PIERS GRAY had a black enough sense of humour to relish the irony: in life he despised cliches, but by the time of his death two months ago, he could be reduced to two of them, that of the self-destructive artist and of the gweilo who has stayed in Hong Kong too long. There was far more to him than these simplistic categories but when a man as brilliant and as beloved as he was dies of alcohol abuse, some kind of explanation is necessary. In one sense, his story is the story of every expatriate who has ever wondered if having a lot of money and full-time servants makes up for living life so far away from home. In another, it remains just a painful tale of an exceptional man never satisfied with what he had.
Students at Hong Kong University knew him for nearly 20 years as one of the most inspiring teachers in the English Department; local theatre-goers knew his work as some of the finest original English language drama ever produced in Hong Kong; fellow academics all over the world admired his literary criticism. His friends, here and in Britain, adored him, even in his decline, and his family treasured him through all his illnesses and disappointments. All this, apparently, was not enough. At 49, he died in a London hospital after ignoring doctors' warnings that alcohol was killing him.
He was no ordinary academic - literature was his life as well as his profession. As well as his critical writing, on subjects as diverse as T. S. Eliot, Stalin on linguistics and World War II poets, Gray wrote six plays. The subject matter often reflected his interest in literature and the arts; he developed themes from Chekhov, recreated the espionage of pre-war Shanghai and, most recently, wrote about the life of the composer Puccini. He could turn his hand to other genres too, and wrote a thriller, Dead White Rats, three years ago.
English language's beauty was his absorbing passion, yet he lived most of his adult life in a place where English is scarcely spoken. Success at the Fringe Festival was not enough for his plays, he wanted them put on in London. He stayed at Hong Kong University for his whole career, yet wanted his peers in Oxbridge and London to acknowledge his critical works.
It seems clear that Hong Kong frustrated him, which begs the inevitable question: why did he stay? It was something Gray, like most expatriates, never intended to do. When, at 30, he was offered a post here, it seemed a useful stepping stone in a career that looked set to soar. Although his undergraduate days at Cambridge were blighted by his mother's death only weeks into his first term, as a postgraduate he was an exceptional student and a popular one.
His partner, Annie Carver, who met him there, says he was 'frightfully dashing'. He had spent much of his childhood in Canada, and this made him seem especially open and a fun companion. He combined this with an irresistible old-fashioned courtesy. 'His parents were a little older, and he had this pre-war kind of way of speaking, like them, very clipped,' says Annie.