With us today is Lady Colin Campbell, an accomplished writer and columnist. She is the author of the international bestselling book Diana in Private (1992) and her subsequent extended and revelatory biography of the Princess of Wales, The Real Diana published in 2004.
Her latest release is Daughter of Narcissus, a biography of her family.
CM: Thank you for joining us today, Lady Colin. Let’s start by having you tell our readers a bit about yourself.
LCC: I was born in Jamaica, in the days when that island was regarded as being one of the most glamorous places on earth. My father’s family was a household name, having worked hard to achieve what they did after arriving virtually penniless from the Ottoman Empire in an attempt to flee from religious prejudice in the early days of the twentieth century.
It is ironic that a family that was fleeing from prejudice should encounter it in another form in their new country, but the English elite of that day had no time for ‘Johnny Foreigner’ as they called people like my father, and when he wanted to marry my mother, a scion of an old English family, objections were raised.
Although my father was a descendant of emperors such as Charlemagne and kings such as William the Conqueror, families like his did not gain the respect they deserved until the English vacated its colonies. The colonial and post-colonial ages were fascinating to be part of, for we were actually living through a time of profound change, when the country went from being an oligarchy run for whites to somewhere with a black identity. In terms of interest, it would have been hard to replicate a childhood such as mine, and from that point of view, I will always be grateful for having had it.
On a more personal level, our family life, while supposedly privileged, was heavily colored by our mother’s narcissistic personality disorder, and each of the four of us children couldn’t wait to fly the coop.
I fled to New York, where I made the mistake of studying apparel design at the famous Fashion Institute of Technology. I found it so boring that I wanted to leave after one term and become a writer, but my father was insistent that I complete my studies, so I spent the next two years partying and having a great time while cursorily attending classes.
In those days, every girl of my station had to get married unless she wanted to be regarded as a failure. Because I was determined to get married for love, I kept on forgoing prospective husbands my father deemed suitable, until in 1974 I met my husband. That proved to be something of an error, and after our divorce, I headed for London, where I have lived since then.
It was only when I reached my early thirties that it occurred to me that I might not get married again—marriage then being seen as the only ‘life’ for a lady—for I was quite determined to have no marriage but a happy one, and those, as everyone knows, don’t grow on trees. I had therefore better do something with my life. So I settled down to writing full-time.
Although I love my career, I have to say no one and nothing comes a close second to my two sons. They were born in Russia and I adopted them when they were babes in arms. As I see how I am with them, and as I experience the joy they bring, I am reminded of how lucky I am, not only to have them, but also to be able to love them, for the fact is, my mother never really loved any of us, or indeed anyone else but herself, and in the end, she paid a high price for such self-obsessiveness.
