I personally believe that articles are wonderful things but whoever titled this book for American audiences did not apparently agree: the wonderfully named It’s Too Late Now by A.A. Milne became Autobiography by A.A. Milne (not ‘the’, not ‘an’, just Autobiography) when it was published in America in 1939. Obviously that in no way impaired the excellence of the contents but, in trading the light-hearted UK title for the bland American one, I can’t help but feel that the publisher’s marketing people let everyone down. But Milne disappoints no one with this lovely, amusing chronicle of the first fifty-odd years of his life. I was completely charmed and entertained, perhaps because it is clear from the start that Milne (Alan) is writing this for himself. If the reader happens to enjoy it too, excellent, if not, at least Alan will have had a good time looking back on his life:
In this book, as in everything which I have written, I have humoured the author. Whatever happens to the public, the author is not going to be bored. I have enjoyed looking back on the past, and if others now find enjoyment in looking over my shoulder, I am as glad as my publishers will be. But let us be quite clear that this is my part, not theirs.
Born in London in 1882, young Alan had a joyful childhood and adult Alan has a marvellous time recalling it. The chapters on his early days, from his birth until he left home in 1893 for school, were my favourite (and also formed the largest single section of the book). He has such fond, strong memories and clearly delights in revisiting them, remembering endless family jokes, energetic holidays, and the freedom he and his favourite brother, both early risers, had to roam about Victorian London in the early hours of the morning before school. We are given a very clear understanding of family affections and allegiances, primarily young Alan’s relationships with his much-adored father and slightly older brother (and childhood best friend), Ken. Of the eldest brother, Barry, we hear very little, except how comically determined the parents were to treat all three children equally:
Father and mother had always determined that there should be no favourites in their family. The three of us were to be treated alike: to be given equal affection and equal opportunities. In practice the affections are not so easily controlled. There was never any doubt that Barry was Mother’s darling and that I was Father’s, leaving poor old Ken to take second place in both their hearts, and first in mine and Barry’s. But we were not to profit by these preferences. Nobody should say that our parents had favoured one of us at the expense of the other. At times this determination not to distinguish between us took rather an absurd form. Complimented by a visitor on the complexion, eyes, smile, hair or what not of one of us who had strayed accidentally into the drawing-room, Mother replied firmly and untruthfully, ‘All my sons are good-looking.’ A little later, when Ken, now in the Civil Service, had received official praise for the elegance of a report which he had drafted for his Minister, Father offered his congratulations in the words: ‘I always said that all my sons could write.’ Barry was then expressing himself in letters beginning ‘Yours of even date to hand in reply to which we beg to call your attention,’ and I was being funny on Punch, so that a Civil Servant got as little satisfaction from being compared with one as with the other. ‘All my sons’ became a catch-phrase with Ken and me, as it was becoming a habit with Father and Mother. We felt that, if one of us committed a murder, their first reaction would be a bland asset that all their sons ought to be hanged.
Alan’s mother is scarcely mentioned, either. All the parental adoration is focused on his father and the passages where Alan speaks of or addresses his ‘Papa’ are the most personal, the most expressive ones in the entire book. If I was ever tempted to tear up, it was at these moments:
Farewell, Papa, with your brave, shy heart and your funny little ways: with your humour and your wisdom and your never-failing goodness: from now on we shall begin to grow out of each other…But still, you had me until I was twelve, Papa, and if there was anything which you ever liked in me or of which you came to be proud, it was yours.
Some of the ideas in the Milne family, accepted as fact in childhood but recalled and questioned as an adult, amused me no end. When the boys wanted to test out uncertain career paths (as when Alan announced his plans to become a writer), their father gave the chilling warning that if they did not succeed, they would end up working in a bank:
It had always been held over us. I don’t know why, this threat of servitude in a bank. Other sons might be told that they would have to enlist, or emigrate, if they failed in their chosen profession; even to sweep a crossing; but from childhood we had been taught that it was in banks that human driftwood ultimately grounded. What qualifications were necessary for a bank-clerk other than being a disappointment to his father we never discovered.
Though Milne and P.G. Wodehouse did not get on, I can’t help but think how Plum (briefly a distraught employee of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank) would have appreciated this sentiment.
