Embracing the Infinite with John Donne
Katherine Rundell's new biography shows the poet wasn’t afraid to shed his identify if it helped cement his status as a writer and orator.
The Elizabethan-era poet John Donne was fascinated by the concept of infinity. Whether used to express the endless bounds of love, the glory that awaits those who go to Heaven, or the information to be garnered from books and other intellectual pursuits, it was a topic close to his heart.
At the same time, Donne was a master opportunist. In terms of his career, his choice of mate, and even his religion, when he saw an opportunity, he took it. Like the modern day pseudonymous poet Arch Hades, he wasn’t afraid to go as far as to shed his identity if it helped cement his status as a writer and orator.
Thus, it should perhaps not surprise us that a breath takingly original new biography of Donne is titled, “Super Infinite: The Transformations of John Donne.” The author is Katherine Rundell, who might not be the first person you would expect to write a biography of a poet whose life spanned the end of the 16th and early part of the 17th centuries. While she holds a PhD from Oxford and also has a position as a fellow there, and while her dissertation was on Donne, her path to biographer has been unusual, starting from her experiences rooftop climbing and more recently to her success as an author of children’s books.
One thing is for sure, however, Rundell is unafraid to take risks. And, like with her high-flying antics on roofs, this risk appears to have paid off. The book sparkles. The writing is magnificent, reading like poetry itself. “Super Infinite” does a tremendous service to its subject.
Donne was a complicated figure. Today he might be best known as the author of the words “no man is an island unto himself,” or the expression “for whom the bell tolls,” the latter of which Ernest Hemmingway used as the title for one of his more famous books. But these are far from the most important or even most interesting observations made by Donne.
In his youth, he sometimes found himself embroiled in scandal. The subject of a good deal of his love poetry, his wife Anna, came from a privileged background, and it was viewed as improper that she married him. Although Donne would end up a highly successful preacher later in life, as a young man this was far from assured, and he struggled with finances for much of his life.
Anna risked forfeiting considerable wealth and status by marrying him. More importantly, she risked offending her father. John and Anna eloped, and when Donne finally revealed the news to Anna’s father through an awkwardly worded letter, he would spend a stint in prison before the whole matter could get resolved.
An early formative moment in Donne’s life was the death of his brother. The Donnes were Catholic and his brother was accused of being a religious traitor for harboring a Catholic priest. The priest was later hanged, and drawn and quartered. Donne’s brother died in prison of plague.
His brother wasn’t the only martyr in the family either. Donne was a descendant of the great Catholic writer and philosopher Thomas More, author of the famous book “Utopia.” More was beheaded for his religious beliefs during the reformation.
Donne would eventually convert to Protestantism, a choice that would prove critical for his success later, but one that must have proved exceedingly difficult for him personally. A lingering, unresolved question about Donne will always be to what extent his conversion was an act of true faith, as opposed to a matter of cynical pragmatism by an opportunist.
Donne was fascinated by paradoxes and how opposites can often reveal wisdom. He was also a trickster. For example, he made up a list of imaginary books and authors, using it to fool his friends and acquaintances into thinking he was more knowledgeable than he really was.
In his poem “The Flea,” Donne may have deliberately inserted dirty language by taking advantage of printing conventions at the time that could make an “s” appear like an “f.” He cleverly used a flea bite as a metaphor for sexual relations between two people. It wasn’t the only time he discussed love in the context of the intermingling of the bodily fluids. “Love’s Alchemy” employed a similar metaphorical strategy.
Some considered Donne’s poems vulgar. Some today even call him a misogynist. One thing is for sure, though. He was not afraid to venture into unusual or controversial topics. He was fascinated by gematria, the practice of assigning number values to letters. He wrote an entire book about suicide, which, although not published until after his death, revealed a long fascination with the topic as well as some of his own suicidal fantasies. Donne even argued that suicide is not a sin if it is associated with an attempt to advance the glory of God. Christ’s death, he argued, could be viewed as a form of suicide.
Rundell’s book is a not a hagiography of Donne. She can be harsh on the poet at times, including for his treatment of his wife and for his occasional sexism. But she is always fair, recognizing and respecting the complexity of the brilliant mind that produced some of the English language’s greatest poetry.
Perhaps my biggest complaint about “Super Infinite” is that I wish it could have been longer, which is also perhaps the sign that a book is just the right length. I’m the type of reader who is unafraid to put a book down halfway through and move on to the next one. Upon completing “Super Infinite,” my instinct was to go back and start again from the beginning. In that sense, Rundell’s book is perhaps best read on an infinite loop. Donne would have found that altogether appropriate.