Culture

Culture

The good, the bad and the ugly in books, exhibitions, cinema, TV, dance, music, podcasts and theatre.

Turning political writing into an art

The Orwell Prize will be awarded this evening and one of the following books will win: Death to the Dictator!, Afsaneh Moqadem Afsaneh Moqadem’s Death to the Dictator! is the fashionable choice for the award. Written by an Iranian dissident using a pseudonym to protect his anonymity, Death to the Dictator! is a fictionalisation of the failed Iranian revolution of 2009. The book opens with faceless security operatives dumping Mohsen Abbaspour’s tortured body at a roundabout on the outskirts of a town. Moqadem weaves an intricate yarn. He examines the character of tyranny, recalling Solzenitsyn and Paul Scott’s Raj Quartet, particularly the scenes between Captain Merrick and Hari Kumar in The Jewel in the Crown.

Across the literary pages | 16 May 2011

As part of the Guardian’s SF weekend, Iain M Banks says that the genre is not for dabblers. ‘The point is that science fiction is a dialogue, a process. All writing is, in a sense; a writer will read something – perhaps something quite famous, even a classic – and think "But what if it had been done this way instead . . . ?" And, standing on the shoulders of that particular giant, write something initially similar but developmentally different, so that the field evolves and further twists and turns are added to how stories are told as well as to the expectations and the knowledge of pre-existing literary patterns readers bring to those stories.

Bookends: Unbalanced chorus

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Imagine a 77-year-old woman hanging around, say, Leicester bus station, telling people about her life. She confides her belief that she is under surveillance by the military. She maintains that she can ‘see the reality of the web of synchronicity in my life’. Showing off her special jewellery that ‘helps balance the chakras’, she reveals that ‘because I had a high metabolism and moved around a lot, I had no real [weight] problem until I was about 50’. Imagine a 77-year-old woman hanging around, say, Leicester bus station, telling people about her life. She confides her belief that she is under surveillance by the military. She maintains that she can ‘see the reality of the web of synchronicity in my life’.

Redefining the war

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There are more than 100,000 American and Allied troops in Afghanistan. That is, there are more than 1,000 troops for every suspected al-Qa’eda ‘operative’. Not for the first time in Afghanistan means, ways and ends appear to be out of kilter. There are more Nato troops than are needed to combat al-Qa’eda but not enough to build a proper, ordinary country. No wonder Afghanistan has become a grimly expensive halfway house — neither wholly occupied, nor treated with a light touch. Tim Bird and Alex Marshall’s brisk, broad survey of the war is drily un- impressed by American strategy.

The villain as hero

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Juvenilia is an unfortunate word, with its connotations of the derogatory ‘juvenile’. Juvenilia is an unfortunate word, with its connotations of the derogatory ‘juvenile’. When they reach adult estate, most writers prefer their early work to be forgotten. But publishers have long ferreted about to unearth the juvenilia of anyone with half a name.Though the reading public has never been so easily conned, such works are appreciated mainly by scholars of an author’s entire ouevre, wanting to trace early influences. So, if you could buy only one book this week, would it be The Doll, which contains a dozen very early short stories by Daphne du Maurier, and one rather later one (published in 1959)?

Enchanting waters

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This is a book which is sometimes so private that reading it seems very nearly like an act of invasiveness. There is nothing salacious or rude in it, but its tone of voice is whispered, intimate, as though the reader were an interloper, a clumsy stumbler into the most secret thoughts of the author. Its occasion is a walk down the River Ouse in Sussex, from its source in the High Weald to the sea at Newhaven, but its substance is only marginally to do with that simple and very ordinary bit of geography. The river becomes the thinnest of wire coat-hangers on which almost anything can be hung. The result is a meditation, a drifting sequence of thoughts on time and change, on loss, love and meaning, on hell and happiness, geology and evolution, science and poetry.

Precious little warmth

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There’s something wrong with these diaries. There’s something wrong with these diaries. This is not to disparage the scholarly efforts of their editor, Dr Catterall, nor the skill with which he seems to have pruned the original papers (twice the length) into the greatest coherence achievable, nor his helpful contextualisation and calmly rational explanatory notes. Nor is it to question the importance for modern historians of the whole painstaking enterprise, to observe that the general reader will plough onward from summit, to cabinet, to dinner party, to pheasant shoot, to bilateral meeting, with a half-formed question growing in his mind. Who was Harold Macmillan writing all this for? For himself? For friends and family? For history? To answer questions? To settle scores?

The mark of cane

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Sugar transformed our world. From its origins in New Guinea, this tall sappy grass initially made slow progress around the globe. It reached India in 500 BC, and then travelled harmlessly to Persia, arriving 1,000 years later. But, in the early 15th century, it reached Europe, and suddenly everything changed. Sugar would become the catalyst for the greatest and most rapacious expansion that humankind has ever seen. Europeans couldn’t get enough of it, and were soon rearranging the world. No longer was foreign adventure a matter of pilfering and persecution; by the early 1600s, the newly emerging seapowers were competing for land.

