Gilmour—who learned much about Lord Curzon from writing a recent biography of Curzon's cousin, Rudyard Kipling—has produced an absorbing life, 200 pages longer than Kenneth Rose's stylish but misshapen Superior Person. Curzon had a distinguished career as viceroy of India, Edwardian politician and post-WWI foreign minister. Born in 1859, George Curzon was the ambitious eldest of a blue-blooded but unambitious brood of 11. His impatience, intolerance and arrogance were exacerbated by the stress of wearing a steel brace for a painful curvature of the spine. Still, he set himself a tremendous pace, from ascending perilous peaks in central Asia to climbing the risky political and social ladders. He also bedded a plethora of eager society ladies. To their dismay, in his mid-30s he married the daughter of a Chicago millionaire, then took her to India. When the unselfishly devoted Mary Leiter Curzon died 11 years later, in 1906, he had no intention of remarrying, yet at 58, he succumbed to the voluptuous widow Grace Duggan, a socialite 19 years younger. By then, Curzon was on the verge of his major achievements. As foreign minister, his legacy became the remaking of national borders in the east, most crucially enabling Turkey to emerge as a modern state. Disappointed at not succeeding as prime minister, he left office in 1924 and died a year later. Though Gilmour fails to make the association, readers will savor the striking parallels with another ambitious, libidinous politician who lived with pain yet made it to the top—an American surnamed Kennedy. 24 b&w illus., 3 maps. (June)
