I decided to write a review of this book because I was mistakenly encouraged to acquire it from the above positive reviews. I found this volume entirely lacking. In terms of discussions of Caravaggio's paintings, you can find more erudite reading elsewhere, including from the hand of Sister Wendy (I'm not kidding!). Regarding the artist's life, in this account Caravaggio is but a pale specter lost in the obscurity of what little information Desmond Seward could accumulate. Where there was no information, the author was bereft of anything to say. This was also the case in describing the colorful world of the Italian baroque, a larger subject that should have resulted in better evocation.
What was particularly lamentable about this book was that Seward had taken upon himself to prove that Caravaggio was heterosexual. It is a leitmotif that hammers through the entire text with a persistent, numbing thud. Instead of taking on over two decades worth of scholarly debate on the epistemology of the closet and why so many people think Caravaggio was gay, Seward only draws upon Derek Jarman's fantasy movie about Caravaggio. When analyzing the preponderance of anecdotal evidence that Caravaggio was probably gay, or at least bisexual (which is in itself illuminating as there is already so little information about his life), Seward summarily dismisses the stories as mere hearsay. Because he gives so little information on Caravaggio's life, we are left with the paintings, which speak volumes. However, when the author is faced by the image of St. Francis in ecstasy while laying in the lap of a beautiful, male angel, or when examining the multitude of fair boy beauties, Seward declares that these images are a result of Caravaggio's bowing to his patrons' neo-Platonist tastes. Strangely, Seward later discusses Caravaggio's naturalistic realism, which is the complete antithesis of neo-Platonism. Seward tries to have it all ways and ends up looking like a fool. The last straw is when confronted with the handsome male youth holding a bowl of fruit, his shirt saucily pulled down revealing a naked shoulder and sensual neck, Seward says only that the meaning of this image is unknowable. That may very well be so... for a short-sighted, heterosexual male.
Given the remarkably vibrant hero of the story, as well as the fascinating times, this book's greatest crime is it's cold, graceless prose. Seward has said that he was inspired by the Count of Monte Cristo in writing this biography, but Seward's book has none of the sweep, beauty, nor heart-pounding sense of life that you find in Dumas' work. The only redeeming virtue in Caravaggio: A Passionate Life is its brevity. If you want the Cliff Notes version of Caravaggio's life and times, this can be an adequate place to start, as long as you're prepared for the author's shortcomings. For more insightful writing on Caravaggio's life and works, I suggest you search elsewhere.
