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How good a writer was Graham Greene?

11     It is often said that polities is a rough old trade, but in my experience politicians are
2 pussycats compared with novelists. If an eminent politician dies, even his or her most
3 bitter enemy will generally find some worthy cliché to mumble. Not so a novelist. Death -
4 more particularly, the accompanying 'personal tribute' - is the ultimate opportunity to
5 insert the knife, with the added attraction that the victim cannot answer back.
26     The death last week of Graham Greene was naturally the occasion for some discreet
7 hatchet-work. Thus, Joho Fowles: 'I am not sure he was a great writer.' Or Anthony
8 Powell: 'We did not like each other's books.' But the best illustration was provided by
9 Anthony Burgess in The Daily Telegraph. Some years ago Burgess published an interview
10 with Greene, of which Greene said publicly: 'He put words into my mouth which I had to
11 look up in the dictionary.' On Thursday, with Greene's body not yet cold, Burgess struck
12 back with his 'personal memoir'.
313     'He was a convert to Catholicism, like his friend Evelyn Waugh, and he was
14 undoubtedly conscious of the gulf that separates a convert from a born Catholic like
15 myself,' wrote Burgess smugly. 'I belonged to a different culture and had neither Waugh's
16 rigidity nor Greene's obsession with formalities.' This is a masterpiece of the memorialist's
17 art: note how Burgess discreetly inserts himself between the two greatest English novelists
18 since the war, and then - oh, the beauty of it! - puts them both down.
419     But this is only the beginning. Greene, according to Burgess, was 'touchy'. His morals
20 were dubious: 'I was unhappy about the fact that he lived with another man's wife.' As for
21 his criticism: 'His literary judgments were not trustworthy.' The fact that Greene did not
22 care much for Burgess is put down simply to senility: 'Our relationship collapsed because
23 of the prickliness that seemed, at the time, unworthy, but was merely a symptom of old
24 age.' Finally, Greene's work was not quite of the first rank: 'His novels were popular (...)
25 They sold many copies and were made into mostly second-rate films.'
526     In fact, sales do provide a fair indication of a writer's worth. That is not to say, of
27 course, that merely because an author is a best-seller, his or her work will live for
28 generations. But, contrary to romantic myth, there are few writers read widely today who
29 did not enjoy commercial success in their lifetimes. Charles Dickens is a famous example,
30 as is Jane Austen.
631     According to Greene's publisher, a typical Greene novel of the 1950s or 1960swould
32 have sold 75,000 to 100,000 copies in hardback, and maybe 250,000 in paperback, in this
33 country alone. Penguin Books has had every novel in print since 1940 and last year sold
34 230,000. This impressive turnover, month after month, year after year, indicates how
35 enduring Greene's appeal is likely to prove. How does the Nobel Prize, which Greene
36 never obtained, weigh against such statistics? Can you name the winner last year? Or the
37 year before?
738     Back in 1987, reading The Bonfire of the Vanities by the American writer Tom Wolfe -
39 another author whose commercial success always causes intellectuals to sneer - I was
40 struck, like many others, by the extent to which it captured a slice of our times. Wolfe had
41 effectively caught 1980s New York. And from this thought, I fell to wondering which
42 writers would one day be held to have done the same in post-war Britain.
843     Two of the likeliest candidates, I submit, are Greene and John le Carré. Both are
44 writers engaged with their times. Both identify passionately with the underdogs of the
45 world. Both have created their own, instantly recognisable worlds. Both have faced head-
46 on the shock of Britain's decline; what it is like to belong to a nation abruptly left without
47 empire, suspended between the two superpowers.
948     Above all, both have written accessible, non-experimental books, which have sold in
49 vast quantities and been made into films - a vulgarity for which sections of the literary
50 establishment have never forgiven them. But who cares? Le Carré is at the height of his
51 powers. As for Greene, he will be remembered long after Burgess's criticism - and, quite
52 possibly, Burgess himself - is forgotten.
 
     from 'The Sunday Times', April 7, 1991