The Discreet Charm of John Berger

Art critic, novelist, Marxist, lover, exile, storyteller: John Berger resisted every easy definition. His new biography embraces the contradictions he left behind.

John Berger, photographed in Milan, Italy, in 2010.

John Berger brought boundless charisma and radical politics to the history of art. (Leonardo Cendamo / Getty Images)


Brits dislike intellectuals. But for much of the last century and the beginning of this one, John Berger proved himself a notable exception. Berger first achieved cult status during the 1970s thanks to the success of Ways of Seeing, a four-part BBC series exploring the history of Western art. The series was first broadcast at 10 p.m. on a Saturday night, just after the weekend football scores. And yet, despite this unfavorable programming slot, the show still managed to become a national sensation, electrifying viewers with its efforts to dismantle the “great man” theory of art and shed new light on the economic and political contexts in which European masters were produced.

Almost fifty years later, it is striking how much of Ways of Seeing still holds up — an achievement that is thanks to Berger’s commanding and telegenic presence. Dressed in a flamboyant patterned shirt and sporting a mane of graying locks, Berger looks more like a rock star than an art historian: explaining complex ideas in plainspoken English and exuding a passion that borders on the erotic. He is sincere but not donnish; forceful but not dogmatic; charming but not obsequious. When he offers a particularly thoughtful commentary on Johannes Vermeer’s “The Milkmaid,” it is as if centuries of dust are being shaken off go the painting.

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