The years pass by and Alan moves from his father’s small school to Westminster School to Cambridge. I have often lamented how few books there are about Cambridge in comparison with Oxford. Helpfully, Alan begins the short section dealing with his university career by addressing my concerns (before going on to write absolutely nothing about Cambridge that does not relate to his development as a writer/editor):
What distinguishes Cambridge from Oxford, broadly speaking, is that nobody who has been to Cambridge feels impelled to write about it. If it is not quite true that everybody has at least one book inside him, it seems to be the fact that every Oxonian has at least one book about Oxford inside him, and generally gets it out. Oxford men will say that this shows what a much more inspiring place Oxford is, and Cambridge men will say that it shows how much less quickly Oxford men grow up, and we can leave it at that.
From his time at Westminster onwards, the books focuses on Alan’s development as a writer, from his schoolboy attempts at verse and comedy to his amateur attempts at editing. No more charming family reminiscences, just a wonderfully self-deprecating chronicle of his attempts to break into his chosen profession. He worked very hard, wrote a prolific amount, and made all the right connections. Even knowing how it came about, I was shocked by how successful he became quite quickly. I loved that he tracked his income over these years and, seeing it in contrast to Ken’s salary as a respectable solicitor and Civil Servant, you realise just how well he did even before he started writing the plays, novels, and children’s books for which he is now remembered.
He glosses over the war, an upsetting topic for him, focusing on his writing during those years with a few brief mentions of his military duties. It means that the reader is treated to a satisfyingly detailed record of how Once on a Time, his first novel, came about and that is indeed a wonderful gift. I love hearing the stories behind books I’ve read and Alan has many to share. Two People, for example, began as an attempt at writing a short story that, by the time his wife Daphne checked in with him on its progress, had quickly spiralled well beyond its original boundaries:
At the end of the week Daphne said, ‘How’s the story getting on?’
‘Just on five thousand words.’
‘How long is a short story?’
‘About five thousand.’
‘Then you’ve practically finished it?’
‘Well, actually I haven’t begun yet. The plot isn’t even in sight. I suppose we shall get there one day.’
‘What happens if you don’t?’
‘Then you’ve written a novel, I suppose?’
‘Is that how novels are written?’
‘Don’t ask me. I don’t know how anybody writes anything. I’m just writing about two people, and having the time of my life. We shall probably know more about it by the end of the year.’
Once he reaches adulthood, Alan’s focus is almost entirely on himself and his work. The reader is warmly and thoroughly introduced to the rest of the Milne family but generally they are left alone. We have no idea what became of his eldest brother Barry or how Alan dealt with the deaths of his family members. The book is dedicated “to the memory of Kenneth John Milne who bore the worst of me and made the best of me” but Ken’s death is never mentioned in the book. As an adult, we know that Ken marries and, having trained as a solicitor and discovered a distaste for the work, goes into the Civil Service where Alan tells us Ken will, beginning with the war, work himself to death. That is all we get. Grief is private, as, for the most part, is Alan’s own family (wife Daphne and son Christopher). I desperately want to know all the personal details but I think I would have hated if he had been the one to share them. I miss that kind of old-fashioned restraint and I respect his desire for privacy but now, decades after his death, I am really hoping some biographer was nosey enough to do all the shameless prying that results in a detailed, personal biography (in Simon’s review of this, he recommends Ann Thwaite’s A.A. Milne: His Life).
I came away from this more determined than ever to read Christopher Milne’s The Path Through the Trees, the second book in his autobiographical trilogy. I read the first book (The Enchanted Places) immediately after I began blogging and, though my rough review from the time doesn’t reflect it, I very much enjoyed it. Simon almost immediately sent me a copy of The Path Through the Trees (completely convincing me that book bloggers were the nicest people in the world) but, two years later, I have yet to crack the cover. Trust me, that is going to change soon. Knowing so much more about the family, I can’t wait to revisit them through Christopher’s eyes, though I’m contemplating rereading The Enchanted Places first, which I’m sure I’ll get much more out of this time.
