In December the controversial satellite TV channel ReallyTV launches its Christmas season with a flagship reality show called From Homs to…
To gentrify or not to gentrify. That is the question, says Stephen Bayley
Nicky Haslam’s diary: Marie-Anna Berta Felicie Johanna Ghislaine Theodora Huberta Georgina Helene Genoveva and other big names
I was once bundled into a police car in Palm Springs to explain why I didn’t have snow-tyres on my…
Roger Scruton is that rarest of things: a first-rate philosopher who actually has a philosophy. Unfortunately at times for him,…
Owen Jones’s first book, Chavs, was a political bestseller. This follow-up skips over the middle classes and goes to the…
Shortly after I started working at Vanity Fair in the mid-1990s, I suggested to my boss Graydon Carter that I…
His publishers describe this ‘ground-breaking book on evolution’ by ‘the most celebrated living heir to Darwin’ as ‘the summa work…
Ferdinand Mount is right to be shocked by the inequalities of modern British society; but his remedies are not brutal enough, says Polly Toynbee
The problem with Nick Cohen’s very readable You Can’t Read This Book is the way that you can, glaringly, read…
Ferdinand Mount recalls the crisis years of the early 1970s, when Britain was pronounced ‘ungovernable’
The most striking thing about Piers Paul Read’s early novels was their characters’ susceptibility to physical decay.
At last, thirty years after his death, we have a proper biography of the enigmatic but inspirational banker Siegmund Warburg, extensively researched and beautifully written.
At the beginning of The Ask, Horace sits with Burke and proclaims that America is a ‘run down and demented pimp’.
The first game played by the Allahakbarries Cricket Club at Albury in Surrey in September 1887 did not bode well for the club’s future.
Patrick Shaw-Stewart was the cleverest and the most ambitious of the gilded gang of young men who swam in the wake of the not-so-young but perennially youthful Raymond Asquith.
The last time I saw Benazir Bhutto was at Oxford, over champagne outside the Examination Schools, when she inquired piercingly of a subfusc linguist, ‘Racine? What is Racine?’ Older and richer than most undergraduates, and as a Harvard graduate presumably better educated, she was already world famous, and was obviously not at Oxford to learn about classical tragedy.
‘Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and awe, the oftener and more steadily we reflect on them: the starry heavens above and the moral law within.’ Oren Harman uses this quote from Immanuel Kant to open one of the chapters of The Price of Altruism, and it’s an observation that — after the steady reflection on moral law that Harman’s book invites and encourages — only seems more true by the end.
The strange, unsettled decades between the wars form the backdrop of much of D. J. Taylor’s recent work, including his novel, Ask Alice, and his social history, Bright Young Things. At the Chime of a City Clock is set in 1931, with a financial crisis rumbling in the background.
Jim, Crace’s latest novel, All That Follows, marks a deliberate change from past form.
Barry Miles came to London in the Sixties to escape the horsey torpor of the Cotswolds in which he grew up.
Our politics is such a shallow game that any senior British politician who has read a book is apt to be considered cerebral, and if he has read two, feted as an original thinker.
Books about marriage, like the battered old institution itself, come in and out of fashion with writers, readers and politicians, but never quite die away.
Ahundred years ago, a character in a novel who was keen on music would, like E.M. Forster’s Lucy Honeychurch or Leo- nard Bast, be as apt to stumble through a piece at the piano as listen to it at a concert.