Book Reviews

Our reviews of the latest in literature

Across the literary pages: a Londoner’s diary

Don’t be fooled by the incessant rain and your resurgent rheumatism, the summer literary festival season is upon us. The line-up at the Hay Festival is old news; the hotels of Edinburgh are preparing; and anticipation fills tea rooms from Warwick to St. Ives. The festival market is flooded, but there is one new festival to which I will draw your attention. It is in London, so you may be able to go to it at the drop of a hat. The team responsible for Way With Words (the very highly regarded show in Devon) are taking over the canopy of Opera Holland Park from 18th to 20th May. It

Sam Leith

A moth to the flame

When Hannah Rothschild first met her great-aunt Nica it was 1984. Hannah was 22, and Nica, then 70, had asked her to come sometime after midnight to a basement jazz club in an area of pre-Giuliani downtown Manhattan ‘known for its crack dens and muggings’. She was able to find the venue, as promised, by the pale blue Bentley parked erratically outside and inhabited by a couple of drunks. Inside, her aunt, ‘the Baroness’, was easily identifiable as the only white person: a wizened old doll in a fur coat with a a long black-filter cigarette, drinking whisky out of a teapot. Nica — or to give her correct title,

It concentrates the mind wonderfully

It’s odd, but we mostly go about as if death were optional, something we could get out of, like games at school. Philip Gould, in When I Die, admits that he never gave it much thought. Then he got oesophageal cancer. He had a horrible operation, got a bit better. Then the cancer came back. He had chemotherapy, more surgery, a lot of pain. And it came back again: ‘I knew then that the game was up.’ Having worked as Tony Blair’s strategist, Gould at first imagined his illness as another kind of campaign. But once his death became certain, he underwent a remarkable change: The unvarnished certainty that you

Going to the fair

Why would anyone want to buy this dreadful book? The frightful Simon Cowell appears to have co-operated with the author, and it is littered with repellent photographs — chiefly of a smirking Simon surrounded by beautiful ‘ex-girlfriends’. (Cowell is keen to inform us that he has had lots of girlfriends. He is not gay. Not. Gay.)    Surely, if one wanted to read about Cowell and gaze at pictures of his over-indulged, hairy body, why not just browse the internet? The websites featuring comments such as, ‘Simon Cowl is reelly horibel and rood’ are far more amusing than Tom Bower’s repetitive biography. I would forgive the author if his book

Celebrating the Tube …

The London Underground is methadone for people with nerd habits. Were it not for its twisty, multi-coloured map, its place in the capital’s history, its tendency to throw up facts such as ‘the QE2 would fit inside North Greenwich station’, we’d be on the hard stuff. The smack of nerd-dom. We’d be on the platform at Crewe with notebooks, taking down numbers, ruining our marriages. As it is we maintain social respectability by obsessing about the Tube. The Tube is sexy in a way that mainline trains aren’t. Even young people, proper trendy young people who know the names of bands, get excited by the Tube. Behold someone who fails

Bookends: … and the inner tube

In the early 1990s, when Boris Johnson was making his name as the Daily Telegraph’s Brussels correspondent, Sonia Purnell was his deputy, and last year she published a biography of him — the second, and surely not the last — entitled Just Boris: A Tale of Blond Ambition. Now follows Pedal Power: How Boris Failed London’s Cyclists (Aurum Press, £2.05), which is described as an ebook but is more accurately a (badly written) epamphlet. There are ‘votes in cycling’, as she puts it, ‘in a way that there never has been before’, and she means to sway those votes in the imminent mayoral election. She is, though, a more effective

Interview: Eliza Griswold and the clash of civilisations

Nigeria is called ‘God’s own country’, and well it might be because no one else is on its side. Eliza Griswold, who has spent several years exploring religious divisions in the country’s interior, tells me that billions of oil dollars are embezzled each year, leaving the vast majority of the population to fend for themselves on a couple of dollars a day — that’s to say nothing of the millions of unemployed vagrants. The government oscillates between inertia and rapacity, so competing religious organisations have emerged in its place. But while religious communities provide legal services and schools, they can also incite sectarian violence as Nigerians contest their country’s dwindling

The art of fiction: Bram Stoker’s Dracula

‘Oh yes, Dracula,’ said a colleague. ‘Two splendid bits at either end, and 200 boring pages in the middle.’ It was exaggeration, but only slight. Dracula sags in the middle, but that is a reflection of the knockout opening and conclusion. Film adaptations have the luxury of cutting out the fat to concentrate on Jonathan Harker’s torment at the hands of the Count and the exploits of the League, while also emphasising important plot details like flesh, flesh and flesh.   This is a year for literary anniversaries. Lawrence Durrell is in danger of being lost to posterity, and Dickens remains inimitable. But while you might struggle to identify the essential

Inside books: Long live the classics!

Classics were predicted to be one of the first things to fall at the feet of eBooks. Traditional booksellers — like me — have been in a perpetual cold sweat, wondering how to make up the lost revenue for around a third of our sales. Classics publishers must have been positively feverish with worry. The reason for the panic is thus: the great majority of classic works of literature are old — think Dickens, Eliot, Hardy, the Brontes — and, therefore, out of copyright. That means that anyone who has the time and inclination can publish Dickens online and nobody can come after them screaming copyright theft. So an eBook

Would you like these books on your shelves?