But more than anything, I’m eager to read more of Alan’s works, especially his plays (starting with Mr Pim Passes By). After reading nothing by Milne for years and years, since my Christopher Robin days, I read three works by him in January: Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Once on a Time, and this. I enjoyed all three, particularly this autobiography, but what I was most impressed by was how strong Milne’s voice is in each of them. He writes so naturally, so conversationally, that there is no question that these books, different as they are, are by the same person. It is wonderful and very rare that an author has that gift and it makes for such an easy and enjoyable reading experience. Well done, Mr. Milne. You’ve quickly and, in only three books, efficiently established yourself as one of my favourite authors. Please, celebrate with a pipe:
I’ll have to look for a copy of this. I love memoirs.
It’s wonderful and I can only hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Though copies of It’s Too Late Now seem expensive to track down, I’ve noticed that there are lots of American editions of Autobiography available at very reasonable prices.
Oh Claire, You’ve made him sound so fun and interesting! I would never have thought to put AA Milne on my mental backlist, but there you are – he’ s there now. I love writers’ biographies, auto or not. Happy reading, Ruby
He was both those things! Wherever and whenever you choose to start reading his books, I hope you enjoy them!
Your words here delight me as much as Alan’s delight you, Claire. In fact, I love how you have become so acquainted with him and refer to him so in your post, which is wonderful!
I don’t know why publishers insist on changing books’ titles for the American audience (or the book covers). I like the original title of It’s Too Late Now much better, and it becomes sometimes confusing when trying to find a book here. Either way, I hope to find this sometime and read it. Thank you.
With Milnes all over the place, it seemed easiest to refer to him as Alan! But I did come to know him better and certainly to feel fond enough to want to call him by his name.
The rebranding (of this or anything really) for the American market makes no sense to me BUT copies of Autobiography appear to be readily available for very reasonable sums, unlike It’s Too Late Now.
I have only read his classic children’s stories, but love his use of language there so much, and his humor. I’ve been thinking more and more lately of finding some of his novels, and this sounds wonderful too.
Whether you start with his novels, his plays, or this, do try reading more Milne!
Yay! My cup brimmeth over. This is one of my favourite books, which I read three times in as many years, but haven’t read since 2003 – so I must revisit.
I love reading this, The Enchanted Places, and Ann Thwaite’s book altogether – there is some overlap, of course, but mostly they fit together like three pieces of a jigsaw.
And how I agree with you about his voice! It’s in everything he writes, immediately identifiable. I also laughed at your last line – lovely!
It sounds like you know what you’re looking for, but if you do want any recommendations, I’m very happy to oblige…
I read your comment and thought ‘oh, 2003 wasn’t that long ago’. Then I did the math. I think mentally I’m still convinced it’s about 2007, even though my hand happily writes 2012 on every piece of paper. Is this what it means to get old? Ignoring my ramblings, what this clearly means is that yes, it’s time for you to reread it!
Mr Pim Passes By was definitely one of your recommendations and I’d love more!
Haha! I know. I keep thinking it’s about 2001…
I long to recommend so much! If you can get hold of Those Were The Days, that’s got four vols of his sketches/stories that he did for Punch. They’re very whimsical and fun – very exuberant.
For plays, aside from Mr. Pim, I especially recommend those in Three Plays – The Dover Road (PG Wodehouse’s favourite play, doncha know), The Great Broxopp and The Truth About Blayds.
Novels – Two People is a little more serious, but still very obviously Milne, and very good. Chloe Marr is the only dud I’ve found with AAM.
But I think you should definitely read Ann Thwaite’s book, not just to read more about AAM, but to get a feel for what you most want to read of his, since she goes through everything pretty thoroughly.
So exciting!
I’m considering doing a month focused on biography reading this summer…this may be at the top of the stack!
And that is exactly where it deserves to be! You’ll have to share your list of books with me if you go ahead with this idea, Susan. I’d love to see what you put on there!
http://modernjanedesign.blogspot.com/2012/02/well-styled-bookshelves.html
This is one of the blogs that I like. Thought you would enjoy this post.
When do I not love looking at books (and envying other people who seem to have enough shelves to store them)? Thanks for the link!
You are a bad, bad woman. After putting A A Milne on my radar, now you are MAKING me go to my favourite secondhand bookshop this afternoon to go and see what Milne goodness they can put in my eager little paws…. Thank you. 😉