PositiveNew York Journal of BooksLucian was the id unchecked, and Feaver leaves no characteristic or behavior to the imagination ... a staggering journey into depravity and artistic passion ... The pace of The Lives of Lucian Freud is fast, feverish, and frenetic. People, places, and portraits fairly dance off the page in an endless loop that simultaneously fascinates and repels ... Can the onlooker separate the mania and obsessions from the artistic product and the need for a muse and younger and younger companionship? Feaver skirts this question deftly. He stays with the descriptive and not the judgmental. It’s ultimately the art and not the process. Freud’s complexity and debauchery are secondary to the output. Feaver has created as much a diary as a biography, and, unfortunately there are too few illustrations of Freud’s art, but there are just enough pictures to convey that Freud was a master at conveying flesh and the human figure.
