppositions that Lawrence engendered Feisal's negotiations with the Turks build on decidedly slender foundations. Anderson isn't wrong to that Lawrence's efforts during the Arab Revolt, and later at Versailles, left him drained and ashamed. Yet later, Lawrence felt his efforts at 1922's Cairo Conference squared his loyalty to Britain and the Arabs adequately.

Nor does Anderson particularly shine elsewhere. His accounts of Lawrence's military actions read fairly, but without particular insight or originality. He's less interested in Lawrence's tactics than his growing "hatred for the enemy" which culminates in Tafas (416). He dismisses Seven Pillars of Wisdom as a "fabulously uneven book" (504). Lawrence's later life, in Anderson's view, is "decidedly prosaic" (504) and hence largely ignored. The Lawrence lauded for his "genius for friendship," able to charm both aristocrats and army privates, appears nowhere in these pages. Any hints of insouciant humor drown beneath waves of bitterness.

Anderson sniffs at "arcane squabbles between those seeking to tarnish his reputation and those seeking to defend it" (3), yet can't help examining a few himself. He confirms Barr's assertion that the northern ride during the Aqaba expedition is beyond dispute (322). He reasonably questions Lawrence's account of Deraa but concludes that "something happened in Deraa" (401). His "something" is a recapitulation of Richard Aldington's theory that Lawrence willingly submitted to the Bey's advances (402).


One shouldn't begrudge Scott Anderson for a well-written book. History buffs can learn a good deal, and even jaded Lawrence snobs may find it an engaging read. It's just a shame that Anderson offers little substantive insight into his central figure.

T.E. Lawrence in Arabia and After (1934, B.H. Liddell Hart)

 

Publishing Info:

Liddell Hart, Basil H. Lawrence of Arabia. New York: Da Capo Press, Inc., 1989. 406 pp.

Originally published as T.E. Lawrence in Arabia and After. London: Jonathan Cape, 1934. US publication: Colonel Lawrence: The Man Behind the Legend. New York: Dodd, Mead & Company, 1934.

Introduction:

Many consider T.E. Lawrence in Arabia and After the first "serious" Lawrence biography after the sensationalism of Lowell Thomas and Robert Graves. Written by England's foremost military theorist, it provides valuable insight into Lawrence's achievements as a strategist "who had the vision to anticipate the guerrilla trend of civilized warfare" (382). Despite his sober bearings, Liddell Hart proves no less susceptible to hero worship than his predecessors.

The Author:

Captain Sir Basil Henry Liddell Hart (1895-1970) was an influential writer of military history and tactics. Among his many works are The Strategy of Indirect Approach (1929); biographies of Scipio Africanus, Napoleon, William T. Sherman and Ferdinand Foch; edited The Rommel Papers; and one-volume histories of the First and Second World Wars. His writings on the "indirect approach" to warfare, emphasizing maneuver, concentrated firepower and tanks, provided an intellectual model for Germany's blitzkrieg tactics during the Second World War.

The Review:

The balance of Liddell Hart's book analyzes Lawrence's military campaigns. Liddell Hart views Lawrence as a brilliant leader, worthy of comparison to "great captains" like Clausewitz, Napoleon and Marlborough. Using minimal resources against a numerically and technologically superior foe, Lawrence "turn(ed) the weakness of the Arabs into an asset, and the strength of the Turks into a debit" (383).

Liddell Hart draws uncritically on Lawrence's writings, often to the point of paraphrase. But his strategic and tactical analysis frequently proves unassailable. Consider his analysis of Lawrence's most famous military achievement: (pp. 166-167)

Tactically, the Aqaba operation had inflicted a permanent loss of some 1,200 men... on the Turks - at a cost of two men killed in the conquering force... By the strictest canons of orthodox strategy... it was an unrivaled achievement. The British forces in trying unsuccessfully to capture Gaza [under Murray]... had only succeeded in killing or capturing 1,700 Turks at a permanent cost to themselves of 3,000 men... They had sacrificed roughly two men to kill one Turk, the same number that the Arabs sacrificed to kill 1,200 Turks!

Liddell Hart broods on Lawrence's interlude at Wadi Ais, one of Seven Pillars' more dubious (though beautifully written) passages. Liddell Hart takes it at face value, marveling at Lawrence formulating "a new theory of irregular warfare" (138) while racked with fever. He emphasizes Lawrence's campaign against the Hejaz Railway, but downplays the Royal Navy's decisive role in capturing Wejh. He views Lawrence's ephemeral victory at Tafileh as a "gem" (215), while skimming over his failed 1918 Dead Sea Campaign. The Arabs become a feverish mass, indecisive until Lawrence prods them into action.

Liddell Hart's analysis deserves qualification. In 1929 he wrote The Strategy of Indirect Approach, thanking "T.E.S." in the foreword and dissecting the Arab Revolt. In another book (Great Captains Unveiled, 1927) he highlights Lord Allenby as a great modern general. Later in life Liddell Hart headed the so-called "Lawrence Bureau," ferociously defending Lawrence's reputation against Richard Aldington, David Lean and others. (He did collaborate with Terence Rattigan on his play Ross: A Dramatic Portrait (1960).) Along with his disparagement of Great War leadership, Liddell Hart clearly views Lawrence as exemplifying his pet theories.  

For all that, Liddell Hart's overall assessment is shrewd. It's possible to overstate Lawrence's tactical achievements, but he undeniably influenced military theory: guerrilla leaders from Orde Wingate to Vo Nguyen Giap drew inspiration from Seven Pillars, while American troops in Afghanistan and Iraq study Lawrence's 27 Articles. Those scoffing at the small number of Arabs joining King Hussein's revolt miss the point of asymmetrical warfare, so beautifully elucidated by Liddell Hart. For minimal casualties and lucre, the Arab Revolt provided the British an extremely useful sideshow.

Liddell Hart (right) with TEL at Hythe, ca. 1934.

Liddell Hart proves less shrewd otherwise analyzing his subject. He seems just as credulous to Lawrence's tall tales and evasions as Thomas or Graves. He sketches Lawrence's early years thinly, omitting Lawrence's illegitimacy or tense relationship with his mother. Even this early in Lawrence literature, inconsistencies emerge. For one, Lawrence's pre-war ambush by a Syrian bandit (9) differs significantly from Graves: in this telling, Lawrence thwarts the bandit by dissembling his pistol. More notably, Liddell Hart downplays Lawrence's complicity in the Tafas Massacre (287-288), when Lawrence himself is shockingly forthright.

Liddell Hart notes Lawrence's artistic interests, highlighting his "process of swift mental appreciation" (12), "extraordinary charm" (13) and "ha[ving] an instinctive shyness born of a sense of difference" (258). He relates amusing anecdotes like Lawrence's confronting an imposter: "Had he stuck to his statement I should have begun to question myself," says his subject (369). There's also his passage on Lawrence's postwar military service, finding "a sense of fulfillment, reinforced by a sense of futility" in being a gentleman ranker (330), and proving rare in 'adjusting his opinions to his knowledge" (375). These passages provide valuable insight into Lawrence's personality.

But Liddell Hart's views of Lawrence often prove simplistic or worse. The author's "reasoned belief in the benefits of British administration" (309) distorts Lawrence's efforts at Paris and Cairo to reconcile British, French and Arab war aims. Nor can we credit his view of Lawrence as a "Crusader" (374), a melodramatic flash out of Lowell Thomas. When all else fails, Liddell Hart falls back on starry-eyed hagiography. He melodramatically ends by announcing that "in [Lawrence] the Spirit of Freedom came incarnate to a world in fetters" (390), a messiah cut down in his prime.