Penguin has launched a new design for the Penguin English Library. The press blurb says, ‘Each cover is a crafted gem, they’ll look and feel lovely in your hands.’ And they do. Steal into a bookshop in the next couple of days and hold one. The covers are individual and relevant to the book — Far From the Madding Crowd has a symmetrical series of bees set against a honeyed background — and the paper, though very thin, has a smooth lacquer that makes your fingers slide over the pages. The problem is the spines. The blurb says: ‘with a distinctive evolution of the famous Penguin orange spines they’ll striking

Shelf Life: Rachel Johnson

Editor-in-chief of The Lady, judge of the inaugural Hatchet Job of the Year Award, author of Shire Hell and a keen skier, Rachel Johnson is this week’s Shelf Lifer. She has eminently sensible suggestions for the English curriculum, reveals the guilty literary secrets of the Johnson dynasty and tells us about the downside of having a famous brother. 1) What are you reading at the moment? The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing, The Forgotten Waltz by Anne Enright, Frances Osborne’s Park Lane, just finished Philip Gould’s When I Die. Off the record – Fifty Shades of Grey. 2) As a child, what did you read under the covers? Enid Blyton.

The Spectator’s review of Dracula, 1897

It is fitting that Bram Stoker is more celebrated in death than life. This week marks the centenary of his death. Numerous events have been held in his honour. It’s a typical jamboree. Horror writer Stewart King has explained how Stoker’s legacy is being sustained by a new wave of vampire fiction, which, for those who’ve been locked in an eerie for the past decade, has proved wildly popular. Vampires also remain popular in academic circles. The Times Higher Education reports that numerous professors convened for a Stoker centenary conference, where they lamented the modern assault on the gothic tradition. They condemned the influence of Freudian psychoanalysis on vampire stories,

Tales from the publishing world

An elderly woman receives a phone call from a once eminent publishing house. The nice man on the phone tells her that his company is going to reprint her deceased father’s books. Wonderful news, she says — delighted that her old man is not quite dead and buried yet. Hope for us, she thinks. The publisher adds that they want a party to mark this important literary event, a proper knees up with champagne and canapés. She’s all for this. What generosity, she thinks. Then they say that want to make a small contribution to the party costs, maybe fifty quid. Traditional publishers are in extremis. Print continues to collapse; eBook sales

Before Sontag became a parody

When an unpublished diary or book of letters from a celebrated writer comes to the attention of the reading public nowadays, there is often a sense that a game is being played between two parties. Writers — being the megalomaniacs they invariably are — dream of grandiosity and world domination, therefore these documents are predominately contrived from the moment pen goes to paper. They are for potential posterity, and a legacy, rather than any truthful insights. The readers readily take part in this charade, hoping to catch their idols off guard in the process. As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh, Diaries 1964-1980 ostensibly plays along in the aforementioned game, but

Birthday present from the Bard

St. George’s Day, 23rd April, is Shakespeare’s birthday. You may get a present, if you are in the right place at the right time. World Book Night, the event where enthusiasts give a book to passers-by, will take place this evening. The organisers hope that 2.5 million copies of 25 books will be given away by 78,000 volunteers in the United States, Britain, Germany and Ireland. This massive undertaking is laudable, even though the selection of books is wholly unimaginative. Martina Cole, Audrey Niffenegger and Bernard Cornwell may not need more readers, but their best-selling pot-boilers might get more people reading. Like all the best things in life, one book leads to another. There are readings

Across the literary pages: Facing death

Man has conquered his inhibitions to talk about everything other than his own demise. Death is, famously, the last taboo — and, judging by many of the reviews of Philip Gould’s When I Die: Lessons from the Death Zone, we are no closer to breaking it. The novelist Justin Cartwright describes himself as ‘racked with doubt’ about the correct response of the reviewer of a book that charts a man’s preparations for death from oesophageal cancer. He goes on to ask seven questions on that theme and gets no closer to an answer. Meanwhile, the author Richard Holloway admits (£) to being ‘disturbed by the desperation with which we have become a

The American way of justice

Conrad Black sympathises with the NatWest Three — victims of British cowardice and a corrupt US legal system It was the misfortune of David Bermingham and his co-defendants to be very peripherally connected to the Enron debacle. Enron was the ultimate hot financial client for a merchant banker and designer of sophisticated financial vehicles, the author’s occupation at Greenwich National Westminster. Bermingham’s offence was to produce a spectacularly imaginative new structure for an existing financial company, which impressed the Enron financial officers, at a time when Greenwich National Westminster was being offered for sale and NatWest itself was a takeover candidate. His plan was so original that, as he wrote,

A law unto itself

One could meet any day in Society Harold Acton, Tom Driberg or Rowse: May there always, to add their variety, Be some rather Odd Fish at The House. Thus W. H. Auden (something of an odd fish himself) reminiscing at a Christ Church gaudy half a century ago. There have certainly been quite a lot of such fish in living memory, not least in the Senior Common Room. In my time there was Robin Dundas, with his prurient interest in undergraduates’ sex lives; there was a law don who gave his tutorials in the small hours because he was too busy teaching elsewhere during the day; a sad philosopher whose

Ultimate issues

In his preface to this anthology of brief memoirs, Robert Silvers suggests that its ‘invisible, tragic core’ is to be found in an account by Isaiah Berlin of one of his several meetings with Boris Pasternak. Pasternak told Berlin how Stalin had once telephoned him to ask him two questions: had Pasternak been present when Mandelstam read out his notorious ‘Epigram’ about Stalin; and was Mandelstam a ‘master’? Pasternak sidestepped these questions by saying that it was essential that he and Stalin meet: they needed to ‘speak about ultimate issues, about life and death’. This was in 1934, not long before Mandelstam’s first arrest. Over a quarter of these essays,