The recent passing of John Carey at the age of 91 marks the end of an era for both English literature academia and literary journalism. A towering figure in these realms, Carey spent over four decades at Oxford University, serving as the Merton Professor of English Literature for a quarter of that time. Simultaneously, he dedicated himself to literary criticism as a long-term contributor to the Sunday Times, a commitment that spanned fifty years. His formidable intellect and unapologetically combative style earned him recognition as one of the most learned and, arguably, the most confrontational literary critics of his time.
Carey’s unyielding approach to literary journalism set him apart from many of his contemporaries. He was unambiguously anti-elitist, opposing the Bloomsbury group and any other establishment that, in his view, belittled the tastes of ordinary readers or obstructed their literary enjoyment. This fierce advocacy for the common reader allowed him to wield his pen with surgical precision, often delivering scathing critiques.
One notable instance of this was when Clive James reflected on Carey’s harsh review of his book, The Metropolitan Critic (1974), stating that Carey’s criticism left him feeling as if his bold opinions had been mercilessly hunted down and devoured. James lamented that what made the critique sting even more was Carey’s undeniable writing prowess.
In another memorable critique, Carey opened his review of Martin Green’s Children of the Sun (1976)—a work exploring the decadence of the interwar years—with a blunt assessment: "This book is richly stocked with people whom any person of decent instincts will find loathsome." Such a striking statement exemplified his willingness to challenge not just the works themselves but also the broader cultural narratives they represented.
To understand the roots of Carey’s critical outlook, we might consider his upbringing. Hailing from a middle-class family in Barnes, southwest London, he was one of six children whose lives were significantly affected by the economic hardships of the Great Depression. His father, Charles, once a successful accountant, faced financial ruin when his firm collapsed, leading the family into genteel poverty. Amidst these struggles, young John emerged as an exceptionally bright student, attending Richmond and East Sheen grammar school before winning a scholarship to St John’s College, Oxford. After two years of national service, he graduated with first-class honors in English literature in 1957.
Carey’s experiences further shaped his worldview during a year spent substituting for a tutor at Christ Church, where he encountered a notable snub from economist Sir Roy Harrod, who refused to acknowledge him throughout the appointment. This experience heightened his class consciousness and informed his later academic pursuits. In 1960, he became a fellow at Keble College, which he later left to return to his old college, St John’s, where he had married Gill Booth, a fellow student. Together, they raised two sons, Leo and Thomas.
Initially recognized as a scholar of John Milton, Carey shifted his focus to the Victorian era by the 1970s, publishing seminal works such as The Violent Effigy (1973), a groundbreaking analysis of Dickens, and Thackeray: Prodigal Genius (1977). His appointment to the Merton chair at just 42 years old solidified his status as a leading literary figure, a position he held until his retirement in 2001.
Alongside his academic career, Carey carved out a significant role as a literary essayist and critic. He became the principal book reviewer for the Sunday Times in 1977, while also contributing to smaller yet influential publications like Ian Hamilton’s New Review. In this capacity, Carey embraced a debunking stance, viewing much of 20th-century British culture as a conspiracy that misled the average reader through the whims of elitist taste-makers. These themes resonated in his later works, including The Intellectuals and the Masses (1992) and What Good Are the Arts? (2005).
A particularly scathing essay titled "Down With the Dons" (1974) critiqued his own profession, illustrating how someone entrenched in academia could simultaneously critique its shortcomings—an irony noted by several commentators.
Throughout his prolific career, Carey authored, edited, or compiled over twenty-five books, covering a wide array of topics from anthologies like The Faber Book of Reportage (1987) and The Faber Book of Science (1995) to acclaimed studies such as John Donne: Life, Mind and Art (1981) and a biography of William Golding, William Golding: The Man Who Wrote Lord of the Flies (2009), which won the prestigious James Tait Black Memorial Prize in 2010.
Carey, with his tall, thin frame, bespectacled face, and ascetic demeanor, occasionally struggled to mask his annoyance when confronted with dissenting opinions. This was particularly evident during the 2003 Man Booker Prize judging panel, where his passionate advocacy for Martin Amis's novel Yellow Dog was met with laughter from some judges as he passionately read excerpts aloud.
Despite his sometimes prickly disposition, Carey was known for his generosity and courtesy, earning the admiration of his students due to his unwavering dedication to teaching. In a landscape of declining print media, he remained a revered figure among fellow critics, recognized as one of the last true literary dons. His contributions were honored through his election as a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature in 1982 and as a Fellow of the British Academy in 1996.
John Carey leaves behind his wife Gill and their sons, Leo and Thomas, along with a legacy that will influence generations of scholars and readers alike.
