A statesman who reinvented himself

Christopher Hibbert is a publishing phenomenon. Now 80 or thereabouts, he has published at least 37 books, mainly on British history. You name it, Hibbert has written a book on it — from Charles I to the Marlboroughs, from Napoleon and his Women to Queen Victoria. Hibbert is rarely interviewed, but his books are always well-received and, to judge from the shelves of W. H. Smith, they certainly sell. How does he do it?

Take this latest life of Disraeli. Hibbert has done none of the things that modern biographers are supposed to do. He has not spent time laboriously transcribing documents in the archives, nor has he slogged around the country retracing his hero’s footsteps. He doesn’t really attempt to explain Disraeli’s politics. Nor does he speculate on Dizzy’s sex life. On the contrary, he keeps well away from Disraeli’s bedroom. This is biography lite. All the same, the book is a thoroughly enjoyable read.

As the title announces, this is a personal life, and Hibbert isn’t interested in dissing Dis as a cynical opportunist, or claiming him as a hero of modern Conservatism. Instead, he has written a narrative of Disraeli’s life which presents him as a Victorian celebrity. Never mind the content of the speeches or their consistency, what mattered was the brilliance of the oratory. As a parliamentary performer Disraeli was dazzling, a master of sarcasm, innuendo and sneers. His timing was superb; he would deliver his deadliest hits with an impassive face in a low monotone, wait for the laugh, and then continue with the speech. He dressed the part too. As a young man he was a peacock, outrageous in gaudy waistcoats, chains, velvet trousers and jet-black ringlets swept dramatically over one ear.