This is not exactly an autobiography — John Mortimer has written three already, one about old age — but more like a collection of reminiscences designed to inspire and warn his grandchildren of the delights and pitfalls of life. It is a testament, the ‘Will’ of his title, in which he bequeaths to them the experience of a long life. There is not much about what he will leave to them in tangible goods, though a house, its furniture, art and garden, and a bit of cash, are not to be sneezed at. What he leaves them is his wisdom, and this he conveys in a loose, anecdotal, joky, non-preachy way, knowing full well that experience cannot be transmitted but must be acquired, generation by generation. He leaves his bits of advice lying around like spillikins, most to be ignored, but some picked up without disturbing the others.
Sir John has had the advantage of three professions to widen his perspectives. He has been a barrister, a novelist and a playwright, and each role affected his performance in the other two. A judge once reproached him, ‘It may surprise you to know, members of the jury, that it is not the sole purpose of the criminal law to entertain Mr Mortimer,’ but that did not stop him from entertaining them. He owed his greatest successes at the bar to making them laugh, not just by jokes but by his mannerisms. He was Rumpole incarnate.
The same style informs this book. Through all his anecdotes and witticisms, sense pokes through. We learn that he is an atheist (though agnostic would be a truer term), that we should not be shocked by the sight of two people enjoying alfresco sex but just look the other way, that if you are born ugly, like him, you remain ugly (not true: think of Hillary Clinton), that Nye Bevan and Byron (‘romantic with downright common sense and puritanical with sensuality’) are models whom we might well follow, and that while he hopes his descendants will enjoy a marriage as happy as his own, he hints that it need not be exclusive.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in