Super-Infinite: The Transformations of John Donne

There are more comprehensive biographies of Donne out there, but none that are as enthusiastic. Rundell openly proclaims herself an evangelist for Donne, by which she means not just a fan of his work, but a believer that his work, and the whole-hearted determination to embrace the complexity of life, is what we need now. In a world where so many people willingly inhabit the cosy comfort of a binary view of the world, or embrace outright denial of reality, Donne's willingness to see the manifold beauty and ugliness all around us, and often to yoke those together into something new, comes across as strikingly brave and ambitious. Of course, the difficulty of that endeavour--and the difficult poetry that it produced--offers a clear reason why Donne's lessons will go largely unheeded. After all, we now live in a world where people are quite happy to think they can make art by typing a few suggestive phrases into an AI generator. One unexpected side effect of this book is that it functions, however, as something of an antidote to present despair. For those who are convinced our world is uniquely going to hell in a handbasket, Rundell portrays the Elizabethan/Jacobean world in all is violence, its casual cruelty, it sickness, its loss, its chaos, with an unflinching eye. What is perhaps most remarkable about Rundell's work, however, is that she manages to be both an unabashed fan, while simultaneously being open, clear, and critical about Donne's many failings. Rundell couples a reverance for her subject with an often irreverent tone that will no doubt offend some. But her grasp of the minutae of the Early Modern period--occasionally deployed in anecdotes that are tangential, but forgivably so because they are just so damn interesting--is impressive. For me, at least, the book achieved its purpose: it has made me want to reread Donne. Or maybe, to really read him for the first time.

“Few people would turn to Donne’s poetry or prose, with its twisting logic and deliberate difficulty, for solace--but you might turn to him to be reminded that for all its horror, the human animal is worth your attention, your awe, your love” (261).

Well, what a wonderful book – an absolute delight from start to finish.

I had been familiar with a few of Donne’s works (probably the same few that everyone knows) from having studied a few of them untold decades ago as a new undergraduate, but had been lamentably hazy about his life, and the sheer scale and range of his oeuvre. Indeed, having not thought about him since those lost student days, I was no longer clear on his chronology, and had forgotten the extent to which his life overlapped that of Shakespeare (Donne was born eight years later, in 1572). Katherine Rundell touches briefly on the question of whether they might ever have met.

Donne’s life was hard and eventful, and seldom far from sorrow or vexation. Raised as a Roman Catholic, much of his early life was passed under the shadow of persecution, and indeed his younger brother henry was arrested for harbouring a priest and was consigned to the tower of London, where he subsequently died of plague. His own dedication to the faith he was born into seems to have been less adamant, and during his twenties he moved into at least apparent acceptance of the dogma of the Church of England, in which he eventually secured a living, publishing two anti-Catholic polemics in 1610 and 1611, before becoming a Royal Chaplain in 1615.

He also spent much of his life in relative penury, despite having received a decent inheritance on the death of his mother – it seems that he worked his way through this fairly swiftly, spending much of it on womanising, books and travel (presumably just wasting the rest!). He spent some years as a member of parliament, representing the constituency of Brackley, during which time he was under the protection and influence of Sir Francis Wooley (his wife’s cousin), furthering whose interests was his primary objective in Westminster. Having sought patronage as a court poet under King James, he eventually secured the living of three parishes (none especially close to another, being situated in Kent, Huntingdonshire and Bedfordshire) which he held simultaneously until his death.

Yet it is as a writer, and primarily a poet, that he is remembered, and rightly so. The breadth of his interests and the flexibility of his style are extraordinary, and were probably unprecedented in his own time. Best known now for his sensual verse, he also explored philosophical quandaries that were dividing learned opinion at the time, offering and incisiveness of thought that was illuminating and compelling.

Indeed, ‘illuminating and compelling’ applies equally fittingly to this book. Ms Rundell has a clarity of expression, and a facility for conveying complex issues in a readily accessible way. I can readily understand why this book won the esteemed Baillie Gifford Award for non-fiction works. I will certainly be looking for her other books as a matter of urgency.

Amazingly, this biography of John Donne becomes a real page-turner after reading the first chapter or so. And not just because of my own nearly lifelong love of his poetry. Rundell's narrative is superb as is her scholarship. This is one of those rare books where as a reader you start to think, "Why doesn't the author mention such-and-such, then on the next page she does!" While there are gaps in Donne's extant biography, the details here let us see him as a whole person, and not always a nice one. There's a story about his daughter's diamond ring that will stick with you. Highly, highly recommended.