More from Books

Saturday

Adam LeBor

A map of the road to Hell

Few organisations reward incompetence as richly as the United Nations. Consider Kofi Annan, head of the Department of Peacekeeping Operations (DPKO) during the genocides in Rwanda and Srebrenica. In January 1994 he twice refused General Romeo Dallaire, commander of the UN peacekeepers in Rwanda, permission to raid the Hutu arms caches, despite Dallaire’s warnings of the planned mass slaughter of Tutsis. In early July 1995, as the Bosnian Serbs advanced on the UN safe area of Srebrenica, Annan and several of his colleagues were away. The Secretary-General, Boutros Boutros-Ghali, was travelling in Africa. Shashi Tharoor, head of the DPKO’s Yugoslav desk, was on holiday. General Rupert Smith, the British commander of UN troops in Bosnia, was on leave.

Norman Bissett

Kofi

A limp soft-soaper, he wouldn’t say Booto a goose. Cautiously neutral, he triedemollience, thereby creating genocide —the massacre of the Tutsis by the Hutus. He similarly failed in Bosniawhere Unprofor, the UN mission, vetoedthe use of airstrikes to save Srebrenica.Now twenty thousand slain lie incognito’d. But from these holocausts was nothing learnt?Not in Darfur, whose people in their needwere raped, then disposessed, their hovels burnt —four hundred thousand slaughtered by the Janjaweed. What’s left? A peace prize. Eulogistic mention.Lavish farewells. A very handsome pension.

Harry Mount

Up close and personal

My apologies to the young, attractive couple in Perry Street in Greenwich Village, whose love-making I’ve been keeping a close eye on over the last year and a half. I can’t really help it. My eighth-floor flat is on exactly the same level as theirs, and their window is only 20 yards from mine across a tiny strip of garden. If it’s any consolation to the young couple, I haven’t seen much — they always drop down on the sofa out of my line of sight before the good bits. That’s the thing about New York — it’s a cheek-by-jowl place, and you can’t help getting a close-up on a lot of jowls and cheeks, upper and lower. This is the New York Alfred Hitchcock caught in Rear Window, filmed only a few streets from my flat.

Simon Baker

Lesser lives in the limelight

If James Boswell could glance at a few recent issues of The Spectator, he would be delighted to see that the literary form he did so much to modernise is thriving. In the last month or two, biographies of Hardy, Empson, Janacek and Betjemen have impressed this magazine’s critics with their attention to detail, elegance, clear-sighted analysis and balance. So many of the skills Boswell introduced to the endeavour are still adhered to. He might, perhaps, permit himself a well-earned pat on the back. However, if he then visited his local W. H. Smith, he would lose much of that satisfaction. Very few of the lives reviewed in the literary press are ever found in the shops. A request for Empson would be met with a blank look.

Elfreda Pownall

Christmas cookery books

Last year Jamie Oliver was seen on television grinning with pleasure as a class of tiny Italian children accurately named every vegetable he held up to them. He later grimly despaired of finding a class of English children who could do the same. The parlous state of our food culture has been Oliver’s abiding concern for years and his latest and best cookery book, Cook with Jamie: My Guide to Making You a Better Cook (Michael Joseph/Penguin, £26), is a part of his mission to improve the standards of British cooking for people of any age. The book would be a good present for a novice — or for a mother in need of some original ideas for family meals. It deals with everything from kitchen hygiene to making pasta at home.

Matthew Dennison

A mixed blessing

‘Lonely hopelessness’ assails Muriel Cottle. Her life is ‘one long pitfall interrupted by spasms of intense pleasure’ with nothing that is unequivocally happy. But is that all about to change? In Susanna Johnston’s new novel, Muriel finds herself in the sort of scenario that might have resulted had E. F. Benson and Alice Thomas Ellis ever coincided on the set of Midsomer Murders. Muriel Pulls It Off is a high-spirited romp populated by cranks and ghouls. And just for good measure, a member of the Royal Family hitherto unknown to Spectator readers, Princess Mathilda, third daughter of George VI and the Queen Mother, youngest sister of the Queen and Princess Margaret. Although no murder is committed, Muriel, one feels, is sorely tempted.

