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09/12/2005

Chronicles: Part 1 - Dylan the man

by Anne Ritchie

I began reading Chronicles Volume One eager to learn something of Dylan the man and of Dylan the artist. I was not disappointed.

What comes across most about Dylan the young man is his enthusiasm: for music, for experience, for life. His generosity of spirit, the appreciation of those he respects, like John Hammond of Columbia records, “an extraordinary man”, or even of contemporary singers such as Bobby Vee, is surprisingly warm.

But he is also quick to dismiss people and play with them too, eg the throwaway, invented answers he delivers to the head of publicity at Columbia. This is the Dylan who so memorably expressed his exasperation with the stoned-sounding operative at the beginning of Mr Tambourine Man on No Direction Home.

His intelligence and appetite for knowledge is apparent throughout, but nowhere is it better revealed than in his early days in New York. Crashing out at an assortment of pads belonging to new-made friends, he particularly likes it at Ray and Chloe’s, where their haphazardly-arranged library is at his disposal and where he can “dig through the books like an archaeologist”. We get an idea of his excitement at the knowledge opening up to him in his enthusiastic recollection of his discoveries, from Thucydides and Sophocles, to classical French and Russian novelists, Dickens, Faulkner, a biography of Robert E Lee. But what he mostly reads is poetry.

His take on literature is refreshing, informative and often funny. He reflects on Thucydides: “like nothing has changed from his time to mine”. Recommending Balzac, one of his favourite authors - “You can learn a lot from Mr B” - he concludes that “Balzac is hilarious”. So, at times, is Mr D.

Behind the bigger picture that is built up of Dylan the man, there are small, revealing details which flesh out this intriguing human being. Dylan the dapper performer is brought to mind in a recollection of his cousin Reenie sewing strips of ribbon down the side of his trousers for an early concert back home. Ditto, memories of attending a Harry Truman political rally in Duluth, hoisted on an uncle’s shoulders “in my little white cowboy boots and cowboy hat”.

Chronicles also reveals aspects of Dylan that are surprising, eg Bob the craftsman, using arc-welding equipment to make ornate iron gates. There is no reason to doubt this surprising talent. But there are times when credibility is tested. An amusing instance is when Dylan fantasises about going into business and claims to have contacted a broker who buys and sells companies. A long list of possibilities includes the implausible, but amusing, “wooden leg factory in North Carolina”.

More seriously, the reader needs to read between the lines to reach some sort of “truth” behind the motorcycle accident. In the New Morning chapter, Dylan briefly confirms that such an accident took place. The confirmation is immediately followed by the admission “Truth was that I wanted to get out of the rat race”. The conclusion I draw is that a minor accident served as an excuse to cut and run.

(to be continued)

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