Uncomfortable Truths
The sign of a truly great biography is universal praise with a sole voice of protest. You know you're reading something vital when its subject tries to prevent its release, refuses to acknowledge its existence, or is publicly wounded by their portrayal.
Too many biographies today are little more than extended Wikipedia entries. They fail to conduct a serious inquiry into the core of a person. We need more biographies willing to publicly undress the figures they profile. The goal is to reveal the complex human being beneath the carefully constructed persona, not to embarrass.
This discomfort means you are on the right path. An individual rarely protests a biography that's blatantly false; they lash out when it strikes a nerve, exposing a kernel of truth they’ve refused to acknowledge themselves. It may seem strange that someone lacks insight into their own character, but self-deception is a powerful force. We are all unreliable narrators of our own lives.
Consider Benjamin Franklin. His autobiography is a masterclass in legacy-building. But it's a curated version of the man. Franklin downplays events whose importance we only recognize with centuries of hindsight. More importantly, he polishes his own myth, perhaps to hide his deepest insecurities or to project an image of unwavering patriotism for his Loyalist son.
A skilled biographer, however, acknowledges and ignores the myth. They can explore what Franklin truly believed, why he believed it, and who he was when no one was looking, including his complicated relationships with women and his own son. These insights only emerge when you place a critical biography alongside an autobiography. The biography’s purpose is to expose who Franklin was.
Capturing a person's essence this way is incredibly difficult. But the next time you pick up a biography, ask the following:
If the person on these pages were reading over your shoulder, would they be resting easy? Or would they feel utterly, uncomfortably, and truthfully exposed?