Francis King

The subtle art of suggestion

Prematurely, John McGahern published his Collected Stories 14 years before his death early this year. To prepare this Selected Stories he obsessively polished and ruthlessly cut stories that, even as they then stood, for the most part seemed already perfect. He also added two stories, one of which, ‘The Country Funeral’, strikes me not merely as the best that he ever wrote but also as the one that most accurately epitomises the sort of subject that he chose and his unsparing way of dealing with it. Three brothers, though long since transplanted to metropolitan settings, are still emotionally connected to the seaside hamlet in which, as fatherless children, an uncle invited them, as an act of grudging charity, to spend their summer holidays on his estate.

Ian Sansom

Will Count Olaf prevail?

This, in my experience, has been completely unprecedented, and I doubt will ever happen again: three members of the same family reading the same book at the same time. We had to read the book in shifts: it was like waiting on the docks to hear the plight of Little Nell, or gathering together to read samizdat in the former Soviet Union. Even more extraordinary, having read this book I voluntarily went back and read all of the others in the series. Thirteen books by the same author: I’ve read more Lemony Snickets than I’ve read Iris Murdochs. For the uninitiated, among whom I proudly counted myself until the past few weeks, The End is the 13th and final instalment in a series of novels by the American author Daniel Handler, writing under the nom de plume Lemony Snicket.

Ian Thomson

Hell and its afterlife

In 1882, while on a lecture tour of America, Oscar Wilde was surprised to find a copy of The Divine Comedy in a Nebraskan penitentiary. ‘Oh dear, who would have thought of finding Dante here?’ he marvelled. No doubt the inmates were supposed to be edified by Dante’s medieval epic of sin and salvation: ghastly retribution is meted out to sinners in the nine circles of Hell. However, if Dante speaks to our present condition, it is not because we fear damnation, but because he wrote the epic of Everyman who sets out in search of salvation. (A more recent sinner, Jeffery Archer, subtitled the three volumes of his prison memoirs ‘Hell’, ‘Purgatory’ and ‘Heaven’.

Juliet Townsend

Children’s books for Christmas | 9 December 2006

December, as far as children’s books are concerned, is the month of the hardback. For the rest of the year the young are fobbed off with soft covers, but the Christmas present book can be an altogether more substantial and permanent friend. This is true of picture books for the very young. Dimity Dumpty by Bob Graham (Walker Books, £10.99) is the story of Humpty Dumpty’s shy little sister, who saves his life when all the King’s horses and all the King’s men have failed, by taking off her T-shirt and bandaging what is delicately called ‘Humpty’s leakage’. The illustrations of the family’s life in the circus as ‘The Tumbling Dumpties’ are delightful.

The Spectator

A selection of recent paperbacks | 9 December 2006

Fiction:Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer (Penguin, £7.99)The Story of General Dann and Mara’s Daughter, Griot and the Snow Dog by Doris Lessing (Harper Perennial, £7.99)The Pure in Heart by Susan Hill, Vintage, £6.99Making It Up by Penelope Lively (Penguin, £7.99)The Children of Men by P .D. James (Faber, £6.99)Bordeaux Housewives by Daisy Waugh (Harper, £6.99)Four Stories by Alan Bennett (London Review of Books, £7.99)Songs on Bronze: Greek Myths Retold by Nigel Spivey (Faber, £8.99) Non-fiction:Have I Got Views for You by Boris Johnson (Harper Perennial, £7.99)Shadowplay: The Hidden Beliefs and Coded Politics of William Shakespeare by Clare Asquith (Public Affairs, £9.

Paul Binding

The importance of being Henrik

The celebrations and theatre- productions for this centenary year of Ibsen’s death certainly attest to the continuing vitality of his work. At August’s Ibsen conference in Oslo I heard delegates from China, Nigeria, Bangladesh, Latvia, Mexico speak both of the plays’ intrinsic fascinations and of their relevance to specific contemporary societies. Likewise scholars and critics of many orientations showed what satisfying harvests, say, Ghosts or The Wild Duck yield when looked at from this or that perspective. What we have lacked, however, has been a full-scale English-language study of the relationship of this impressive oeuvre to the western culture of which it provably is so firm and illustrious a part.

Gary Dexter

Surprising literary ventures | 9 December 2006

Santa’s Twin (1996) by Dean Koontz Dean Koontz is the author of the schlock-horror novel Demon Seed (later a film) about a woman who is raped by a computer. Further offerings include Watchers, Lightning, The Bad Place, Intensity, Fear Nothing, and False Memory. His talents, however, don’t end there. His publishers explain: ‘At the request of his fans, bestselling novelist Dean Koontz has created a contemporary masterpiece that is destined to take its place alongside “The Night before Christmas” and A Christmas Carol as a perennial Yuletide favourite.

