Voices: Why I won’t be reading the controversial new book on Anthony Bourdain

Ernest Hemingway was famously against his private letters being published. “It is my wish that none of the letters written by me during my lifetime shall be published. Accordingly, I hereby request and direct you not to publish, or consent to the publication, of any such letters,” he wrote to the executors of his estate in June 1961.

Yet 61 years after his death, five volumes of his letters have been published so far, with another two expected. Georgia O’Keeffe was also against her letters being published and still they are out there to be read by all.

In a New Yorker piece in 2013, the novelist and biographer Roxana Robinson suggests that as a writer, little to no privacy can really be expected; and that the only way to prevent one’s correspondence from being published is to burn them – as Somerset Maugham did. But what of emails and instant messages, how do you burn those?

A new unauthorised biography of the chef, writer and TV personality Anthony Bourdain, Down and Out in Paradise by journalist Charles Leerhsen is being released, showcasing some of Bourdain’s last messages and emails alongside some apparently revealing information about his lifestyle. It is supposed to show the complex mindset of Bourdain in his life and his last moments. But is it not too soon to delve into the darkness?

In the middle of the first lockdown in 2020 there was one great comfort which allowed me to hope for the end of the pandemic and look excitedly forward. That comfort was rewatching Bourdain’s Parts Unknown.

The obvious reason for this was the escapism it afforded me in a world where travel, eating at restaurants and drinking in bars was forbidden. But there was a further reason, Bourdain felt somehow like a friend.

That sounds like sentimental rubbish – and it is, and I cringe as I write the cliche. Yet there’s no other way to say it and I’m by no means the only person who feels this way. The other day over a pint in Leadenhall market, a friend and I spoke of Bourdain.

“When he died it was a big hit to me,” he said, visibly uncomfortable, as if talking of a recently passed relative. “He’d always been so open about his mental health and struggles with addiction and that helped me a lot with myself.”

Stories to this effect are repeated often when I bring up Bourdain. Another friend of mine, a chef, told me when Bourdain took his own life it was the only time he’d ever cried over the death of a celebrity.

This was the magic of Bourdain, he made everyone feel like they knew him, even if they didn’t – even if they were never once in the same country as him. Perhaps due to his background as a dishwasher and line cook, he appeared as a relatable “everyman”; equally comfortable sat joking with refugees over some street food, or in Vietnam, having a beer with President Obama.

My favourite episode of Parts Unknown is when he goes to Granada in Spain. To me, this episode encapsulates the show and the man perfectly. In the episode, Bourdain brings his long-time cinematographer and friend Zach Zamboni into the picture. Zamboni had moved to Granada to be with his Andalusian partner, a dream Bourdain admits he’d always had – of leaving America behind for “Old Europe”.

We watch as Bourdain, Zach and his partner scamper through bustling streets between tapas bars, ordering beers, eating chorizo and langoustines and laughing and chatting. Bourdain appears genuinely happy as he admits he envies his friend.

In the same episode, Bourdain also explores bullfighting. He says he’d be happy to see it abolished “tomorrow”, but that one needs to peek at it, even between clasped fingers when visiting parts of Spain. This is another element of Bourdain which shows why he was so well-loved, and it is a skill often lacking these days. Bourdain has his own opinion on bullfighting, yet would break bread with those who consider it an art. He was eternally curious and rarely judgmental. He always seemed to speak his mind openly, but he was also willing to listen.

But the best scenes for me are when Bourdain attends family meals. In Granada, he sits down with Zach and his partner and her parents and siblings at their home. They drink wine and beer and laugh and eat around the table and in a voiceover, Bourdain says: “When my time comes, I pretty much want to die at a table like this.”

Anthony Bourdain took his own life four years ago on 8 June 2018. He was always open about how he struggled with his mental health. When he was younger, he had been a heroin addict. He beat that by going cold turkey. He says in one episode that he looked in the mirror and saw someone worth saving. But his personality appears always to have been obsessive. If it wasn’t heroin, it was ju-jitsu, or the show itself, or at the end with his partner, the actor and filmmaker, Asia Argento.

Bourdain is so widely loved, it is no wonder that a book like this was written so quickly after his death. But not only have some of his friends and family shared anger over it, very few of whom seem to have been involved – with Bourdain’s brother calling it “hurtful and defamatory fiction.” However, in an email sent last week to The Times, Leerhsen said other Bourdain family and friends with advance copies “have confirmed that my take on the Bourdain family dynamic is accurate.”

There is also a question of whether we need to delve into Bourdain’s most private moments at all. Didn’t he already give us enough vulnerability? Should we not remember him for the joy he brought, the things he created, and the person he was?

Is there ever a right amount of time to read an artist’s private correspondence?

We can probably never know whether Bourdain would want his correspondence published or not. But Robinson writes that there are a handful of reasons an artist would want to prevent the study of their private letters, but one is the effect it can have on those still alive.

By taking Bourdain’s last messages with Asia Argento, which the New York Times reports are used at the beginning of the book, and won’t be repeated here, do we cast blame on Argento?

In 2021’s Roadrunner documentary about Bourdain – which was controversial in its own right – the tumultuous relationship between he and Argento is covered in some detail. It shows the effect it had on Bourdain and the sometimes-negative effects on Parts Unknown and its crew. It seemed an intense relationship by most accounts but as Michael Steed a director of Parts Unknown says: “Tony killed himself, Tony did it.” Perhaps we need to be cautious when throwing blame around.

To keep up to speed with all the latest opinions and comment sign up to our free weekly Voices Dispatches newsletter by clicking here

Argento is very much alive, we do not need to delve into their private relationship now. He was already so open with readers and viewers, and there are already so many books and documentaries about him just four years after he passed, I wonder at what point is it purely invasive?

One day in the future, time may weaken these arguments. People will want to know about Bourdain’s last moments, warts and all. We will want to know deeply about this complex man who created such wonderful things, who brought so much joy, who could ask the president of the United States how often he gets to sneak out for a beer, and then in another episode slaughter a pig in Borneo with a local indigenous group or hang out with AA Gill or Nigella Lawson or the leader of the Russian opposition.

Until that day comes, I won’t be reading this book. For now, I choose to remember Bourdain sitting at a tiny plastic table in Vietnam with a bowl of noodles and a beer with a contented smile on his face.