I’ve been looking forward to Stephen Taysom’s biography of Joseph F. Smith (Like a Fiery Meteor: The Life of Joseph F. Smith) for years now. Like, ever since I learned he was writing it.
And it’s not so much that I was fascinated with Smith. I knew more or less what most of us know about him: he was the son of Hyrum and Mary Fielding; he served a mission in Hawai’i; he had a dream where he was late but he was clean; he served as the president of the church; he testified at the Smoot hearings; he had a revelation canonized in the D&C; his son, Joseph Fielding Smith, was also president of the church.
So it’s not that I was necessarily looking forward to the biography of Joseph F. Smith; I was looking forward to the biography of Joseph F. Smith as written by Stephen Taysom. Because I’ve been lucky enough to read some of his other scholarship, and I occasionally saw him posting excerpts from his book as he wrote.
And then, well, I came to the book a little late. It was published about nine months ago, and I finally started reading it in February. And it was everything I hoped it would be. I can say, unequivocally, that if you haven’t read it, you should get your hands on it as quickly as possible and dig in.
Why? Because this is as clear-eyed, yet empathetic, a portrayal of Smith as I can possibly imagine. It is easy enough for members of the church to treat prophets as something other than human: we can pedestalize them and either leave them on their pedestal or knock them off. But that’s not fair to actual flesh-and-blood people who lived lives, who struggled and felt joy, made mistakes, and had flashes of brilliance. And that’s who Taysom portrays here.
His Joseph F. Smith is a deeply flawed man, a man who experienced tragedy after tragedy and felt each one. His father and his uncle were murdered before he turned 6. He crossed the plains with his mother, and they struggled financially when they arrive in Utah. Then his beloved mother died in 1852, when he was about 14. Then, over his life, fourteen of his children predeceased him. And, Taysom shows, each death of a child, whether an infant or an adult, tore his heart.
Smith felt beset, a victim at war with a world filled with enemies. He struggled to contain his temper, and struggled to live up to his view of masculinity. He held prejudices.
But he was also smart. He learned Hawaiian and spoke it fluently throughout his life. He love his family, he loved his church. And he loved order. For better and worse, he began to systemize Mormon theology, trying to sand down the rough edges and inconsistencies that had developed.
In fact, in many ways, the church we currently have is rooted in Joseph F. Smith’s version of the Mormonism prophets before him had created.
Taysom’s portrait of Joseph F. Smith comes, in large part, from Smith’s own diaries and letters. He supplements those with writings from Smith’s contemporaries and family members. And in the gaps, he posits based on a histography of the time. He not only relates, but he explains what theory tells us about, for instance, childhood on the frontier.
The book is long. It’s thorough. It is as complete as a biography needs to be. And yet I could have read it for twice as long. Taysom’s writing is not only empathetic and clear-eyed, but it is also engaging and propelling and, frankly, fun to read.
I came away liking Joseph F. Smith more than I expected to. And in large part, that’s because Taysom doesn’t shy away from the good or the bad. After reading his biography, I can picture Joseph F. Smith as a real person. And he was not the kind of person that I would hang out with; he held beliefs and attitudes that I find repugnant. But he also held beliefs and attitudes that I find inspiring. Critically, though, he was a human, struggling through life and trying to make his way in a world that he found simultaneously hostile, but also compelling.