Writing Lives and Writing History

Biographies are more popular than ever, selling in numbers that have made them attractive to publishers and authors alike. Surprisingly, among the most popular are historical biographies. Often written by journalists, talented "amateurs" without doctorates, or Ph.D.s who do not have academic appointments, these books have helped to rekindle the lay public's interest in history. But most historians—especially younger scholars—avoid biographical projects. In part, this is because the professional compulsion to produce something new makes biography appear unsophisticated. It is also because producing a definitive one that meets the high standards of the profession—and tenure and promotion committees—can be a daunting task requiring many years of laborious research, a task that can very easily turn into a lifetime.

The tragedy here is that biographies of historical subjects require a historian's touch. As good as some of the biographies written by amateurs are—and a few are truly exemplary—there are major deficiencies in many of them that can't be overcome by dogged research, felicitous prose, and effective plotting. This is because the insights and perspectives we gain from the professional study of history are essential to understand the past and make sense of the men and women who shaped it. Happily, over the past few years more historians have been entering the field, and the likely result of this will be an overall improvement in the genre and a more lively public discourse about our history.

Professional historians are especially needed to produce biographies of figures in cultural history. Aside from books on writers and artists working in the realm of "high culture," this is a field that has long been dominated by amateurs and, even worse, fans—writers with such an abiding interest in their subjects that details about the life completely overshadow the "times." A hallmark of many of these books is an emphasis on shopworn and now discredited clichés—the "Roaring Twenties," for example—that the author regards as appropriate historical context. Providing a more sophisticated context for a biographical subject can be difficult, though, and requires a deft touch and expert editorial guidance. Too much attention to context can derail a narrative and diminish the moments of existential drama that draw many readers to biography in the first place. It's a tricky proposition—remaining focused on the individual, the reason that most readers have picked up your book, while at the same time conjuring a suitably complete and nuanced context, material that is vital for a thorough understanding of your subject but that might turn off many readers and limit your audience.

Noralee Frankel's new biography of the entertainer Gypsy Rose Lee is a laudable effort to strike such a balance. A huge star in vaudeville and burlesque in the 1930s and 1940s and the subject of the acclaimed musical Gypsy, Lee was a well-known celebrity in the mid-twentieth century. But until Frankel, she hasn't been the subject of a full-length biography. After reading Frankel's engaging and informative book, this seems all the more puzzling since her life was eventful and she was involved in more than just show business. One likely reason for this lack of attention is the particular branch of show business for which she is best known. Lee gained fame for her popular striptease act, and despite working in vaudeville, in the legitimate theater, in the movies, and on television, she was never able to transcend her identity as America's most famous stripper. Another reason may well be that Lee was a shameless self-promoter. Over the years, she continually reinvented herself and effaced her past as it suited her. This not only makes it hard to discover the real person beneath...