Jeremy Clarke, one of the most loved columnists in the history of The Spectator, died this morning at his home in Provence. Catriona, whom he married a few weeks ago, was by his side. Everyone who read his column knew this day was coming, but that doesn’t make the news any easier to bear. Our readers have lost not just a columnist but a friend — and he will be mourned as such. He was one of the greatest writers ever to appear in our pages. But he was also so much more.
For twenty-three years his Low Life column proved that any life, no matter how humble, can be riveting if the writing is good enough. He poured his heart and soul into what he wrote; it read effortlessly but was written with incredible thought and effort. He was able to magnify his own life in a way that makes you reflect upon your own. To say that I was his editor for fourteen years would be to vastly exaggerate my role. I didn’t edit a single word of his: he filed word perfect every week. When I became editor, I actually wondered if he exaggerated his stories. He’d begin by saying: “I woke up on a Leicester Square pavement at 4 a.m.” and you’d think, “No, he couldn’t possibly have done that; he’s using artistic license.” Then you’d meet him and realize: yes, it’s all for real. Hence the unmatched power of his writing.
He poured his heart and soul into what he wrote
There will be a memorial service for him, the details of which will be arranged in due course. The Spectator will be paying tribute to him in next week’s magazine. For now, we have his columns to treasure: a legacy that has enriched, and will continue to enrich, the lives of everyone who comes across them. His column was not a study in “low life” drink and debauchery, although there was plenty of that. The theme that jumped out to me, especially in his writing about Catriona, was about the role and power of love. Its ability to transform the smallest, most seemingly insignificant parts of life.
As one of our readers put it at a recent Spectator event, the end of life is a phase that awaits us all, but Jeremy had a handle on it. And that we can all live better, savor life better, because Jeremy lived. That’s how I’ll always remember him.
This article was originally published on The Spectator’s UK website.