It's perhaps unfair to conclude, like Stephen Tabachnick, that Liddell Hart views "Lawrence as a potential dictator" (Images of Lawrence, 40). Liddell Hart discussed the idea with Lawrence but both seem to view it as a lark. It was proposed seriously by novelist Henry Williamson, who imagined Lawrence leading "a whirlwind campaign which would end the fearful thought of old Europe" (Genius of Friendship, 75). Lawrence also complained of being approached by Oswald Mosley's Blackshirts, repeatedly rebuffing them. "I don't want to be considered... as a philosophic system, or a paragon... of conduct," he told Graves.

Rather, Liddell Hart seems profoundly awed by Lawrence, a common reaction among friends. Winston Churchill proclaimed Lawrence "one of the greatest beings alive in our time." Vyvyan Richards compared him to Alexander the Great and St. Francis of Assisi; Williamson to Jesus Christ. All of them, not unreasonably, thought Lawrence an extraordinary man with a calling greater than RAF anonymity. Perhaps there lies the true measure of Lawrence's greatness: not his military genius or literary skill, but his ability to befriend and bewitch such a diverse lot of people. 

Even this benign reading points up T.E. Lawrence in Arabia and After's primary shortcoming. Liddell Hart the historian can scrutinize Lawrence's campaigns with clarity and insight. But Liddell Hart the man can't see Lawrence as anything but a friend, seemingly lacking guile or fault. The resulting tome merely cocoons the Lawrence myth in a scholarly patina, begging for skeptics to bust it open.

Hero: The Life and Legend of Lawrence of Arabia (2010, Michael Korda)

Publishing Info:

Korda, Michael. Hero: The Life and Legend of Lawrence of Arabia. New York: HarperCollins, 2010. 762 pp.

Introduction:

The most comprehensive Lawrence bio in 20 years, Hero attempts to repair Lawrence's reputation. Michael Korda might go a step too far in proclaiming Lawrence as a genius in everything he touched. Still, it's a judicious treatment of a man oft criticized but never fully understood.

The Author:

Michael Korda (born 1933) is the son of Zoltan Korda of the legendary British film family. Moving to New York, Korda spent decades as editor at Simon & Schuster, gaining notoriety for publishing racy novelists Jacqueline Susan and Harold Robbins. He's written numerous books, including biographies of Ulysses S. Grant and Dwight D. Eisenhower, Queenie (1985), a novel about his aunt Merle Oberon, and With Wings Like Eagles (2009), an account of the Battle of Britain. 

The Review:

Hero is a popular history with all the attendant virtues and foibles. It's extremely readable, Korda handling a dense, detailed narrative with delicacy. On the other hand, Korda's analysis of specialist areas (Middle Eastern politics, psychology) are shaky, with an unhappy reliance on secondary sources. He lards the text with awkward cultural allusions, such as quoting Casablanca when discussing Lawrence's pre-war encounter with an Arab bandit or comparing his subject to Princess Diana (!).

Korda begins in media res with Lawrence's most famous exploit: the 1917 capture of Aqaba. This awkward opening lasts for 100 pages before backtracking to Lawrence's childhood. Lay readers may prove overwhelmed by the barrage of dates, names and places, and Lawrence experts will note Korda's heavy reliance on Seven Pillars and Basil Liddell Hart. Fortunately, Hero recovers from this shaky start.

Unlike most biographers, Korda focuses on Lawrence's relationship with father Thomas Chapman. Noting Chapman's love of technology and intellectual pursuits, Korda also feels he shielded Lawrence from  his mother's more extreme impulses. "Ned not only learned from his father but worked hard to please him" (144), ultimately besting Chapman at his own hobbies. Korda's Sarah Lawrence mixes guilt, piety and protectiveness, but scarcely resembles the monster of Richard Aldington and Michael Asher's accounts.


Hero rejects common portrayals of Lawrence as neurotic. Korda depicts him as exceedingly erudite and likeable, with a "particular genius for friendship" (508) and craving for recognition. Korda views Lawrence as asexual but capable of strong attachments to men (Vyvyan Richards, Dahoum) and women (Janet Laurie, Charlotte Shaw, Clare Sydney Smith). Lawrence's ambivalence towards fame is a quirk rather than psychosis. In this account, Lawrence remains essentially the same man lifelong, despite his war-time trauma and guilt.

By Korda's reckoning, "there was always a germ of truth" to Lawrence's recollection of events (442). Korda discusses Deraa at length, accepting its validity because of the account's vividness, Lawrence's injuries and private correspondence afterwards. He accepts Knightley and Simpson's suggestion that Lawrence confused Hajim Bey with another Turkish officer. More minor anecdotes (Lawrence making Lord Curzon cry at a war cabinet meeting, forcing an obnoxious officer to salute him) are found equally plausible. His collaboration with Lowell Thomas amounts to idle ribbing that spectacularly backfired. Far from a braggart or liar, Lawrence at worst misremembered or playfully embellished events.

Korda grows rhapsodic discussing the Arab Revolt. He consistently plays up Lawrence's role, even his marginal involvement in Russia's capture of Erzurum and the diplomatic mission to Kut. Lawrence's colleagues receive due attention, though Korda uncritically accepts Seven Pillars' account of Feisal and his brothers. He echoes Liddell Hart in claiming Lawrence a self-taught military genius comparable to Napoleon and a pioneer in guerrilla warfare. Korda is extremely adept at battle writing, providing riveting descriptions of Arab victories at Abu el-Lissal and Tafileh. Lawrence's personal bravery is justly never in doubt.

Korda claims "no man ever tried harder to serve two masters than Lawrence" (400), desperately trying to square Arab sympathies with English allegiance. He depicts Lawrence's defense of Feisal at Versailles, criticism of imperial policy and involvement in the Cairo Conference. Korda's grasp of Sykes-Picot and the Balfour Declaration are fuzzy, undeniably inflating Lawrence's importance. One is amused by the assertion that the Hashemites brought stability to the Middle East: arguably true of Jordan, not so much with Iraq or the Hejaz. But Korda's account of Lawrence's rapturous reception in post-war Jordan demolishes the revisionist view that he was just another military adviser.

Sections on Lawrence's post-war career dabble heavily in speculation. Not unreasonably, Korda views Lawrence's descent into the Tank Corps and RAF more as an attempt to escape his wartime responsibility than a retreat from fame. He's undeniably right in rejecting Desmond Stewart's claim of Fascist sympathies. But Korda depicts Lawrence as a lifelong masochist, even while casting doubt on John Bruce's stories of flogging. Lawrence's youthful obsession with fitness becomes a prelude to self-torture in this dubious reading.

Balancing the conjecture are astute observations. We see a Lawrence whose work with boats and seaplanes was extremely productive. He also used his connections to affect RAF reform, and Lawrence's sympathy for rankers comes off strongly. Korda amusingly etches Lawrence's equivocation towards the limelight: he attends Bernard Shaw's Too True to Be Good incognito, only to sign autographs after the show! He shows Clare Sydney Smith as "the only woman who actually flirted with Lawrence, an experience... he seems to have enjoyed" (607). Far from a miserable hermit, Lawrence experiences "the best and most productive years of his life" (509).

