Book Reviews

Our reviews of the latest in literature

Saturday

Victor Sebestyen

The missing millions

The collapse of the Soviet Union spawned an entire genre of literature: the Gulag memoir, produced by victims of the USSR’s concentration camps. A few masterpieces were published in the West, or in samizdat, before the 1980s, for example Evgenia Ginzburg’s renowned Into the Whirlwind and the works of Alexander Solzhenitsyn.But as Soviet-style communism fell apart, the long-suffering voices were allowed to speak, and in Russia an enormous number of first-person books and articles began appearing. In her brilliant 2004 Gulag, Anne Applebaum wrote the best history of the Soviet camps to appear outside of what was once referred to as the Eastern bloc. That was a monumental achievement. But

Jonathan Cecil

Rogues’ gallery

The distinguished writer Brian Masters in his handsomely produced book on the actors of the Garrick Club has set himself a formidable task. Not only, until he reaches the mid-20th century, does he have to assess the art of long-dead actors from contemporary accounts; he is also writing a history of the theatrical profession from the time when actors were actually designated, in an 1822 Act of Parliament, ‘Rogues and Vagabonds’, until their gradual edging into respectability. This was symbolised by two events: the founding of the Garrick Club in 1831 and Henry Irving’s knighthood in 1895. Later, Masters enumerates 20th- century Garrick actors, many of whom he has known,

Frederic Raphael

‘We’ll always have Paris’

The long war between France and the US has its liveliest consequence in the world of film: Hollywood does movies, the French do cinema. In terms of equipment, the Yanks were the pioneers, but France’s Charles Pathé was the first tycoon and — more importantly — George Méliès was the inventor, by accident, of the method of cutting from scene to scene which has become the signal contribution of cinema to narrative. After the invention of talkies, Hollywood pulled out of sight and sound of its panting pursuers, but the French have remained obstinately inventive and creatively resentful: they harbour an abiding sense of having been robbed of an art

Jonathan Sumption

Design for living

The first thing to be said about this remarkable book is that it has nothing to do with animal rights. The title is borrowed from the archaic Greek poet Archilochus, who is known mainly for a single aphorism: ‘The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing.’ Isaiah Berlin borrowed this gnomic utterance for the title of his essay on Tolstoy, using it to illustrate his idea that great thinkers can be divided into two categories, the more focussed spirits who bring insights to a single great idea and the versatile universal men who skate over the whole surface of human knowledge. Ronald Dworkin is a self-proclaimed

Ian Thomson

Nostalgie de la boue

In the late 1960s I grew up in the London borough of Greenwich, which in those days had a shabby, post-industrial edge. Behind our house on Crooms Hill stood a disused London Electricity Board sub-station. Broken glass crunched underfoot and buddleia grew amid the fly-tipped junk. I went there chiefly to shoot at pigeons and set fire to things. Tea chests went up in a satisfying orange whoosh; I was mesmerised. One day, dreadfully, the LEB building burned down after I neglected to extinguish embers. The fire-fighters flashed a spectral white and blue, I remember, from the fire-engine’s beacon. I could no longer go there unnoticed. I was reminded of

Claudia FitzHerbert

Triumph and disaster

The title of this first novel refers to a version of childhood as a magical kingdom where evil can be overturned and heaven and earth remade at the whim of a power-crazed infant. In fact our narrator’s world has already been darkened by the time she is presented by her beloved elder brother with the rabbit she insists on calling God. She has been sexually abused by an elderly neighbour, a Jewish musician who fascinates her with tales of the concentration camp in which he was never interned. The brother discovers the betrayal, promises to keep it a secret and — this all happens in the first 30 pages —

Friday

Andrew Petrie

Bookends: A chorus of disapproval

Andrew Petrie has written the Bookend column in this week’s magazine. Here it is for readers of this blog. At more than 700 pages including appendices, Guardian writer Dorian Lynskey’s 33 Revolutions Per Minute: A History of Protest Songs certainly can’t be accused of skimping on the details. Adherence to the pun of the title has resulted in a thorough if necessarily left-wing history of political dissent since the Thirties, but don’t expect much emphasis on the music. There’s a reason polemical songs are the ones you admire for their commitment rather than sing in the shower. But it’s precisely because there’s more protest here than song that the book

