Robert Massie has a new piece on how biographers cope with coming to the end of their books.
You don’t want the subject to die; you don’t want to lose the friend you have made, the companion you are accustomed to, and perhaps you also don’t want to see the whole cast of supporting characters, and the historical and cultural environment in which they all lived, vanish with them.
Nevertheless, the end must come. When that happens, how does a biographer feel? Exhausted? Relieved? Euphoric? At long last, a person of leisure? Or something different. Wistful, sad, bereaved? You were with the subject every day. Now this companion has departed and left you behind. He or she has concluded the time shared with you. That part of your life is over.
So many biographers develop an affinity for the subjects of their investigation that I used to be a little suspicious of the genre. But lately I’m inclined to think that this affinity is part of the special insight the biographer has acquired during the course of his or her research. Rather than the biographer losing objectivity and becoming blind to a subject’s faults, maybe it’s the reader who stands to benefit from the biographer’s appreciation of the subject’s finer qualities.