Korda finds Seven Pillars overwritten but concedes it features "great pieces of modern writing about war" (310). He does defend its essential truthfulness, despite Lawrence's personalized view and downplaying the roles of men he disliked (Colonel Bremond, Hubert Young). On the other hand, he finds The Mint an implausible depiction of the RAF. Korda saves his greatest praise for Lawrence's translation of The Odyssey, feeling "nobody... understood better than Lawrence the difficulties facing a warrior... returning home, or could write more feelingly about it" (661).

Hero is a very good, old-fashioned biography. Perhaps Korda's idolatry is a bit much, but proves a welcome corrective to lingering skepticism. T.E. Lawrence is finally restored to his place as a genuine hero, warts and all.

PS: Readers stay tuned! I have a very special treat coming soon.

The Desert and the Stars (1955, Flora Armitage)

Publishing Info:

Armitage, Flora. The Desert and the Stars: A Biography of Lawrence of Arabia. New York: Henry Holt, 1955. 318 pp.

Introduction:

Written simultaneous to Richard Aldington's Biographical Inquiry (and tweaked before publication), The Desert and the Stars reads like an extreme reaction to that skeptical tome. An admirable attempt at probing Lawrence's psyche, Armitage falls short of an effective portrait.

The Author:

Flora Armitage (1911-1995) was an English-born writer who spent most of her life in the United States. At the time she wrote The Desert and the Stars, she worked for the British Information Services in New York City. She published three novels and several collections of short stories, as well as essays published in the UK and US. Dartmouth College has a collection of her papers here.

The Review:

The biggest hurdle with The Desert and the Stars is its unfortunate style. Armitage's novelist instincts overwhelm her sober subject matter, and we're treated to laughably overripe palaver on the most banal subjects. For instance, Armitage writes of Lawrence's birthplace (p. 16):

"The house at Tremadoc... stood in the midst of a garden where the August flowers bowed their heads to the wind, and over which islands of Atlantic cumulus moved in shadowing phalanxes. To the south of Tremadoc the waters of a bay shimmered; and to the north the green foothills rose slowly up to the craggy peak of Snowdon."

Later, describing the fort at Azrak (p. 115):

"In winter a desolation more acute overtook it, for it was swept then by northeast winds and buffeted with driving rains. A pestilent dampness inflicted it, and a long and lingering melancholy which hovered like a hidden enemy in the gloomy passageways, waited upon the unwary, to swoop, to seize, to destory. Like a banshee the wind blew notes of doom through the volcanic rock towers which echoed into the shivering quiet below, trembled there, and then departed until the next gust."

This reader finds a little purple prose goes a long way. 300-plus pages of it are insufferable.

Other style points niggle, too. Throughout, Armitage insists on calling her subject "Edward Lawrence." Perhaps this is to distinguish him from his father, except she continues this affectation after the senior Lawrence departs. Awkward literary and Biblical allusions riddle the text to no effect. Ms. Armitage should have spent less time displaying her erudition than exploring her subject.

Armitage addresses many of Aldington's critiques. She concedes several points on Lawrence's honesty, but takes a more benign view. Recounting his claim of having read every book in the Oxford Union (tediously debunked by Aldington), she sniffs that "it is surely pedantic to take [it] seriously" (26). I'm inclined to agree; Lawrence's dishonesty was certainly more playful than pathological. She similarly addresses his claims about Lawrence's childhood; his alleged hatred of women; his heroism, politics and sexuality. It's a convincing rebuttal to Lawrence debunkers, though obviously not conclusive.

In this telling, Lawrence has a happy childhood. Armitage tiptoes over Lawrence's illegitimacy and describes him as a precocious child, mixing his mother's strength of character and morality with his father's love of history and machines. His time at Oxford and Carchemish receives almost idyllic treatment, his relationships with Dahoum and D.G. Hogarth lacking the sexual/political implications of later biographers. It seems fairly bowdlerized, even if one rejects Aldington's portrait of subtle repression. Armitage's repeating of apocryphal canards - for instance, that Lawrence's youthful leg fracture retarded his growth - somewhat weakens her credibility.

Armitage skims over Lawrence's war years, stopping for introspection only at Deraa and Damascus. Aqaba gets a few paragraphs, while the Tafas massacre receives a single sentence. She makes little effort to address the Revolt's effectiveness, though her assessment of Hussein as "a crotchety, devious-minded but sincere Arab patriot" (102) rings true. Less so does her implication that Lawrence was the Revolt's only worthwhile personage. Either Armitage had little interest in the subject or felt it would be familiar from past books.

Armitage excels, however, with Lawrence's post-war career. Aside from "personal portraits" like Claire Sydney Smith's The Golden Reign, most biographers up to 1955 elided his later activities, and Armitage's detailed description deserves commendation. She depicts Lawrence's unhappy stint in the Tank Corps, service in India and famous friends with skill. We encounters a Lawrence struggling with his fame, detesting life in the ranks and finding solace in technical achievements and unorthodox companions. It's only missing the testimony of witnesses like John Bruce, unavoidable in its era.

Armitage echoes Robert Graves in calling Lawrence "an iceberg... display(ing) a myriad of dazzling shapes and contours, though the inner matrix is forever hidden" (307). She views Lawrence's aversion to feminine company as product of his college and war experience rather than misogyny. "His hatred for sex should not be misconstrued... as a hatred of women," she chides (254). Similarly, she rebukes claims of Lawrence as budding Fascist, claiming that he "never had any message for mankind" (266). She ultimately views him as "a spirit so modern in vision and temper that his century has not caught up with him" (307) - a man who mixed the virtues of the scholar and soldier with nagging self-doubt and interior demons.

Despite its merits, The Desert and the Stars proves underwhelming. If one overlooks the acres of aureate verbiage it's readable, but offers few original insights or penetrating analyses.

Setting the Desert on Fire: T.E. Lawrence and Britain's Secret War in Arabia, 1916-1918 (2006, James Barr)

Publishing Info:

Barr, James. Setting the Desert on Fire: T.E. Lawrence and Britain's Secret War in Arabia, 1916-1918. New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 2008 (paperback). Originally published 2006. 382 pp.

Introduction:

Since 9/11, increased American and British involvement in the Middle East has revived interest in World War I's Middle Eastern theaters. Looking for historical background on the region, causes for Islamic resentment of the West, understanding of Arab cultures, or pointers on combating insurgency, a slew of authors penned dozens of new books on this previously-neglected theater. Lawrence's own writings (especially the 27 Articles) have been standard reading for US troops in Iraq and Afghanistan.

James Barr's lively book is more a general history of the Arab Revolt than a biography. Thus, my review will be unusually succinct. Nonetheless, Lawrence becomes the central figure in Barr's narrative, and Setting the Desert on Fire provides a fine portrayal of his exploits.

The Author:

James Barr is a journalist for the Daily Telegraph, an historian and an expert on the Middle East. He has recently published a follow-up volume, A Line in the Sand: The Anglo-French Struggle for the Middle East, 1914-1948 (2011). His website can be found here; his Lawrence-related blog here.

The Review:

Preparing for this project, Barr traveled extensively in the Middle East and trawled through British and French archives, taking advantage of new documents. His book contains much original research, but frustratingly little fresh analysis.

Barr scores most in portraying the Revolt's background. He spiritedly depicts the politicking amongst the British and French, each keen on establishing their own spheres of influence; disputes among military and political leaders over the Revolt's necessity; Lawrence's interactions with testy, skeptical superiors. He gives fair coverage to Lawrence's colleagues, both British and French, showing the Arab Revolt to have been a team effort. He also briefly addresses the post-war political fall-out, as broken promises "created a reservoir of deep resentment" in the Islamic world (322). Barr commendably strips this convoluted background down to readable length.

