Geoff Dyer’s latest nonfiction book is about last things - last days in a career, a life, lastness generally - that takes the form of a rambling narrative recounting experiences and cultural things that have happened to and around the author.
Your enjoyment will depend on how interesting you find the myriad subjects touched upon over the course of the book but Dyer is nothing if not an affable and amusing host who manages to convey interest in things you might not have thought yourself interested in. That said, there are definitely some subjects Dyer is unable to do that to (ie. jazz - the only thing worse than reading about jazz is listening to it), but all told I found this book to be fairly entertaining and enlightening even.
While Dyer touches on several artistic luminaries the book remains accessible because he focuses less on the subject’s usually complex output and more on their lives. So, while the megalomaniacal philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche features prominently (a bit too much really), Dyer doesn’t delve deeply into Nietzsche’s various writings but instead focuses on the person he was, his turbulent friendship with Wagner, his mad last days, and his controversial legacy.
And, like a good teacher, I learned a lot of interesting stuff from Dyer, like Joseph Turner’s last paintings, which were so focused on light they practically obscured all objects; David Thomson’s remarkable decades-long work The New Biographical Dictionary of Film with its idiosyncratic entries; Albert Bierstadt’s western paintings that heavily influenced the aesthetic of western movies; and Bob Dylan’s never-ending tinkering with his song Tangled Up in Blue.
As a bookish fellow, I enjoyed his book reviews the most, particularly how he tortures himself by trying to read A Dance to the Music of Time (which only cements my belief that I’ll never read it), and his funny comments on Nostromo. He also has a lot of sharp observations about Martin Amis’ output, especially his latest book Inside Story, and Christopher Hitchens and Philip Larkin, all of which were engaging to read about. He also has a great deal to say about DH Lawrence and Jack Kerouac, two writers who lived interesting lives, and Hemingway and his writing process.
There’s also snippets of autobiography included here, like Dyer’s love of playing tennis leading to numerous health problems over the years, which also ties into the theme of last things as Dyer is ageing (he’s in his 60s) and facing his mortality as his body begins to break down. I was surprised by how druggy a writer he turned out to be, although I shouldn’t be given that I know nothing about the man!
So there’s a lot here about the weed culture in California (he currently lives in LA) and his evolving stance on the drug, going to Burning Man and his experiences there, and culminating with taking DMT. I wasn’t that taken with these parts of the book - I just find it tiresome reading about people’s drug histories. Yeah, yeah, you did some drugs and saw “some things”. Whatever. Maybe all the hallucinogens is why we get lines like this:
“One of the reasons we love watching Roger is because of the way - like Dennis Bergkamp - he looks like he is moving within a different, more accommodating dimension of time.”
Huh?
I wouldn’t get too hung up on the title because there’s not that much on Roger Federer (or simply “Roger” as Dyer insists on calling him), or on any of the other tennis players he mentions, but then there probably wouldn’t be, would there? Professional sportsmen are a bit of a dreary bunch. Except for Borg who went on a bizarre personal odyssey following his defeat at the hands of McEnroe and his exit from pro tennis.
While reading Dyer’s feelings about jazz is tedious (he likes it a lot), reading about the lives of noteworthy jazz players is fascinating because they were such a hard-living, tragic crowd. Beethoven though isn’t as compelling to read about, either biographically or musically, and there’s quite a bit about the composer. That’s in part because this book was originally conceived as being about Turner and Beethoven, uncouth artists who never became socially refined despite their success and high status. I think it’s better that the book turned out in this form instead of that one.
Writing about last things and the concept of lastness is a simple concept but one that works because Dyer is a thoughtful and insightful writer who chooses his subjects mostly well. I liked the literary parts, learning about cultural artefacts I wasn’t aware of before, some of the tennis stuff, and the biographical aspects of the jazz parts, but got quite bored with hearing about jazz in general, some of the tennis stuff, and most of the drug parts.
The Last Days of Roger Federer and Other Endings isn’t a gripping read but it’s fun to dip in and out of, like a short story collection where, if one story doesn’t get you, another one might.
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