…not only the reconstruction of a life, but also the nature of the relationship between biographer and subjects/sources and the complexities of transference and counter-transference. While in NY earlier this month I was discussing biography with an psychoanalyst friend and she said “hmmm, that’s a lot like the work that I do.” Then a few nights ago I had a conversation with a writer friend who is also a therapist and he agreed that there were similarities between the work of therapist and biographer. Okay, this is not a giant revelation; apparently it was not even a new thought to me, but one that had slipped my mind. So, just to be sure I was paying attention, the universe sent me another reminder message yesterday. While reviewing my note files, I came across an excerpted quote taken from an August 2000 newspaper article, “Writing from the Heart but Drawing on the Mind,” about novelist Amy Bloom. She said, “Some of the traits that led me to be a psychotherapist are the ones I find in myself as a writer. I’ve spent a lot of time listening to people, and I’m endlessly intrigued by relationships, particularly the gap between what people say and what they truly feel, and the gap between what they do and what they really want.” One might be able to ignore a one-two punch, but this thought has now come up three times in ten days, so I had best pay attention.

I am paying attention now.

Cursory research confirms that much has been written about the subject by biographers, historians, and psychoanalysts, among others. I have requested copies of two articles that ran in the Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association – one titled “Psychoanalysis and Historical Biography” and the other a review of a book titled “Introspection in Biography.” I also found reference to two issues of American Imago, both devoted to the subject of “transferences underlying biographical creation.” AI, a quarterly journal from Johns Hopkins University Press “publishes innovative articles on the history and theory of psychoanalysis as well as on the reciprocal relations between psychoanalysis and the broad range of disciplines that constitute the human sciences.” I’m betting there will be some useful thoughts inside those pages and was relieved to find that my local library has the publication in their reference section.

The pairing of psychoanalysis and biography is so natural that many an analyst has become a biographer. Here is an excerpt from the Preface of a biography by historian and psychoanalyst Charles B. Strozier, “Heinz Kohut: The Making of a Psychoanalyst” in which he cites psychoanalysis as being the chief turning point in how writers approach to biography.

…Nothing has changed biography in the past century more than psychoanalysis itself. Until Freud it dealt mostly with great men in public life and, as Steven Marcus has put it, was intended to be “exemplary, monumental, inspirational, elevating, and instructive.” A biography had to be highly selective, emphasizing the public side of a figures life and the story of his virtues — there were few women — in order to accomplish its appointed tasks. Since Freud (and Erik Erikson’s models), on the other hand, biography has sought to discover, illuminate, and disclose. It is both broader and deeper. It looks into early experience and is concerned as much with quirks and neuroses as with achievements. The point is to find the true self. There is no theoretical or moral limit in determining relevance, and as Marcus adds, “no secret embarrassment, no shameful memory or episode” is ruled out, as long as it is “pertinent to the central project of understanding how a significant life came about.” The larger, more visible story of the life in politics, science, or art remains the central task to explain. But the imperative of psychoanalysis forces the biographer to include the public and the private, the work and the life. It can be a daunting task and requires its own form of careful selection. The best one can do, along with Lytton Strachey, is to row out into the vast sea of facts and drop a bucket or two…

I rather expect the journal readings will be laden with psychiatric jargon, and possibly of limited interest, but if I find even one or two thoughts worth exploring in my own work it will be worth it.
For the moment, I will close with a quote from another book written by a psychoanalyst (“Inner Roadblocks” by Jane S. Hall) in which she writes:

Empathy, responsibility, and genuine, benevolent curiosity are important conscious attitudes but the therapist needs access too to her unconscious ones, to her own anxieties, prejudices, and predilections.

Those words seem to me to be equally applicable to a biographer.

Most jazz biographies are about performers — singers and instrumentalists. Not only are they usually more famous than, say, arrangers or recording engineers, but their work is something that the public understands. Some composers become famous enough to merit a biography (even a movie) – think Cole Porter, George & Ira Gershwin… — but not often does an arranger get the spot light. Still there are a few including Peter Levinson’s “September in the Rain : The Life of Nelson Riddle” and Stephanie Stein Crease’s “Gil Evans: Out of the Cool“). One of the many challenges I face is how to give the reader a real understanding of the nuances of musical creativity, defining the fine lines between writing a melody, hearing a harmony, arranging for appropriate instruments, developing themes, orchestrating, composing, and re-imagining.