In Barr's account, the Arab Revolt was worthwhile militarily and defensible politically (at least for the Arabs). He gives a complex portrait of Sherif Hussein and his sons, showing them a mixture of self-interest and nationalist fervor. True, the Arabs were ridden by tribal faction and often avaricious. The staunch religiosity of the Sherif alienated nationalist "Town Arabs" in Syria who may otherwise have supported the uprising. Many, like Howeitat warlord Auda abu Tayi, blew hot-and-cold in their allegiance. But overall their military utility outweighed their small numbers and fractious nature, providing crucial support to Allenby's invasion of Syria.

Perhaps inevitably, Lawrence takes center stage. Bare depicts him heroically, as a brave man, skilled diplomat and expert military leader. While Barr notes Lawrence's propensity to stretch the truth (especially his strategic "revelations" at Wadi Ais), he argues that official records often support Lawrence's accounts. Most notably, he lays to rest any lingering doubts about Lawrence's "Northern Ride," showing that "recently unearthed British and French intelligence reports... corroborate the most audacious episode in Lawrence's story" (162). It's a limited portrait, but effective so far as it goes.

Barr's one bombshell regards Deraa. Using an electrostatic detection apparatus (ESDA) on Lawrence's journal, he analyzes pen compressions to argue that  missing pages indicate Lawrence was in Azrak, not Deraa, in late November 1917. "This new evidence makes it seem likely that Lawrence removed the page... because its contents did not correlate" with Seven Pillars' account of torture and rape, says Barr (206). While I lack technical expertise to critique Barr's method, his interpretation (that an impression of an A means Lawrence was at Azrak) isn't enitrely convincing.

Setting the Desert on Fire is hardly the most incisive Lawrence book. For providing a concise, lucid account the Arab Revolt though, James Barr surely deserves high praise.

The Golden Warrior: The Life and Legend of Lawrence of Arabia (1990, Lawrence James)

Publishing Info:

James, Lawrence. The Golden Warrior: The Life and Legend of Lawrence of Arabia. New York: Skyhorse, 2008. Original publication 1990. 523 pp.

Introduction:

By the late '80s the Lawrence debate became relatively balanced. Rather than the hysterical black-and-white arguments of the post-Aldington era, shades of gray crept into the debate as new sources and original research appeared. A more interesting Lawrence emerged, even as authors continued to project themselves onto him.

The Golden Warrior: The Life and Legend of Lawrence of Arabia attempts a straight academic biography. Lawrence James provides relatively little original research or fresh insight, and his analysis occasionally grates. Nonetheless, he deserves credit for an intriguingly complex portrait of Lawrence.

The Author:


Lawrence James (born 1943) is an acclaimed British historian and journalist. Besides the present book, he has written extensively on British history, including the excellent The Rise and Fall of the British Empire (1994), Raj: The Making and Unmaking of British India (1997), Warrior Race: A History of the British at War (2001), and biographies of the Duke of Wellington and Lord Edmund Allenby. His most recent work is Aristocrats: Britain's Great Ruling Class from 1066 to the Present (2010).

The Review:

Despite his cynicism towards the "Lawrence legend," James scrupulously rebukes many outlandish critical claims. Addressing Knightley and Simpson's accusation of pre-war espionage, James argues Lawrence the archaeologist "would have found out nothing... not already well-known to the British government" (45). He also dismisses conspiracy theorizing about Lawrence's death as "thriller fantasy" (495). Between this and his healthy skepticism towards Lawrence's own writings, James establishes himself as a credible biographer.

The most interesting sections involve the development of the Lawrence legend. James has a deep background in British history, and he does a great job placing Lawrence's fame in context. In the grim aftermath of World War I, James shows how much the English-speaking world needed a hero like Lawrence, who mixed traditional romanticism with modern "common man" appeal. He also excellently captures Lawrence's complicity in starting the legend, and mixed feelings of its perpetuation. James ends the book with an overview of Lawrence's portrayal in biography and popular media, growing and mutating to meet cultural needs and the whims of his biographers.

Like other authors, James views Lawrence through his perceived fantasies. Chafing at a strict but not unhappy childhood, the young Lawrence tested his physical limits, traveled abroad and plunged himself into foreign cultures. Enraptured by Morte d'Arthur and The Odyssey, Lawrence viewed his life as a saga, casting himself as its oversized hero. This medievalism also informs Lawrence's love of the simple Bedouin and aversion towards the educated "town Arabs." John Mack and Desmond Stewart advanced ideas of this argument on a personal level, but James explores it in the broader context of Edwardian England.

When James gets to the war years, his analysis grows mixed. He convincingly argues that Lawrence's views on the Middle East - especially his skepticism towards France and hatred of Turkey - evolved in concert with his Arab Bureau colleagues, belying the idea that Lawrence was a committed imperialist from the start. He disparages the Arab Revolt, conceding its propaganda value but trotting out the old canard of gold-hungry tribesmen. He argues the Arabs achieved little militarily, a questionable assessment in light of recent books like James Barr's Setting the Desert on Fire. Despite these critiques, James gladly acknowledges Lawrence's skill and courage in the desert.

James adds little new or insightful in dealing with Lawrence's strange post-war career. He dutifully recounts Lawrence's work in the Colonial Office, his attempts to serve as a "gentleman ranker," his bizarre relationship with John Bruce and brushing shoulders with the likes of Bernard Shaw and Robert Graves while dining with gruff RAF flyers. Lawrence's post-war career is fascinating, but James doesn't bring much to the table here.

James casts a skeptical eye on Seven Pillars of Wisdom, pointedly highlighting Lawrence's exaggerations. Interestingly, James notes Lawrence's embellishment extended to his official reports, rendering many contemporary documents suspect. However, James' textual analysis is also spotty. He views Lawrence's descriptions of the Deraa incident and Turkish atrocities at Tafas as justification for later Arab massacres of the Turks. The bloodcurdling depiction of Tafas, and Lawrence's loudly-stated revulsion to bloodshed, seem to bely James's argument. James is wedded to the idea of Seven Pillars as a carefully-structured novel, interesting in specific cases but overstated in general.

James devotes a long chapter to Lawrence's capture and rape at Deraa (pp. 245-263). He raises the usual objections, from Lawrence's inconsistency in accounts to some eyewitness testimony to Hajim Bey's heterosexuality. His bombshell is a diary entry from a colleague at Aqaba, which supposedly proves Lawrence could not have been in Deraa at the time of incident. Jeremy Wilson, however, has shown this diary conflicts with other contemporary documents. James moves on from factual matters to speculation that Deraa serves as a "coded" admission of Lawrence's sexual preference.

James goes beyond the usual arguments by claiming that Lawrence was a practicing homosexual. He makes the most of Seven Pillars' description of Bedouin man-love, and John Bruce's tale of flogging is hard to discount. Beyond these old chestnuts, James is grasping at straws. He repeats Desmond Stewart's spurious "Bluebeard" story, liberally quotes the dubious Richard Meinertzhagen ("boy or girl?") and even suggests Lawrence was about to be arrested for indecency prior to his death. The fact that such rumors existed is suggestive, but does not constitute evidence.

The Golden Warrior remains a worthy biography all the same. If James criticizes Lawrence's vanity and self-aggrandizement, he also praises his genius, heroism, tactical skill and charisma. "Why Lawrence felt impelled to embellish his achievement and then repudiate the fame they offered him remains inexplicable," James notes (433), nicely summing up one of history's most enigmatic figures.

