I finished a biography of the artist Vincent Van Gogh a few weeks ago, and I still can’t shake the tragedy that was his life. He had no friends and was in fact shunned by neighbors and acquaintances. He had little support from his family, other than from his brother, Theo. He couldn’t hold down a job. Most of his failings were his own doing; he pushed others away with his strangeness. But as you read, you want to grab hold of the lapels of these people who didn’t recognize the genius in their midst and slap sense into them. Look, pay attention. While reading, you also convince yourself that had you been in his company, you would have acted more kindly, you would have recognized his greatness, but this is illusion of course.
Authors Steven Naifeh and Gregory White Smith, with the help of a small army of researchers, spent ten years writing this book, which is a work of art in itself. The book is about a man, but it’s also about passion, purpose, persistence, and the critical nature of familial ties. By the end, the story becomes a mystery on the cause of his death, which the authors unravel convincingly. I can’t recommend this book highly enough.
Authors Steven Naifeh and Gregory White Smith, with the help of a small army of researchers, spent ten years writing this book, which is a work of art in itself. The book is about a man, but it’s also about passion, purpose, persistence, and the critical nature of familial ties. By the end, the story becomes a mystery on the cause of his death, which the authors unravel convincingly. I can’t recommend this book highly enough.
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