Daphne Du Maurier has written a very good and rather scholarly biographer of the little-lamented brother of the famous Brontë sisters. I tend to think that her labors might have been better spent elsewhere, on a more deserving and interesting subject, but apparently she was fascinated by this least-talented of the Brontë family. The book is somewhat over-stuffed with quotes drawn from Branwell's unpublished writings. Ordinarily, I enjoy hearing directly from a primary source in the context of a biography, but in this case, the less I hear from Branwell, the better. Not to put too fine a point on it, but his poetry in particular was longwinded, derivative, lugubrious and tiresome. Here's a sample:

When life's youth, overcast by gathering clouds
Of cares, that come like funeral-following crowds,
Wearying of that which is, and cannot see
A sunbeam burst upon futurity,
It tries to cast away the woes that are
And borrows further joys from times afar.

I'll spare you the remaining twenty lines. His writing remains unpublished for good reason, and even Du Maurier described this particular attempt as "lamentably lacking in inspiration." Why she devoted so much effort to immortalizing Branwell and what she calls his "lame couplets" remains unclear. She herself was a fine writer, even if her subject matter varied widely in terms of taste and interest, so the overall writing is good. Thankfully, the book - like its pathetic subject - does not last terribly long, and in fairness to its author, it is well-researched, including footnotes and an intriguing appendix listing Branwell's unpublished manuscripts, such as they are.

Here is where the appetite is whetted at last. Most of the works listed here were written (or possibly jointly-written) during Branwell and Charlotte and Emily and Anne's adolescence and early twenties, and are a mixture of poetry and elaborate histories of the imaginary lands which he and his sisters spent so many hours - years, really - populating and describing. Theirs was a kind of early home-grown role-playing game, a precursor of sorts to games like Dungeons and Dragons, entirely created by themselves, filled with characters of their own devising, many of which were loosely based upon local personages and places. Later on, his sisters drew very effectively upon these writings as fruitful source material for their famous novels, however their worlds of Angria and Gondal (which, interestingly, Du Maurier used as a private code word with her own sisters) existed in large part as a mutually-shared mental retreat that any or all of them could return to whenever they desired. It was kept strictly private and secret from even close friend and family, and was a source of consuming and greatly treasured excitement, a kind of wellspring of creativity and mental nourishment for all four siblings, each of whom had an alter ego or avatar that existed within this world of their devising.

Sadly, of the four, only Branwell was unable to translate this early hectic writing experience into anything lasting. His was a life of unfulfilled promise and blighted hopes, upon which Du Maurier speculates rather unprofitably. There may not be much mystery here after all.