T.E. Lawrence, or the Search for the Absolute (1955, Jean Beraud-Villars)

Publishing Info:

Beraud-Villars, Jean. T.E. Lawrence or the Search for the Absolute. New York: Duell, Sloan and Pearce, 1959. Original French publication 1955. 358 pp.

Introduction:

This interesting biography might be called T.E. Lawrence: A French View. One of a surprising number of French books on Lawrence, it presents one of the most balanced and interesting portrayals of Lawrence, holding up well even after fifty-plus years of research and revelations. Only when the author lets his personal hobby horse interfere in the narrative - i.e., by depicting Lawrence as a Francophobe - does the book test one's patience.

The Author:

I couldn't find much biographical information on Beraud-Villars. He served in the First World War as a French pilot and had a prolific career as a military historian. His most famous work is probably Diary of a Lost Airman (1918), an autobiographical account of his wartime service.

The Review:

Almost every Lawrence biographer has an ax to grind, and few do a good job of hiding it. Lowell Thomas had wartime propaganda to sell; Richard Aldington had a deep resentment of the British "Establishment"; Suleiman Mousa was an employee of the Hashemites; Desmond Stewart apparently had some personal issues to work out. Monsieur Beraud-Villars views Lawrence as being fundamentally anti-French, blaming him for focusing "solely on the interests of Arab nationalism... and... neglect(ing) those of the Allies" (148). To reach this conclusion, Beraud-Villars engages in some special pleading and extreme applications of hindsight.

For instance: Beraud-Villars argues that Britain and France "obvious interest lay in remaining closely united" (352). In hindsight, this indeed seems "obvious," but Beraud-Villars strangely ignores the centuries-old Anglo-French political and colonial rivalry that created the post-war tension. Lest we forget, their wartime alliance against Germany was an aberration, the two countries only two decades removed from Fashoda. Finally, Beraud-Villars sees the post-war settlement as sacrificing French goals in the Middle East for Arab ones, a mirror image of what actually happened.

Beraud-Villars' allegation is not groundless. More recent authors like David Fromkin and James Barr have shown the degree to which Britain and France jockeyed for prestige and position in the region, even after nominally agreeing to divide Turkish lands. However, it's simply wrong to suggest the British sold the French out to a greater degree than the Arabs, whom they had misled into fighting for independence. And to blame Lawrence, first and foremost, for the dispute is extremely dubious.

Did Lawrence hate France? Certainly he was a vocal opponent of France's imperial designs in Syria and Lebanon, desiring to "biff the French out of" those regions. On the other hand, he had a great love of French history and architecture, and was a lifelong admirer of French literature. Contrary to Beraud-Villars's depiction, he portrays the French contingent in the Hedjaz with respect in Seven Pillars, if one overlooks his personal enmity towards Colonel Edouard Bremond. Speculating on "what humiliations, which incidents [had]... created in him... the strong enmity" towards France (20-21) takes the wrong track. Dislike of French policy is not hatred of France.

It must also be noted that Beraud-Villars is extremely harsh towards the Arabs. Just a few examples: Beraud-Villars refers to the Bedouin as "semi-savages" (153), Syrian Arabs as "a heap of rootless bazaar-keepers and scoundrels" (210), and Iraq's population as "a few million illiterates" (285). All of the Revolt's successes are attributed to Lawrence and the other Allied advisers. His argument that an Anglo-French alliance was worthwhile "even if a few local patriotisms had to suffer" (352) is revealing. His views certainly reflect his time, when France was embroiled in a ferocious war in Algeria, but have a nasty ring to modern ears. After reading this, the resentment of George Antonius and Suleiman Mousa towards Western depictions of the Revolt becomes understandable.

If we restrict ourselves to Beraud-Villars' portrait of Lawrence, however, the book is much more satisfactory. He's one of the few biographers to capture something of Lawrence's tortured complexity. Even if this Lawrence is anti-French, he's not only anti-French. This Lawrence is a well-rounded, flawed but largely admirable man.

Beraud-Villars takes Lawrence to task on a number of issues, including his account of the strategic interlude at Wadi Ais and his specific level of authority within the Arab Bureau. Beraud-Villars amusingly deflates Seven Pillars's account of Lawrence's first trip to the Hejaz: "Lawrence is certainly here abusing... the first person" (122). Most of all, he views Lawrence as an extremely neurotic individual, suffering from a "persecution mania" (336) and being essentially a split personality. In a particularly incisive comment, the author states that "no impostor ever made such sacrifice to make his imposture credible" (346), criticizing his mischievous treatment of biographers and ambivalent attitudes towards Lowell Thomas.

In other ways, however, Beraud-Villars's portrayal of Lawrence is largely positive. He views Lawrence as, in many ways, an extraordinary personage, "one of the rare men... to have been at once a war leader and an artist" (xi). He refutes the view that Lawrence succeeded only due to money: "There was genuine popularity... which cupidity alone does not explain" (175). Lawrence is presented as a skilled military leader, a great writer, and, if anti-French and unduly pro-Arab, at least honest in his convictions. One can accept or reject what they want of this, but Beraud-Villars's attempt at a well-rounded portrait is admirable. As the book was written simultaneous to Aldington's Biographical Enquiry, it shows that an extreme reaction to the "Lawrence Bureau" wasn't required for a more measured portrayal to occur.

Beraud-Villars presents Lawrence as a latent homosexual and suggests a personal motive for Lawrence's northern ride. He's curiously reluctant to name Dahoum as S.A., on the bizarre grounds of Dahoum's lack of political sophistication, but doesn't present a credible alternative. He accepts Lawrence's account of Deraa uncritically, arguing that his vivid description of torture and male rape was crucial in shaping modern perceptions of political violence.

Like most Lawrence biographies, T.E. Lawrence or the Search for the Absolute mixes interesting presentation with speculation and politicking. Unlike most biographies, however, it presents a balanced, complex portrayal of Lawrence that is extremely commendable.

T.E. Lawrence (1977, Desmond Stewart)

Publishing Info:
Stewart, Desmond. T.E. Lawrence: A New Biography. London: Harper and Row, 1977. 352 pp.

Introduction:
Desmond Stewart was an expert journalist and Arab expert, and thus a seemingly ideal biographer for T.E. Lawrence. Instead, Stewart pens the worst major Lawrence biography, an indigestible mass of tabloid-style speculation and psychosexual fixation.

The Author:
Desmond Stewart (1924-1981) was a British journalist, novelist, and historian who specialized in the Middle East, focusing mostly on Egypt. He died under mysterious circumstances in 1981, supposedly being poisoned.

The Review:
Early chapters provide a respectable account of Lawrence's family life, time at Oxford and research at Carchemish. Attentive readers can spot warning signs, however. Stewart dismisses Janet Laurie's story of Lawrence's proposal as fanciful, ignoring John Mack's corroborating witnesses. He is similarly dismissive of Lawrence's pre-war service with the Royal Artillery. He dwells on Lawrence's relationships with Oxford classmate Vyvyan Richards and Arab servant Dahoum, along with his alleged ties to the Uranian movement of literary homosexuals. And the continued insinuations that Lawrence was "ignorant" of the Middle East (cf. 142, 291) grate.

When Stewart reaches the Arab Revolt, however, he goes completely off the rails. To call Stewart's assertions "controversial" misses the mark. It might be politely termed invention, crafting a highly questionable picture of Lawrence.