I have already completed the preliminary research and book proposal for Seeking Harmony, which Scarecrow Press has slated for publication in 2008. But I will flash back so you can appreciate the full journey. Here’s the most basic sequence of steps:

Look for the story

Assemble the basic chronology

Write proposal

Conduct research and interviews

Deepen the chronology and create lists of people and events themes and issues

Chapter outline – identify the conflicts

Consider the best approach. point-of-view, and voice for the story

Write and rewrite drafts

Edit drafts and “polish”

This may seem like a sequential list, but the process is never strictly linear. To begin with, I had to do a significant amount of research just to assemble the initial chronology of Luther’s life. I say “initial” for two reasons. First, because it is not by any means complete. And second, even when it becomes more complete, it will only be a timeline from which I will select what is to be included in the story and what will not make the cut.

Some degree of research is ever ongoing, and as I work with the material, ideas and thoughts emerge that might cause me to rethink a prior decision, and possible send me back few steps.

So far I have done interviews with Geri Allen, Andre de Shields, Bea Arthur, Polly Bergen, Susan Birkenhead, David Alan Bunn, Kenny Burrell, Dick Cami, Chico Hamilton, Sharlene Cooper Cohen, Sheldon Epps, Arthur Faria, George Wolfe, Billy Goldenberg, David Hajdu, Hope Clark, Murray Horowitz, Ken Page, Leonard Oxley, Joe Lovano, Bruce Lundvall, Mercedes Ellington, Pam Koslow, Simon Rattle, Dianne Reeves, Regina Carter, Richard Maltby, Ruben Santiago-Hudson, Gene Watts. I have also spoken at length with Luther’s widow, Billie Allen Henderson, his daughter, Melanie, and his step-son, Duane Grant. I still have a huge list of people to speak with, and some people I will want to talk with more than once.

Research-wise, I will soon be spending a few days in New York City at the Schomburg library as they have a collection of Luther’s music and personal papers that he donated to them many years back. The last seventeen years of files were given to the Library of Congress but I was in Luther’s office and went through a lot of those records before the transfer was made so I am not sure yet whether I will need to go there as well. Another repository I plan to visit is the Museum of Radio and Television so I can watch some of those old variety shows and specials that Luther worked on. And back in New York, I also hope to walk some of the neighborhoods where Luther lived and worked, look at the buildings, and tour some of the theatres where he spent so many hours. Of course much has changed, but you never know what you might find…or feel by standing there, in person. All of this is crucial if I hope to reconstruct scenes in such a way that readers can feel like they, too, are there.

Also percolating somewhere in the recesses of my brain are thoughts about possible structures for the story. In some ways it seems that Luther’s musical life began and ended with Duke Ellington, so one possibility is to begin and end the book with Ellington-related material. The Classic Ellington project, a full-length concert of Ellingtonia orchestrated by Luther for a symphony orchestra plus jazz soloists, was performed in Birmingham England and at Carnegie Hall in New York City. It was Luther’ last major work, accomplished despite his ongoing battle with cancer. Sometimes it works well to begin a story near the end, then flash back to the beginning and tell the story in sequence.

Another possibility, similar in form, is to begin with Luther, quite literally on his death bed, being told he was to receiving the NEA Jazz Master Award. His one word response was uttered with satisfaction: “recognition.” Or I could begin with his funeral in New York or the memorial service in Los Angeles as I did in the sample chapter. Or, or, or…Chances are that I will write multiple starts and we’ll just have to see what flows best.

Another issue that is weighing on my mind is how best to integrate Luther’s own words into the story. The more I can let him speak for himself, the better, but the available material is not consistent throughout. I have, for example, a rather philosophical essay he wrote as a youngster in school and some philosophical writings from the later years, but have not yet found anything comparable in the middle. Also, I have a few stories from his early years that he set down on paper when he planned to write his own story, hoping, I believe, to have his say and set the record straight. Interviews done by others are useful, too, especially the longer oral histories such as the one done by the Smithsonian. Of course, there is much more research to be done and perhaps I will find more in Luther’s own words.

I am also extremely aware that as a 51-year-old white woman it will be a challenge for me to present Luther’s life with the authenticity that I believe is crucial. To help me achieve that goal I will be consulting with several people, some of whom knew Luther personally and others who have personal experience as well as academic expertise in African-American history.

So that’s where I am at this moment.