RSS

Contact us

Tuesday 2 December 2008

The Second Plane

Defender, though not of the faith

Philip Hensher on Martin Amis' new book

Of course, it is difficult, and often emerges here in slightly George Steinerish statements of the impossibility of the imaginative exercise. In one piece, Amis narrates the events of an abandoned novella about an Islamist in some detail, and one suddenly realises that the narrative wasn’t abandoned; it’s being told here and now, in an unorthodox narrative mode. Evocations of the unimaginable are, too, exercises in the imagined. On thinking of being a passenger on one of the 11 September planes, ‘It is hard to defend your imagination from such a reality’; or, again:

Whenever that sense of heavy incredulity seems about to dissipate, I still find, an emergent detail will eagerly replenish it … what was it like to be a passenger on that plane? What was it like to see it coming towards you?

The controversy raised by Amis’s views on religion as specifically embodied by Islamists is an empty one. He will tell you that his loathing is limited to Islamists, not even to Islam and certainly not to the ethnic groups concerned. The point, I think, is demonstrated, and the openness with which he has been willing to think out loud could usefully be emulated by political figures, addicted as they are to weasel words and double talk. I have to say that from non-practising Muslims I’ve heard language and opinions on Islamists which are far less temperate than anything Amis uses. In comparison to the private expressions of voices of modernity within Muslim societies, Amis is almost exaggeratedly respectful.

The two short stories are on compelling subjects, which ultimately defeat Amis’s imagination; one is narrated by one of the numerous ‘doubles’ which Saddam and his family employed for safety’s sake, the other the narration of the last days of 11 September terrorist, Muhammad Atta. He does his best with the material; but the material is too grave, and it just sits there, somewhat inertly.

Buy the book, however, for, among other things, what must be regarded as an extraordinary classic of political reportage, an extended interview with Tony Blair in his last days in office. Amis conveys in astonishing style the dizzying constant realisations of sheer power; he exactly captures the grand dullness surrounding the absurdly matey posturing of its central figure. It reads almost like a dream of wish-fulfilment, so exactly realised is the character of Blair. Somehow, too, Amis’s own political positions, which can often be described as those of a clever undergraduate, don’t diminish the allure of the portrait but enhance it:

‘German is obsessed by transparency,’ I had said to him. ‘Some think it’s because what it fears most is itself.’

‘That view’s old-fashioned,’ said Blair.

As indeed it is. But what the author of Dead Babies is, rather unexpectedly, turning into, is an old-fashioned defender of truth, beauty and the values of literature against the massing dark. There is something noble about this book, and even when it is wrong it is never deplorable.

Print this article  |  Email to a friend  |  Permalink  |   Comments (8)   |  Apollo Art Books

Post this entry to:   del.icio.us | Digg | Newsvine | NowPublic | Reddit

Advertisement

Spectator Business | Apollo Magazine

Corporate | Advertising | Privacy | Terms

Spectator, 22 Old Queen Street, London, SW1H 9HP

All Articles and Content Copyright ©2008 by The Spectator | All Rights Reserved