Stewart is hardly the first writer to question the veracity of Lawrence's "northern ride," his solitary reconnaissance into Syria during the Aqaba raid. Crucially, though, Richard Aldington and Suleiman Mousa did so without having official documentation released in 1969. Stewart does those gentlemen one better, dismissing the documentation and relying on the Arab sources employed by Mousa. But Stewart can't let well-enough alone: he says Lawrence "may have ridden off... in a search for news of Dahoum" (167). What's his evidence for this? Nothing. Not a footnote, source, or citation of any kind.

Many authors from Mousa on question Lawrence's claims of being captured and raped at Deraa. But Stewart isn't content with skepticism. Instead, he advances an unlikely theory that Lawrence allowed himself to be flogged by Sherif Ali ibn al-Harithi at Azrak, partially as self-punishment and partially for sexual release. He subsequently invented the story as a "metamorphosis [of] guilt and failure into a myth of degradation and torture" (188).

The best evidence he can summon: Lawrence was flogged by his mother as a child; Ali was physically attractive; a cryptic conversation with his aide, Rolls, months later, about Lawrence's supposed "imprisonment" (pp. 188-189). That's his entire basis for this extraordinary allegation. That, one suspects, and a healthy dose of imagination.

Later, Stewart claims Lawrence conspired with Nuri al-Said, Feisal's right-hand man and later Prime Minister of Iraq, to assassinate Syrian rival Abd el-Kader. Stewart's source is Subhi al-Umari, a pro-Kader police officer in a memoir written decades later. One wouldn't disqualify al-Umari's account on this basis, except Stewart seems content to dismiss Janet Laurie, the testimony of the boys involved in Lawrence's accident and others because of "the unreliability of memory" (30).

And why did Lawrence do this? Because "Abd el Kader had denounced Dahoum" (210) to the Turkish authorities. Again, he evades Seven Pillars, not so much critiquing Lawrence's account of Kader's treachery during the Yarmuk raid and later, as ignoring it. Nor does he present evidence supporting his version. Stewart's claim that "Lawrence never adequately explained his hatred of Abdel Kader" (209) is simply incorrect.

Stewart dissects Seven Pillars at length, viewing it as literature rather than memoir. He tries to portray Farraj and Daud, and Deraa, as symbolic of Lawrence's own relationships rather than things that actually happened, regardless of other historians' conclusions. Lawrence's execution of Ahmed is presented as implausible because "Lawrence was still bound by the King's regulations" while with the Arabs (245). He also questionably argues that the book's view of Arab nationalism and prose style were influenced by others, rather than being Lawrence's own thoughts/invention.

Stewart is convinced that Lawrence was a fascist, based on his relationship with Oswald Mosley acolyte Henry Williamson, Lawrence's own detailed descriptions of violence in Seven Pillars, his interest in rebels like Lenin and Roger Casement, admiration for the proletariat and supposed militarism. "The Fascist ethos would be more important to a man with Lawrence's blend of the radical and the authoritarian" (296). This, despite an earlier assertion that Lawrence was not an "ideologist" (209) and was motivated on a purely personal level.

Stewart's remaining credibility evaporates in the final chapters, when he posits Lawrence was murdered. Stewart dismisses the testimony of the two boys involved in the accident, claiming that "boys are bad witnesses" (302), insinuating further they were "under pressure from their fathers, minor cogs in the military machine" (303). Stewart obsesses over the "black car" reported by a single witness, and considers it suspicious that detectives were later sent to Lawrence's home and hospital bed. This theory was well-debunked by Knightley and Simpson eight years before and scarcely deserves a response.

Politely, Stewart is his own worst enemy. It is all well and good to critique Lawrence's cavalier attitude towards the truth, something even his admirers concede. But one undercuts their position by discarding documentary evidence for naked speculation. Certainly Stewart's bizarre Deraa story and entertainment of conspiracy theories about Lawrence's death strain credulity.

While skeptical towards Lawrence's writings, Stewart is happy to marshal dubious sources for his own case. He accepts Richard Meintertzhagen's suspect writings without critique, partly because of his "bluff, masculine personality" (225). His account of Lawrence's supposed sexual involvement with the crime boss "Bluebeard" originates from a German tabloid. Similarly, his willingness to credit Arab sources with a grudge against Lawrence and the Hashemites indicates a determination to arrange facts around a thesis.

Stewart uses this sleight-of-hand to craft a meretricious portrait of Lawrence: a habitual liar, a proto-Fascist, an active homosexual. All of these are defensible positions, advanced by other biographers. Again though, basing them around speculation and selective omission is, at best, self-confirmation. At worst, it's stretching the truth. For advancing bizarre, untenable theories without evidence, Desmond Stewart does himself and his subject a great disservice.

What Others Say:

"Completely unsupported assertions about T. E. make this one of the stupidest and most asinine books written about T. E. - or anyone else for that matter." - CooperToons

"Every critic knows that a crime style of sorts is responsible for a bad book... [Stewart's] crime style is as multiple as it is singular." - Nigel Dennis, New York Review of Books

"Stewart's singular contribution to this debate is to demonstrate that unverified and wild assertions will no longer go unchallenged, no matter how clever they are." - Stephen E. Tabachnick

"Worthless and untenable." - Jeremy Wilson

“If you accept Mr. Stewart’s thesis—and I do—then the core of virtually every Lawrence biography collapses like a desert sandcastle.” - Phillip Knightley

"Closely reasoned, level-headed and revealing." - Brian Vintcent, The Globe and Mail

Lawrence the Rebel (1946, Edward Robinson)

Publishing Info:

Robinson, Edward. Lawrence the Rebel. London: Folcroft Library, 1979 (limited library edition). Originally published in 1946 by Lincolns-Prager, London.

Introduction:

Edward Robinson's Lawrence the Rebel is one of the most obscure Lawrence biographies, and with good reason: it's not very good. Aside from providing a somewhat first-hand account of Lawrence's exploits, this slim volume doesn't add much to a reader's understanding of Lawrence or the Arab Revolt. And that's not to mention the myriad credibility issues.

The Author:

The only info I could find about Robinson is that he served with the Egyptian Expeditionary Force (EEF) under Allenby during World War I, and was at some point attached to the British military mission in the Hejaz. Or so he claims: several biographers dispute the veracity of his service, and he in fact was arrested for forgery in 1927.

The Review:

Lawrence the Rebel deserves notice for two reasons. One, it was written by someone who served with Lawrence during the war, and he provides a unique perspective on Lawrence's exploits in Arabia, if not the man himself. Two, it's probably the first biography that doesn't go for straight hero-worship of Lawrence. Robinson views Lawrence as a great man but isn't uncritical of him.

Otherwise, this slim volume doesn't add much to the Lawrence literature. Like most of the early biographies, it focuses almost exclusively on Lawrence's time in the Arab Revolt. Robinson provides a lot of primary documents and official reports that, while interesting in a way, make for rather dry reading. While Robinson provides a detailed account of the Revolt, both on the ground and in its political machinations, he devotes comparatively little time to Lawrence himself, and the book barely qualifies as a biography.

Robinson's portrait of Lawrence, such as it is, is fairly flat and uninteresting. He does provide a few nuggets of interest: his account of Lawrence's changes in personality after Deraa, for instance, does much to confirm that incident's veracity, and he shows knowledge of Lawrence's attempts to negotiate a settlement between Arabs and Zionists, something scarce mentioned in the early Lawrence books. Of course, how much of this he actually knew at the time, and how much of it comes after the fact, isn't entirely clear, and certain sensational bits - Lawrence's "northern ride" during the Aqaba campaign now includes attending a German-Turkish military conference in Damascus incognito! - don't help his credibility.

