The Selected Letters of William Walton, and: William Walton: The Romantic Loner (review)

William Walton (1902-1983) often enjoyed posing as a reluctant composer. He maintained that he began to compose as a choirboy because he thought, "I must make myself interesting somehow or when my voice breaks I'll be sent back to Oldham. What can I do? Write music." (Michael Kennedy, Portrait of Walton [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989], 7). While the unappealing prospect of returning to the dour Lancastrian town of his birth might well have been a contributing factor in nudging the young Walton towards composition, the music that he wrote throughout his career belies his own self-deprecating testimony. From his early anthem A Litany (1916, rev. 1930), written when he was a choirboy at Christ Church, Oxford, to the tiny Duettino for flute and oboe (1982) that he composed the year before his death, no composer was more singularly devoted to his art than Walton. Composition was often a daunting and bitter struggle for him—Walton's standards were very high—but for over sixty years he continued to return to his work with an almost masochistic devotion.

Most composers are either unable or unwilling to reflect accurately upon their lives or, especially, their music. As suggested by the misleading quotation above, Walton possessed a particularly elusive character, and went to great lengths to protect his music from those who sought to pry into its origins. Just as certain animals have developed methods of camouflaging themselves from predators, Walton developed the fine art of social persiflage. He was a master of the misleading story, the racy anecdote, the ironic and disparaging quip, and other feints designed to throw potential musicological hounds off the trace of this foxy composer.

Such caution extended to his letters as well, as is amply demonstrated by The Selected Letters of William Walton, ably edited by Malcolm Hayes and published in 2002 to mark the centenary of the composer's birth. Walton's correspondence certainly repays careful study, for his letters are often entertaining, at times highly amusing, and occasionally appalling. But a mildly frustrating feature of this correspondence is its ultimate opacity. One learns that Walton possessed Lancastrian shrewdness, he was keenly ambitious, he was an astute judge of character, he loved gossip, and that his sense of humor was idiosyncratic and occasionally heartless. None of this reveals much about the inner workings of his art, however. Upon finishing this volume, the reader has gleaned almost no clue as to how—or why—this clever and calculating man managed to create scores such as the effervescent Façade (1921-28, final rev. 1942), the voluptuous Viola Concerto (1928-29; rev. 1936 and 1961), the harrowing First Symphony (1931-35), the lapidary String Quartet in A Minor (1945-47), or the coruscating Variations on a Theme by Hindemith (1962-63).

Perhaps the criteria used to select the letters included in this volume parallel Walton's reticence in this instance, for some of the editorial choices are puzzling. On the whole, Hayes has edited these letters with care, insight, and affection; his meticulousness is admirable and his scrupulousness is evident on every page. Taking scholarly scruples to excess, however, the editor chose to retain Walton's idiosyncratic and often faulty spelling. Far from illustrating anything significant about the composer, these misspellings create a disconcerting impression when translated into print that unnecessarily detracts from the import of the letters themselves.

In his informative introduction, Hayes clearly outlines his editorial processes, although some of his decisions regarding the selection of letters are questionable. The editor, who mentions that he, like Walton, was educated at a choir school, has included an extensive series...