I would like to wave a flag of vested interest. James Moore was a neighbour for a several years and I would often bump into him in the street, his tall, straight stance belying his age, head closeted in a Russian furry hat, as he cut a dashing figure in the grey, London street.
So it was with great excitement I finally got my hands on this book and it hasn't disappointed. Moore's turn of phrase, his sharp wit is refreshing. We start with Captain John Sinclair, father to Henry John (later to become Lord Pentland), as Moore shows us the upbringing that shaped and influenced his early years. It's an interesting book in that it misses out as much as it includes. We know that as a boy he would have carefully removed his spearmint gum after the school run before going in for food, but the veil is drawn over his possible dalliances in later life. Moore carefully pulls all the strands of Lord Portland's life, weaving them together to produce a three-dimensional man; flick enticing ears and all.
As a writer, this is master-class in the craft and we can see why Moore is successful. As an autobiography, with strong influences from Lytton Strachey's Eminent Victorians, Lord Pentland comes across as a man who managed, to Moore's obvious bewilderment, to rise through the Gurdjieff hierarchy. If you are reading this book, in the hope of an in-depth, voyeuristic look into the world of Gurdjieff, you will be disappointed. Like looking down a kaleidoscope, Moore, twists the lens to show dazzling images, each arresting in themselves, but hiding as much as they show.
I highly recommend reading this book, not only for the history lesson, or for the deft touches of humour, but for the brilliant, observational imagery.
You also get to see a master at work.
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