Giving Robinson the benefit of the doubt, this adds some nice pieces to the Lawrence puzzle. If nothing else, Robinson should be remembered as the first biographer to advance the theory that Deraa inspired Lawrence's actions at Tafas. But overall, the portrait of Lawrence is flat, focused almost entirely on a military level; and the broad scope of the story doesn't even ensure that.

Lawrence the Rebel has faded into obscurity for a pretty good reason. It's dryly written and not especially insightful, and too hard-to-find to be worth checking out.

What Others Say:

"Presents some interesting ideas, but... has been neglected." - Stephen E. Tabachnick

A Prince of Our Disorder: The Life of T.E. Lawrence (1976, John E. Mack)

Publishing Info:

Mack, John E. A Prince of Our Disorder: The Life of T.E. Lawrence. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1976. 561 pp.

Introduction:

A Prince of Our Disorder is, by a pretty wide margin, the best Lawrence biography I've read. Mixing impeccable research with insightful analysis, Mack creates the most complex and complete portrait of Lawrence to date. Unlike other writers who try and delve into Lawrence's psyche, Mack actually has the credentials to do so, and despite minor flaws Prince is extremely convincing.

The Author:



John Edward Mack (1929-2004) was a psychiatrist and Professor of Psychology at Harvard Medical School. Interested in how a person's worldview affects their actions and relationships with others, Mack wrote several books on dreams, nightmares and suicide before tackling Lawrence. Mack won a Pulitzer Prize for Prince, but is best-remembered today for his controversial works on alien abduction. He died in a car accident in 2004.

The Review:

In a nutshell, Mack's book has everything you'd want from a biography. It's more accessible than Jeremy Wilson's tome, more insightful (and credible) than Anthony Nutting and Desmond Stewart, and more balanced than most any other account.

Mack's greatest strength is his relative objectivity. Writing an objective account of Lawrence is a difficult proposition, and Mack probably comes as close to a balanced portrayal as possible. Perhaps because he advances from a psychological vantage point, Mack avoids the political and historical pre-occupations of other biographers, taking Lawrence on his own terms as man heroic and admirable, but also flawed and extremely tortured.

The genre of "psycho-biography" has become much-maligned, but Mack here shows its practical applications. Where a Richard Aldington might simply use Lawrence's writings and private correspondence to divine his personality, Mack engaged in exhaustive research to profile his subject: interviews with Lawrence's friends, family and acquaintances, primary source documents. Mack's hobby horse, viewing all of Lawrence's actions as personal rather than idealistic, has its drawbacks, namely in elliding the greater ramifications of Lawrence's life. On the other hand, though, it allows for a deep and insightful analysis of an ever-elusive individual.

Mack portrays Lawrence as, essentially, a boy who never went through a proper adolescence. In Mack's view, Lawrence's odd home life, with parents living out of wedlock (yet the mother fanatically religious), combined with Lawrence's love of history and literature to create a strangely stilted personality. Analyzing Lawrence's relationship with John Bruce, the Tanks Corps soldier Lawrence persuaded to flog him, Mack writes that Lawrence's personality was "vividly... split... between the adult and childhood aspects of himself, which... he never fully integrated" (439). This seems a spot-on analysis of a man who, until the end of his life, reveled in deliberate misdirection, playful exaggeration, silly practical jokes and a rather childish view of sex. And it might also account for his "craving to be famous; and a horror of being known to like being known."

Drawing on Lawrence's childhood preoccupations with romantic literature and the Crusades, Mack hypothesizes that Lawrence's Arab exploits were a real life extension of his "hero fantasies" (100), relishing the chance to play Richard the Lionheart or Sir Gallahad in real life. If one accepts Mack's argument that Lawrence never fully matured, this portrait seems extremely plausible. It certainly accounts for the epic style and florid language of Seven Pillars, his comparisons of Feisal and Auda abu Tayi to medieval knights, and his schizophrenic view of war as both good fun and utter horror.

Instead of focusing on Lawrence's need for "father figures" like Hogarth, Storrs and Allenby, Mack provides a more complex view of Lawrence's relationships. Whatever the difficulties with his parents, Lawrence had a warm and loving affection for his brothers, especially Arnold. Some of the most interesting sections involved Lawrence's very close relationship with Jimmy Newcombe, the son of Lawrence's wartime colleague Colonel Stewart Newcombe. The testimony of Lawrence's service mates in the Tank Corps and RAF show a great deal of affection for "Private Shaw." Through this analysis, Lawrence's relations with Arabs like Selim Ahmed and Emir Feisal can be viewed in a more complete light.

Mack spends a lot of time discussing Lawrence's sexual predilections. Mack mostly avoids the puerile "Was Lawrence gay?" debate that's raged since Aldington, seeing it as almost irrelevant. Instead, Mack views Lawrence as essentially incapable of physical love, both remarkably ignorant of and disgusted by "self-degradation." Deraa only exacerbated Lawrence's neuroses, channelling them into disturbing, self-destructive impulses. He also shows that, contrary to many biographies, Lawrence was not a misogynist - indeed, he had many female friends, including Charlotte Shaw, Gertrude Bell and Lady Astor. And Mack disputes the preoccupation with Seven Pillars's description of Bedouin homosexuality, arguing that his candor "must not be confused... with what Lawrence would or could tolerate in himself" (425).

Mack was the first to uncover the story of Janet Laurie. A childhood friend of Lawrence's, Laurie was shocked when a twenty-one year old Lawrence spontaneously proposed to her. Other writers have cast doubt on Laurie's veracity, especially since she didn't publicly come forward for decades. But Mack finds other witnesses - including Reverend E.H. Hall, an Oxford acquaintance of Lawrence's - to corroborate the story. If one accepts Laurie, it certainly complicates matters for the Aldington/Stewart/Lawrence James school who bluntly state Lawrence was gay.

Like many biographers, Mack places particular emphasis on Deraa. Mack concludes that "Lawrence underwent a painful, humiliating assault at Deraa... and the element of sexual pleasure he experienced... was particularly intolerable and shameful to him" (233). And yet Lawrence felt compelled to relive the experience, through John Bruce at least, "serv(ing) to gratify... the very desire for which Lawrence needed to be punished" (439). In Mack's eyes, Lawrence's inconsistent accounts of Deraa are an unwillingness to fully confront the incident, despite his need "to make... private suffering a matter of public record" (228).

By focusing on Lawrence's personality, the historical ramifications of Lawrence's actions get relatively short shrift. Mack recuses himself of analyzing Lawrence's military or political achievements - fair enough for a psychologist, but still a cop-out. At the very least, though, Mack convincingly argues that Lawrence was neither a cynical imperialist nor a naive Arab nationalist, rather doing his best to reconcile these oppositional viewpoints. Certainly he rebuts Knightley and Simpson's assumption that Lawrence was an intelligence agent before the war, claiming that "Lawrence hardly behaved like the model secret agent" (103). And, citing writer Anis Sayigh's work and the testimony of Bedouin who knew Lawrence during the war, he shows that Arabs hold (or held) Lawrence in more esteem than Suleiman Mousa suggests.

A Prince of Our Disorder will likely remain the definitive Lawrence biography for years to come. Mack's well-rounded portrait of Lawrence confirms his view of the man as "one of the most moving personal sagas" (459) ever, and stands as a really excellent book.

