Her best years are behind her, and J.K. Rowling is OK with that,
Author J.K. Rowling frank — and healthy —for admitting her success has peaked
Comedian Ruby Wax likened it to “death.” Singer-songwriter Gary Barlow compared himself to an addict, who over-ate to numb the pain when, without warning, his “drug” was withdrawn. Singer Donny Osmond’s self-esteem was in such tatters he almost embarked on a new career installing home security alarms.
When the fame bubble bursts, the fallout can be toxic. The loss of adulation, of status can be devastating to those who have invested their careers, their lives in performance.
The impact can be just as marked for those involved in other creative arts. When J.K. Rowling admitted this week that she will never again achieve the height of her phenomenal Harry Potter success, she was doing more than simply stating the blindingly obvious.
The 48-year-old mother of three was drawing a line in the proverbial sand by graciously acknowledging she is no longer trying to prove herself.
“So what do you do if you’ve had the kind of success that you never expected? Well, you can go one of two ways,” said Rowling. “You can think ‘Oh no, how dreadful; I’ll never ever top that.’ Or you can say ‘How incredibly marvellous and liberating that I made money beyond my wildest dreams and I can affect issues I really care about.’”
To this end, she has set up a charity, Lumos, to help children across the globe who have been abandoned to the care of institutions.
Yet she has also continued writing; her adult novel The Casual Vacancy was a bestseller, and The Cuckoo’s Calling, a crime novel penned under a pseudonym, was also critically acclaimed.
But by being upfront about her motivation — that she continues to write for the sheer love of writing rather than to demonstrate her versatility or talent or longevity — Rowling has, very wisely, made things a little easier for herself.
“J.K. Rowling’s response both to fame and the diminishment of fame is psychologically healthy,” says Dr. Tim Rank, consultant psychiatrist at The Priory Hospital in Brighton, England, which specializes in mental health. “A healthy person psychologically doesn’t need fame. The trouble starts when someone craves adulation in order to make up for some unmet need.”
“Comedians are a classic example; their work isn’t just a job and a source of income, it’s who they are. The fame props them up, and when it goes, they crumble.”
That was the case with Ruby Wax, whose acid-tongued wit garnered a huge following on British TV, until fashions changed just under a decade ago.
“I just barked at people,” Wax conceded, “until barking at people stopped being funny and television gave me up. TV had always been my ambition, so leaving was a death. If I don’t do anything. I go berserk. I can’t just sit and read a book.”
But Wax, who suffers from bipolar disorder, did decide to read a great many books and now has a degree in psychotherapy and another degree in cognitive therapy. Although she still appears onstage, her — still entertaining — show revolves round mental health issues.
‘J. K. Rowling’s response both to fame and the diminishment of fame is psychologically healthy.’
DR. TIM RANK Consultant psychiatrist
Reinvention is not for everyone. J.D. Salinger peaked with The Catcher in the Rye in 1951 and became a recluse. Margaret Mitchell never followed up her Pulitzer-winning 1936 novel Gone With the Wind, ditto Harper Lee, whose To Kill A Mockingbird won the Pulitzer in 1961 and who subsequently started, but never finished, two more books.
“Our culture tends to talk people up and then enjoy their fall,” says Rank. “But performers who are hooked on the buzz of an audience can really suffer when the curtain comes down on their career.”
After U.K. pop group Take That split up in 1996, the band’s stolid songwriter, Gary Barlow, was hotly tipped as the member most likely to succeed. But it was cheeky, manic Robbie Williams who went stratospheric, while Barlow’s solo career bombed and his record company pulled the plug.
His depression manifested itself in overeating, which saw his weight soar by 84 pounds and rendered him unrecognizable, which, he says, came as a relief. Better to be a nobody than a once-was.
But Barlow’s fall from grace was followed by another giddying rise, thanks first to the reunion of the band, then his stint as a judge on U.K.’s The X Factor. The father of three has even been moved to record a solo album.
It’s a risky strategy, not least because he’s unlikely to match Take That’s chart positions; but his quietly emphatic sentiments echo those of Rowling.
“This is going to sound wrong, but I couldn’t care less,” he said of the record’s prospects. “I’m not looking to sell 10 million albums. I’m 42, my biggest material is when the band releases something, and I’m just a fifth of that.”
He, like Rowling, has enough money in the bank not to worry about the mortgage. But even for artists without the benefit of his back catalogue, it’s not financial reward but personal fulfilment that is often the driver.
Take Roger Federer, once feted as the greatest tennis player of all time, who enjoyed 302 weeks as No. 1 seed since 2004 and who is the winner of a record 17 Grand Slams, but whose current losing streak has prompted commentators to suggest it’s time to hang up his racket.
“Some sportsmen know exactly when to stop,” says leading sports psychologist Martin Perry.
Federer has responded to critics by pointing out that, at 32, he’s far too young to retire. And besides, he still loves playing and competing. That spirit of rivalry is vital in sport. Less so in literature, most particularly when you’ve sold more than 400 million books worldwide.
But Rowling and Federer do share one trait, namely the insight that it’s not always about victory; sometimes it’s all about enjoyment.