Saturday

Anne Chisholm

A very honourable rebel

In the autumn of 1995 Jessica Mitford, the youngest of the sisters, known to one and all since childhood as Decca, sat down at her desk in Oakland, California to answer a list of questions put to her by a journalist. ‘Yes, still consider myself a communist!’ she wrote, adding, ‘So do the undertakers, I’m sure.’ At the time, she was working on a revised edition of her great work, the 1963 bestseller The American Way of Death, which exposed and mocked the grotesque practices of the funeral business; outraged undertakers had indeed tried to discredit her as a card-carrying red. She was still working on the new edition when she was diagnosed with terminal cancer less than a year later, and instantly embarked on treatment.

Bevis Hillier

Royal gaffes, writers’ mottoes and mating bug

In the 1960s I lived in Hampstead, though all these years I have managed not to write a novel about Hampstead dinner-parties. The area was, and still is, rich in second-hand bookshops. There was one bookseller, long since dead, whose shop I used to visit, not to buy books, but to listen to his talk. Let us call him Turner Paige. He never stopped talking to his customers, in an interminable, E. L. Wisty-like drone, and every sentence was a priceless platitude. I used to stand in front of the shelves, pretending to browse, but inwardly gurgling with laughter as one clunking truism followed another. This was the sort of thing: Charles Dickens was a great comic writer. When he wanted to, he hit the funny-bone every time.

Tony Gould

Megalopolis and micro-organism

The story of Dr John Snow’s investigations into the causes of the cholera epidemics in mid-Victorian London has been written up several times, most recently in a book by Sandra Hempel which I reviewed in these pages six months ago. So do we need yet another account of them? Perhaps not, except that Steven Johnson approaches them from an unusually interesting angle: his book is less concerned with medical history than with urban history and, in particular, the rise of mega- cities. ‘We are now, as a species,’ he claims, ‘dependent on dense urban living as a survival strategy.

Byron Rogers

Partners on thin ice

My one contact with Conrad Black was an exchange of letters following his review in the Daily Telegraph of a book about the 1798 Irish rising. In this he had described the French landing as their most successful military intervention in Britain since Hastings. Helpfully I wrote to remind him of their landing in 1216, when King John’s England was within a whisker of becoming a French province. For the man had, after all, described himself as ‘historian’ on his first marriage certificate. His reply was brief and dismissive. The French army, he wrote, had just sort of wandered about. Well, in a sense they had, but only in the sense that Monty’s army on D-Day had wandered about Normandy: theirs was the last real foothold gained by a foreign army on English soil.

Peter Porter

Because We Can

This sensationWe say is the nationActing its destiny.How like is itTo the smaller act which here we see,The incomplete Devil paying a visit? We know it is our Fate to lack power —Is this our excuseThat we are very smallAmong demagogues whose job is to chooseThe Few’s good or the Good of All? Perhaps at homeThought might roamIn rhyme’s paradigmFrom native spiteIn bed or drawing room to Real TimeDownloaded to us day and night. Should then we askTo whom the task?There have been, we know,Unflinching soulsWho’ve travelled far as thought can go:Why is the world dying between the Poles?

Mary Keen

A choice of gardening books

Aspiration. Aspiration. Aspir- ation is still the watchword for publishers of gardening books. How many heavy, glossy productions filled with Get-the- Look pictures does the average gardener need? Especially when what is always peddled and praised tends to emphasise the haute couture of horticulture. There is a fashionable tendency to over-intellectualise about design. This is not what gardening is about. If you want more of this argument log onto www.thehadspenparabola.com, a website for the competition to redesign the walled garden at Hadspen, where there is some good online reading to be had. Victoria Glendinning is down-to-earth: ‘This is all gardens-in-the-head, not about real gardens and still less about making a garden.

Matthew Dennison

Liking to be beside the seaside

This is the second time The Fortnight in September has been reviewed in The Spectator. On its first appearance, my predecessor applauded ‘more simple human goodness and understanding … than in anything I have read for years’. The year was 1931. Three-quarters of a century has passed, and what to that earlier reviewer was a study in contemporary ordinariness has become a period piece. But the passage of time and the disappearance of the novel’s mise-en-scène — the interwar world of seaside boarding houses — have not altered its impact. My own verdict and that published in these pages 75 years ago overlap entirely. Mr and Mrs Stevens have three children, a cat and a canary. Mr Stevens is chief invoice clerk in a company of stationers.