Making an exhibition of herself

THANKS to the rise in printing costs and the increased vigilance of contemporary editors, it is now mesmerising dreadfulness as She Made Friends and Kept Them (doesn't the title alone give an indication of what lies ahead?). Fleur Cowles demonstrates the kind of fascinated self absorption not seen between covers since the advent of Nancy Mitford's fictional creation, Lady Montdore.

The opening sentence of her preface sets the tone. "Few women have lived more multiple lives than I have," she announces grandiosely before going on to enumerate her multiplicity editor American president's personal representative ("decorated by six governments") writer of 13 books and contributor to six others "patron of the arts and sciences, irrepressible traveller and, most importantly, a friend gatherer".

Actually, regular references throughout the text to Fleur Cowles's 51 one man art exhibitions suggest that she finds being a painter the most important of her lives. There are no photographs of this work, so it is hard to judge what the paintings look like flower studies and jungle cats, it appears, are her favourite subjects. However, those 51 one man exhibitions are regularly reiterated before the end of the four page preface, they are mentioned again, and not even the photograph captions are safe from an opportunity of detailing the sheer quantity of the writer's shows. Presumably for the benefit of readers unwilling to wade through the rest of this tire some book, beside a photograph of the now exiled king and queen of Greece she writes. "One of the first one man exhibitions of my paintings (I have now had fifty one worldwide) was in Athens.

The only time when her own regal tone falters is when she finds herself in the presence of royalty, to which a whole section is dedicated. So ardent is her admiration for Britain's Queen Mother ("whose friendship has truly enriched my life") that one might imagine she still believed contact with the monarchy could cure severe illness. But not even her slavish devotion to crowned heads can successfully obliterate the writer's need to thrust herself forward at all times. Of the death of Princess Grace of Monaco. "So overcome was I that I fell down the stairs immediately after, breaking an ankle so badly I couldn't walk without crutches for almost a year." And in Clarence House, "My heart always lifts when I go into the Garden Room and see one of my own paintings." (Unfortunately, we are not informed from which of her 51 one man exhibitions this particular piece came.)

What can be the justification for allowing anyone to publish such a vacuous and frankly banal collection of reminiscences? Well, back in 1950, thanks to funds provided by her wealthy first husband, Fleur Cowles launched a new general interest magazine called Flair in the United States. Evidently, those spousal funds were finite, because a year later the source dried up and Flair closed but, at least according to its creator, the magazine had a long term impact as she has the grace to acknowledge, it certainly helped open a lot of doors (mostly of the palatial kind) for her around the world. Never one to conceal admiration of her own exceptional talents, she remarks of the publication. "I am stunned by its current perspicacity", and argues that Flair was too advanced for its time, hence the early demise. Towards the close of her apologia for the magazine she insists, "It is one of the proudest episodes of my versatile life", but then goes on to spoil the effect by bringing up her 51 one man exhibitions once again.

The list of contributors to Flair during its short life Tennessee Williams, Jean Cocteau, Angus Wilson and W.H. Auden, among others is undeniably impressive. It's a pity Fleur Cowles appears to have learned nothing from any of these authors, because with her own latest one man work she makes an embarrassing exhibition of herself. {CORRECTION} 96071200006