The final chapter is the most biographical. Bacon, 77, recaps his life and career in detail, including his "coming out," at a time homosexuality was illegal in Britain, the relationship with his intolerant father coming to an end as a result. Overall, the book forms a clear portrait of an intellectually restless artist, demonized by the struggle to express satisfactorily the horrific images which constantly stream into his head. There is no overarching structure to the book, thus many interviews cover the same ground different ways, with illuminating results. Bacon's answers usually reinforce or embellish what was said earlier, but he sometimes answers the same question differently over time, demonstrated for example by his increasing dislike for "drink and drugs."

Some themes persist throughout. Chronically anxious and hypertensive, he can never sit still, never relax. Not religious, Bacon believes "man is an accident, a futile being, he must play out the game without reason," and life has only whatever meaning we give it, yet his haunted soul clearly identifies with the tragedy of the Crucifixion, which he considers the perfect narrative of the mythic "tragic hero," and the ultimate symbol of human devotion despite life's vicissitudes. (One famous Bacon work metaphorically depicts a hypodermic syringe stuck into the subject's arm, representing a nail stuck into the hand). He is similarly affected by the open-mouthed cry of human agony, which he expresses in perhaps his most famous and retold obsession, the many horrifying studies of Velazquez's portrait of Pope Innocent X.

Too human, he is concerned with posterity, and denies himself the comfort of calling himself a "painter." He believes an artist must "solve the problem" of art to be a success, which to him means they must render the known through the unknown, or create the "illustrative" and "narrative" through the use of the "irrational." Discussing Picasso in this light, he says he finds surrealism "more real" than realism, probably meaning he finds surrealism more directly communicates the human condition. He also believes strongly in figuration, slaying abstract art with one devastating word: "Fashion!" He seems burdened by a lack of proper training, having started his career as an interior designer, especially when discussing the trials of his studio work, describing the way he tosses paint at the canvas, the way he tries not to work a canvas too much, potentially ruining it, and the conflicted feelings he holds toward works he has already painted, or those he is still painting.

The book usefully reproduces many works in small black-and-white images at times when the conversation turns to them, both Bacon's works and those of others, like Picasso and Rembrandt. The lack of color is entirely unnoticed, as the book focuses on the artist's psychology and opinion, which these plates illustrate perfectly. (Full-color reproduction would probably also have made the book needlessly expensive). Most remarkably, of all the photographs and self-portraits in the book, Bacon never looks directly at the viewer, illustrating most strikingly his natural over-sensitivity and tortured self-denial.

Bacon has said "art is completely a game by which man distracts himself," and "the artist must really deepen the game in order to be worth anything at all." If anyone feels Bacon "played the game" well, and "distracts" successfully his audience, or that he was "worth anything at all," then this book belongs in that person's library.

John White