Thursday

Alex Massie Alex Massie

Stalin: Not Such a Bad Chap Really

That, anyway, seems to be one of the things to come out of Terry Eagleton’s new book, Why Marx Was Right. It’s not published until May but Tyler Cowen reports that it contains these winning arguments: But the so-called socialist system had its achievements, too.  China and the Soviet Union dragged their citizens out of economic backwardness into the modern industrial world, at however horrific a human cost; and the cost was so steep partly because of the hostility of the capitalist West. […] Building up an economy from very low levels is a backbreaking, dispiriting task.  It is unlikely that men and women will freely submit to the hardships

David Blackburn

Ellroy formidable!

James Ellroy has been awarded the French Order of Arts and Letters by French Culture minister Frederic Mitterand. According Le Point, Mitterand venerated Ellroy as a ‘master of dark dreams and counter history, truly one of the great names of modern literature’. In turn, Ellroy paid homage to French literary culture, citing Stendhal, Proust, Camus, Sartre, Beauvoir and Genet as writers without whom he could not have written as he does.    Mitterand’s broad assessment of Ellroy is scarcely mind-blowing, but never was the phrase ‘master of dark dreams’ better applied. As Time once put it, ‘Ellroy rips into American culture like a chainsaw in an abattoir’, which perhaps explains

Wednesday

David Blackburn

It’s an Orange world

Susan Hill once wrote that ‘a prize is a prize and when it is a lucrative and highly publicised prize, it matters a lot in the book world. Not many affect sales directly and hugely but one which now does is the Orange Prize for women writers.’ This year’s Orange Prize longlist has been released. There are some familiar faces on it. The Booker nominated Room, by Emma Donoghue, is on the list. Natalie Fast reviewed this strange and discombobulating story for the book blog in the autumn and the Bookseller reckons it stands a shot at glory. Previous Orange Prize winner, and regular contributor to the Spectator, Joanna Kavenna

Tuesday

Matthew Richardson

Lost in translation | 15 March 2011

Foreign fiction gets a raw deal. It’s usually quarantined away in the dustier enclaves of the bookshop, along with all the other worthy but immovable fare: short story collections, regional poetry and non A-level drama.   Perhaps buyers and sellers think that ‘non-UK stuff’ has been dealt with by that merrily inclusive idea of ‘world literature’ – the prose often still in English, but with a refreshingly exotic spice (see Salman Rushdie). But the size of the knowledge gap, mine included, is frightening. The Independent recently announced the long-list for their Independent Foreign Fiction Prize 2011. Scanning down the chosen fifteen, the alien names brought a blush to my cheek:

Monday

David Blackburn

Across the literary pages | 14 March 2011

Strand magazine is to publish a recently discovered short story by Dashiell Hammett, ‘So I Shot Him’. ‘He gave us both Sam Spade and Nick and Nora Charles — so for a generation of readers, Dashiell Hammett more or less defined both “hard-boiled” and “suave.” Not bad, that. Now, from the long-deceased author of The Maltese Falcon and The Thin Man, comes a never-before-published short story: “So I Shot Him.” It’s suspenseful, full of secrets no one’s telling, and — according to Andrew Gulli, editor of the mystery magazine that’s publishing the story — somewhat more than what you might think of as vintage Hammett. “Vintage in that you have

Saturday

Philip Hensher

‘This time it will be different’

There used to be two rules of successful imperialism. First, don’t invade Russia. Second, don’t invade Afghanistan. As Rodric Braithwaite points out, invading the latter country itself offers no real difficulties. The Afghans abandon their strongholds and take to the hills, allowing the invader to enjoy the illusion of power in Kabul, with a puppet leader installed in the Bala Hissar, the old palace fortress. The problems come later, as a long war of attrition achieves little and finally obliges the invader to cut his losses and run. Anyone can see that this is what is happening at present to the British and American forces. And it has happened before.