Imperfect working order

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The publication of Pakistan: A Hard Country could not be more timely. International attention has been focused on Pakistan since the Americans killed Osama bin Laden in Abbottabad. Being in the spotlight generally means trouble for this country that has been bedevilled by war and political drama for over three decades. Foreigners announce goodwill and arrive with generous aid, but Pakistanis are frequently left feeling bruised, as the outsiders become ever more bewildered by the workings of this beguiling and maddening place. Anatol Lieven originally planned to call his book ‘How Pakistan Works’. It would have been a good title, since this is exactly what he tries to explain.

Bookend: Unbalanced chorus

Mark Mason has written the Bookend column in this week's issue of the magazine. Here it is for reader's of this blog. Imagine a 77-year-old woman hanging around, say, Leicester bus station, telling people about her life. She confides her belief that she is under surveillance by the military. She maintains that she can ‘see the reality of the web of synchronicity in my life’. Showing off her special jewellery that ‘helps balance the chakras’, she reveals that ‘because I had a high metabolism and moved around a lot, I had no real [weight] problem until I was about 50’. Past-life experiences figure heavily.

A treat from the Beats

A collection of Beat luminaries: Bob Donlin, Neal Cassady, Allen Ginsberg, Robert La Vigne, Lawrence Ferlinghetti standing in front of City Lights Bookshop, San Francisco 1956. Courtesy of the Third Coast Festival, here Ferlinghetti takes listeners on an eerie poetic tour of San Francisco.

Aspirin for our spiritual hangover

Contemporary poetry (to misquote Blackadder), is a lot like sex. Tons of it about, but I just don’t get it. So I was a little nervous when I gave Apocrypha a go. But I’m happy to say I quite liked it (I seem to remember the same thing about sex, come to think of it). Apocrypha is an entertaining collection of poems about those twilit zones of the modern imagination where the sacred meets the mundane. It’s about the experience of living with religious stories we no longer believe in literally, but which we can’t forget.

Being with Beckett

I'll never cease to be amazed by the wealth of material freely available on Youtube. I chanced upon the above clip, a nine-minute excerpt from a documentary where a number of Samuel Beckett's friends and colleagues are interviewed. The first, lengthy part of the clip begins with Jean Martin, who played Lucky in the original French production of Waiting for Godot. Martin, who is no longer with us, shares his astonishment and enthusiasm for the role, while giving insight into some elements of his performance. Production designer Jocelyn Herbert is next, discussing nights out with Beckett, friends and colleagues.

The King James Bible: a reading sensation

The publication of the King James Bible was not only a watershed moment in the history of publishing; it also had a decisive impact on the history of reading. In 1611, the Bible was already the exemplary book. It was not only the source of authoritative content; it was the model for how to read other books. The apparatus that makes it possible to divide a written text into its constituent elements and examine them separately – chapter and section headings, footnotes and cross-references, and so on – originates with Biblical scholarship, and the King James Bible made these tools available to a mass audience for the first time.

In her own words

As I wrote before the Easter break, Jennifer Egan's A Visit From the Goon Squad is a captivating novel. Reviewers are clamouring at its brilliance, but I agree with Will Blythe of the New York Times that it is 'unclassifiably elaborate'. You should believe the hype, but I can't quite say why. Here is Egan in conversation with Steve Bertrand. (She describes her methods and the life of the book, but she also reveals some of Kindle's shortcomings.

Reader’s Review: Delightfully mean, but not a meaningful delight

Reader's Review is a new feature here on the Spectator Book Club, and one which is rather self-explanatory. The idea is that, perhaps every fortnight or so, we shall publish a book review by a reader of the website. The first, below, of P.J. O'Rourke's Don't Vote…, is by Coffee House regular Peter from Maidstone (his online pseudonym, of course). Our gratitude goes out to him. If you would like to contribute a review yourself, then just email Pete Hoskin (phoskin @ spectator.co.uk) for details. I wouldn’t normally read, let alone buy, a book with a beaming American on the dust jacket, especially an American wearing a blue blazer. But then I wouldn’t normally buy a book with a picture of anyone involved in politics smiling at me.

Pleasant surprises

The death of the book has been much exaggerated, it seems. Figures released recently by the Publishers Association show a marked increase in sales of digital books, with total consumer sales rocketing up 318 per cent since 2009. However, there's no need to dismantle the bookshelves just yet. The digital slice of the book market still stands at only 6 per cent. Kindles et al might have the upper hand storage-wise; but, on this evidence, good old print and paper has some more puff in it yet. Beryl Bainbridge, for instance, remains a publishing sensation. Her uncompleted novel, The Girl in the Polka Dot Dress, is due for release on May 23. If you can’t wait till then, you can sneak an exclusive preview here courtesy of the Telegraph.

