The big issue and the private clue

After Edmund Gosse died, Housman hoped that "full and not excessively discreet use" of his diary would be made. Arnold Schoenberg thought everything about a great man should interest us - and he concluded by saying he would have liked to see Mahler tie his tie. In fact, the more personal, the better. In an interview once, the aristocratic wizard Vladimir Nabokov, describing his working day, alluded to his daily "enthronement" - almost like one of those kings whose toilet arrangements were semi-public, and whose courtiers vied for the position of Gentleman of the Chamber.

Brian Boyd, Nabokov's biographer, tells us that when the novelist, poor and indifferent to horticulture, taught at Cornell University, he would recline in a deckchair surrounded by yard-high grass, drinking cocktails from a jam jar. Nothing is too trivial. We read the letters of great men praying for the keys to their art, but preternaturally alert to moments of unguarded intimacy. There's the big issue and there's the private clue secreted in the text. We pry and we prey. We would like to discover, but we are happy to uncover.

Max Beerbohm, though, found Housman a dull dog: "he was like an absconding cashier. We certainly wished he would abscond - sitting silent and then saying only 'there is a bit of a nip in the air, don't you think?' " So it was with amusement that I found myself trying to decide - as I read through this beautiful edition of Housman's letters - which letter is dullest.

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The unbending scholar of legend could be facetious. To a hostess: "Your attentive housemaids however seem to have retained two pair of boots as a souvenir, and perhaps you will notice them wearing them for ear-rings."