WHEN Socrates counseled that the unexamined life was not worth
living, he was talking about self-examination. Were he around today,
he would have had to make that clear. As biography had become a
penalty imposed equally on the eminent and the infamous, it is only
the unexamined life that is, in some sense, livable.
And what would Socrates make of the "infotainment" notion, which
has lowered current public tolerance for unleavened actuality?
Starved for the oxygen of fact, biography in our time is all too
often a dizzy diversion, whose frenzied prose scuttles from one
keyhole to the next.
Given the current climate, and the enduring innuendo about Carl
Sandburg's extramarital relationships, one might expect that a new
biography of the poet would fester into yet another overheated
expose. Instead, Penelope Niven's mammoth account of Sandburg's life
is about as decorous as it can be and still be a product of the 20th
century. Yes, she mentions the role of other women, but true to the
tenor of Sandburg's life, she does not let these incidents
monopolize the text. Her aim is higher - and more comprehensive.
Like many of us, Niven absorbed her initial opinions of Sandburg
by cultural osmosis. She embraced the familiar elements of the
Sandburg legend, including the conviction that his poetry was
justifiably eclipsed long ago. As she admits in her gracefully
forthright preface, I knew little of the poet and nothing of the
man." Today, 17 years and 843 pages after her first casual visit to
Connemara, Sandburg's solitary farm in Flat Rock, N.C., she has
produced a book whose research and fair-minded mien target her own
premature assumption that Sandburg was too popular to be taken
With a life as full and as complicated as Sandburg's, getting to
the point where poetry is primary takes a few hundred pages. After
all, Sandburg was close to 40 before he was mentally and financially
able to turn his main attention to literature. Indeed, Niven's
portrayal of the diversity of his life before public recognition is
in some ways the most intriguing section of the book.
Having left school in the eighth grade, Sandburg worked odd jobs
to help his struggling family. Like many lean-circumstanced prairie
boys, he eventually became a teenage hobo.
After a stint in the Army, fighting in the Spanish-American War,
Sandburg returned to his home town of Galesburg, Ill., working his
way through college by moonlighting as a fireman. College nurtured
the utopian longings for a better world that would characterize his
various endeavors throughout life.
Throughout his 20s and 30s, Sandburg found himself zigzagging
toward the ideal. He composed and published a little poetry, worked
a number of jobs, firmed up his ambition to become both an orator
and an author, and tentatively began writing muckraking journalism,
an activity that supported him throughout his middle years. He also
systematically studied socialism, which is to say, he became a
enthusiast of that brand of American pacifism and populism that
called itself socialism. And, in 1907 he met his "Wonder-Girl,"
Lillian Steichen, sister of the famous photographer, Edward