As we prepare to enter the 250th anniversary of Mozart’s birth, and acquire hard hats to protect ourselves against the squall of Amadean trash that will be unleashed on the world, this may be the last time for a while that we actually have the leisure to ask what the point of a particular biography is – a question one often wishes writers had asked themselves.

In the present case it is reasonably clear that Mozart had a mother, a sister, a wife and lovers who tolerated and inspired him through his short life. It is also true that the fastidiously misogynist world of music has tended to ignore them, despite the fact that the traditional