Pathetic Symphony by Klaus Mann (1935)

This one sits at a crossroads. It's a biographical novel about Tchaikovsky, with an author known for his reaching into psychological states. But it's a piece from his earlier career, and shows a species of timidity not only for that reason, but also because of its time. Tchaikovsky's homosexuality is discussed, but in quite guarded terms. So much so, that one wonders whether Mann hasn't himself rather underimagined it. All of the alliances, mentorships and deep friendships in this life could have had a much more overt sexual aspect. As it is, the composer's leaning is described as "THIS!", a kind of code for the act and its unsayability. Times were moving on, and Mann caught this subject just as it began to be publicly broachable. The aspect he is able to cover quite distinctively is Tchaikovsky's mindscape. This book ripples with melancholic nervous irritability. Nervestorms are common, as is morbid nuzzling of death and paranoia. These punctuate a formal portrait of the not-quite-Russian-enough composer as he wanders the Europe he is perceived by many Russians to belong to, feeling criticised from every angle, weeping in hotel rooms, suffering seemingly endless lack of sleep, and encountering both snubs and wild approbation as he conducts performances of his work with notable orchestras and attends soirees with fellow grandees. All of this, coupled with his melancholia and morbidity, draws a strong picture of a man tortured and running the gamut of madly enthusiastic highs and hell-plumbing lows. And I guess, to be fair, the formality of this piece is its acknowledgement of the era in which its subject lived. It leaves a vivid picture of the man, which is what ought most to be expected from a biographical novel.