Across the literary pages | 9 May 2011

Sir V.S Naipaul is the subject of this month's Literary Review interview, conducted by Patrick Marnham on this occassion. 'LR: You went to see a fortune teller in West Africa on your recent journey. What did you ask him? VSN: Oh, I always ask them a few specific questions. Will I own a house of my own one day? Will I find emotional satisfaction with someone? Will there be a book next year? Next year ... For me that is always a sign of life. But I pay no attention whatever to the replies. I've never had any wish to penetrate the personal future. The bigger future is always interesting, but I don't have this personal wish. LR: Was the African seer any good? VSN: My favourite answer, which is quite common, is 'Government help will be forthcoming'.

Winnie-the-Pooh’s gender confusion

Children’s literature is sexist, has too many male heroes and represents the “symbolic annihilation of women”, according to a deranged woman writing in the latest edition of my favourite journal, “Gender And Society”. Janice McCabe singles out poor Winnie-the-Pooh for particular scorn, although she also has a go at that misogynistic bastard, Peter Rabbit. But hang on – who is to say that Winnie is a boy? Those delicate, if hazy, line drawings of the creature show no genitals whatsoever, so far as I can discern, and Winnie was a popular name for girls in Edwardian times. Indeed, as a child I always imagined Winnie was a girl, or at best transgendered.

Bookends: To a tee

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Sporting literature is a strange old business, often underrated by those who don’t like sport and overrated by those who do. In particular, a warm glow hovers over the reputation of golf writing, which has attained an eminence the unsung litterateurs of snooker and darts can only envy. Golf Stories (Everyman’s Library, £10.99), edited by the American journalist Charles McGrath, arrives as a small and beautifully appointed hardback, as certain of itself as any book can be. Primarily aimed at a US readership, it includes many of the usual suspects: Stephen Leacock, with a slightly weary piece of New Yorkerish whimsy; John Updike’s frequently anthologised ‘Farrell’s Caddie’; the famed golfing scene from Goldfinger; and only one P. G.

Setting the world to rights

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Wicked Company is the collective biography of a group of men with little in common, apart from a generalised dissatisfaction with the state of the world around them. Perhaps that is true of most intellectual coteries. The kings of the Parisian Enlightenment of the 18th century were the mathematician Jean d’Alembert and the playwright and journalist Denis Diderot, joint editors of the great Encyclopédie.

The choppy sea of family life

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This is a lovely book. Judy Golding writes of her father —indeed of both her parents — with candour, humour and great insight and perception This is a lovely book. Judy Golding writes of her father —indeed of both her parents — with candour, humour and great insight and perception. More than that, here is an exemplary memoir of childhood, not remorselessly chronological, but drawing on the jumbled past to give an account of what it was like to be a child in an unusual family. She describes an intense marriage, which was devoted and intermittently stormy. She sees herself and her brother David as always taking second place, especially as far as their mother was concerned.

Fear and loathing in the Congo

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Jason Stearns is a brave man. He once worked for the UN’s disarmament programme in eastern Congo, a job which required him to probe the forests around the town of Bukavu, seeking out members of the local Mai Mai militia. Jason Stearns is a brave man. He once worked for the UN’s disarmament programme in eastern Congo, a job which required him to probe the forests around the town of Bukavu, seeking out members of the local Mai Mai militia. When the UN peacekeepers made contact — and there was always a risk they would run into Rwandan rebels with very different priorities — his job was to persuade twitchy, traumatised child fighters to down their weapons. Arguably, what he attempts to do in this book is even braver.

The Russian connection

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It’s impossible not to warm to the author of this book, a perky Turkish-American woman with a fascination with Russian literature and an irresistible comic touch. It’s impossible not to warm to the author of this book, a perky Turkish-American woman with a fascination with Russian literature and an irresistible comic touch. I began it on the train; barely had I started before my involuntary yelps of hilarity were causing alarm amongst my fellow passengers. An elderly man moved to another seat after I came upon Batuman’s description of the time she found herself judging an adolescent boys’ leg contest in Hungary. Fortunately, perhaps, I arrived at my station before Batuman embarked on an account of an excruciatingly funny literary seminar to rival Lucky Jim.

When wailing is appropriate

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This is a strange exercise. It is a commonplace book of quotations from great authors, assembled by the philosopher A. C. Grayling. The extracts from the great books, how- ever, are provided without attribution. Furthermore, they are arranged in numbered ‘verses’, like the divisions of the ‘texts’ in the Bible. The Bible was thus divided for ease of reference when the Rabbis and the Christian Church — in separate exercises, obviously — decided which books should appear in the canon of Scripture. Why Grayling has numbered his collection of quotations is anyone’s guess. The title is slightly cringeworthy.

Captain courageous

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The sum of hard biographical facts about Captain Cook never increases, nor is it expected to. It is the same with Shakespeare. J. C. Beaglehole’s Life of Captain James Cook (1974), which Frank McLynn quotes often, contains most of what is known about Cook’s family life and origins. As the son of a Yorkshire farm labourer, he belonged to a class that was unlikely to leave any record of his childhood. He was clever, and went to live with a Quaker family in Whitby where he worked in the shop. He went to sea in the collier trade at the advanced age of 17, and transferred to the Royal Navy when he was 30. He married seven years later, in 1762, after the Admiralty’s attention was drawn by his successful charting of the Newfoundland coast.