What Others Say:

"Clearly a book that tries to be objective and discusses the pros and cons of whether T. E. told the truth or not. John was a psychiastrist at Harvard Medical School and yet the book doesn't fall into trying to figure out history by psychoanalyzing the subject... This book deserved its Pulitzer Prize." - CooperToons

"A balanced answer to the Aldington-inspired line of criticism: it was the most serious and solid of all Lawrence biographies ever to appear up to the end of 1987." - Stephen E. Tabachnick

"I most admire John E. Mack's A Prince of Our Disorder: The Life of T. E. Lawrence (1976) for its thoroughness and sensitivity." - June Turner, Psychoanalytic Electronic Publishing

The following quotes from Mack's website:

“A hugely admired, and Pulitzer prize-winning, biography which concentrates on the relationship between Lawrence’s inner life and the actions and events which grew out of them. It is easy to warm to a biographer who, while drawing on his training as a psychiatrist, is never deceived into thinking that theory can ‘explain’ his Lawrence. The more Mack discovered about the social contexts of Lawrence’s actions and the demands on a public man, the more he understood Lawrence’s psychology. The result is a resounding confirmation of this approach to his subject.” — Desmond Christy, The Guardian

“Unlike many ‘psycho-biographies’, this was written by a trained psychologist who had also done his biographer’s homework: it remains the best biography of T.E. Lawrence.” — Contemporary Review

“Takes us closer to the core of Lawrence than any previous biography.” - Time

“A great book which honors its subject, its form, and its author.” - Boston Globe

Lawrence of Arabia: The Man and the Motive (1961, Anthony Nutting)

Publishing Info:

Nutting, Anthony. Lawrence of Arabia: The Man and the Motive. London: Hollis and Carter, 1961. 256 pp.

Introduction

I'm surprised that Anthony Nutting's 1961 biography isn't better-remembered. It may be one of the most influential: Nutting was an adviser on the film Lawrence of Arabia (1962), and his depiction of Lawrence as a tormented sadomasochist undoubtedly influenced David Lean and Robert Bolt's depiction of Lawrence in said movie. Besides this cultural influence, The Man and the Motive is a mixed bag, mixing good storytelling with often-shaky history.

The Author:



Sir Anthony Nutting (1920-1999) was the scion of a wealthy British family. During World War II he served in various diplomatic posts and in 1945 was elected to Parliament at the age of 25. Despite his youth he became a major player in the Conservative Party, becoming Privy Councilor in 1954, serving in Winston Churchill's second Cabinet as Minister of State for Foreign Affairs and leading two delegations to the United Nations.

An Arabist who encouraged friendly relations between Britain and the Middle East, Nutting helped negotiate the turnover of the Suez Canal to Egypt in 1954. However, he was aghast when the British and French decided to "knock [Abdul] Nasser from his perch" by invading Egypt two years later. Nutting resigned in disgust over the resulting Suez Crisis, ruining his political career, though he remained in the public eye as an historian and political commentator for decades.

Parenthetically, Lawrence may be one of the few cases where a man's biographers are as interesting as their subject. Between Nutting, Graves, Aldington and Lowell Thomas, we have a number of men as worthy of lengthy biographies as Lawrence.

The Review:

In Images of Lawrence, Stephen Tabachnick attacks Nutting for a lack of original research and a lot of speculation. This is a valid criticism, as The Man and the Motive essentially boils down past accounts of Lawrence's life and actions to a simple form, with some brief chapters of analysis and examination. That said, it's also one of the most readable, straightforward Lawrence biographies.

Nutting's main virtue is accessibility. He structures his biography like a novel (or a film script?), with events clearly laid out. This isn't always to the benefit of the book, with Nutting indulging in speculative dialogue and analysis on occasion. But his prose is crisp and the book flows perfectly, so for pure readibility it comes highly recommended. Of course, for historical works readability isn't the only consideration.

Nutting's portrayal reflects the general debate on Lawrence circa 1961 - eg., the scholarly community still reeling from Richard Aldington's broadside, and trying to reconcile it with the traditional Lowell Thomas/Robert Graves portrayal. To Nutting's credit, he avoids either extreme, seeking a balanced portrayal of Lawrence rather than deifying or demonizing him. His account of the Arab Revolt is straight out of Seven Pillars with some brief sections on his pre- and post-war life, but this is an issue of presentation His history is generally good; his view of Lawrence may raise an eyebrow.

Nutting portrays Lawrence as admirable in many ways, but a tortured, self-contradictory one, who mixes heroism and idealism with vanity and neurosis. He mostly abstains from direct analysis until the final chapter, fittingly entitled "The Motive," where he tries to determine "What... lay(s) at the root of the Lawrence enigma?" (p. 237). So again we have a biographer thinking there's a definite "key" to Lawrence. And without the psychological training of a John Mack or the documentation of a Knightley and Simpson, Nutting's interpretation is questionable.

Nutting rejects some of Aldington's more egregious speculations, namely that Lawrence was a pathological liar or a homosexual. However, he does agree that Lawrence was a "rabid masochist" (p. 244), and goes a step further in arguing that Deraa is the key to all his subsequent actions - not least the Tafas Massacre. Edward Robinson made a similar argument in his Lawrence the Rebel, but this seems idle speculation at best, misrepresentation at worst. If Seven Pillars is accurate, Lawrence's failures during the Dead Sea Campaign, and general guilt over misleading the Arabs, prompted him to try and resign, not Deraa. As for Tafas, biographers needn't engage in psychological speculation: Lawrence's vivid account of the Turkish atrocities beforehand should suffice for a reason.

Nutting's overall depiction of Lawrence is mixed. Much of his account rings true, if overly simplified. His depiction of Lawrence as a "Kingmaker" (p. 36), though harmed by silly "thought" dialogue, seems accurate, and for much of the book Nutting draws a good bead on Lawrence's basic motivations: a mixture of genuine idealism and personal ambition. Nutting is also credible in portraying Lawrence's relationships with Feisal, Auda and Allenby. Finally, Nutting commendably points out Lawrence's mutual sympathy for pan-Arabism and Zionism, where many authors (Suleiman Mousa) see these beliefs as inherently incompatible.

On the other hand, Nutting's depiction of Lawrence's "northern ride" during the Aqaba campaign as a "compulsive act of bravado" (p. 75) seems ridiculous. Rather than rebut Lawrence's stated reasons (intelligence reasons plus a guilt-driven, self-destructive impulse) he claims it "unlikely" and substitutes his own speculation. After Nutting's account of Tafas: "If... Lawrence was able to see into his soul... he must have been among the most tortured of God's creatures" (p. 163). This is psychological profiling by someone lacking the qualifications.

There's also the minor quibble that Nutting spends two-three pages rebutting Terence Rattigan's depiction of Deraa in his controversial play Ross, which has Lawrence deliberately raped by Hajim Bey to break his spirit. I agree with his conclusions but I wonder what the point is; after all, Ross isn't intended as anything more than fiction.


In spite of its flaws, Lawrence of Arabia: The Man and the Motive stands as a decent pre-1969 biography. As a work of ground-breaking scholarship it isn't great, though Nutting is ahead of his time in some of his conclusions. As an entertaining, readable, if occasionally suspect, biography, it's cautiously recommended.

What Others Say:

"Not much new here, and it basically assumes T.E. told the truth." - CooperToons

"The best short book (on Lawrence)." - Thomas Jackson, Forbes Magazine

"Offers interpretation rather than concrete new evidence about Lawrence." - Stephen E. Tabachnick

Time Magazine review