Justin Cartwright

When the best defence is no defence

This remarkable book is the account by their lawyer of the trial, imprisonment and sentencing to death in the late Eighties of a group of young men who came to be known as the Delmas Four. It is also a wonderfully vivid and at times alarming account of the inner workings both of ANC ‘operations units’ and of the police, who used torture, murder and intimidation without compunction in the fight to save South Africa from what they saw as a communist threat. As South Africans in general drew closer to some sort of détente between the ANC and the nationalist government, neither the ANC on the one hand nor

Max Mosley

A bit of a softie

Tom Bower’s fearsome reputation as a biographer preceded him in the Formula One paddock. Tom Bower’s fearsome reputation as a biographer preceded him in the Formula One paddock. His devastating treatment of subjects such as Conrad Black, Mohamed Al-Fayed and Richard Branson was well known. So here, at last, was a writer who would unravel the mystery of Bernie Ecclestone and explain how he progressed from selling buns in his school playground to wielding great power over a major world sport, trousering billions of pounds on the way. We all suspected that much of the mystery was created by Bernie himself. He loved to give the impression of a ruthless,

Anthony Cummins

The family plot

Hisham Matar is a Libyan-American writer whose father, Jaballa — an opponent of Gaddafi — was kidnapped in Cairo in 1990. Hisham Matar is a Libyan-American writer whose father, Jaballa — an opponent of Gaddafi — was kidnapped in Cairo in 1990. He is believed to be in jail in Libya; Matar campaigns from London for his release. If you already knew this, it’s probably because of the attention that came Matar’s way when he published his first novel, In the Country of Men (2005). That book, set in Tripoli in 1979, is told from the point of view of a dissident’s young son. Although the details don’t match Jaballa’s

Judith Flanders

Massacre of the innocents

‘La justice flétrit, la prison corrompt et la société a les criminels qu’elle mérite’ — Justice withers, prison corrupts, and society gets the criminals it deserves. ‘La justice flétrit, la prison corrompt et la société a les criminels qu’elle mérite’ — Justice withers, prison corrupts, and society gets the criminals it deserves. With that terrifying and depressing thought, the fin-de- siècle criminologist Jean-Alexandre-Eugène Lacassagne summed up his views at the end of his long career. A hundred years later, they are still worthy of attention, for Lacassagne was, perhaps, one of the greatest pioneers of forensic science and medical jurisprudence in his century or any other. It was he who

Hywel Williams

Pastures new

On 20 September 1949, five days after his election as Chancellor of the newly created German Federal Republic, Konrad Adenauer addressed the Bundestag: ‘Much unhappiness and much damage’, he told the deputies, ‘has been caused by denazification . On 20 September 1949, five days after his election as Chancellor of the newly created German Federal Republic, Konrad Adenauer addressed the Bundestag: ‘Much unhappiness and much damage’, he told the deputies, ‘has been caused by denazification . . . many have atoned for a guilt that was subjectively not heavy.’ The division of Germany’s population into ‘the politically flawless and the politically flawed’ had to disappear and ‘the government of the

Michael Henderson

Ravishing beauty

For a composer who gave so much delight to so many, Ravel occupies a peculiar position in 20th-century music. Stravinsky’s famous description, ‘the most perfect of Swiss clockmakers’, still brings a chortle of recognition, though it might be better to think of him as a jeweller. In the words of one critic, writing in 1906, his music conceals tenderness ‘beneath a surface of flashing, kaleidoscopic precious stones’. Either way, he has probably been patronised by kind words more than any other great composer. Some listeners, it is clear, never forgave him for not being Debussy. Even the famous piano concerto, premiered in 1932, five years before his death, was damned

Francis King

A constant delight

With knobbly hands, shoulders bowed under the burden of arthritis, the little old woman tested the hasp of the front door and then turned to me, the last remaining guest from her tea party of that week. ‘Well, that’s someone who knows how to behave well,’ she said of the female guest who had just left. The little old woman also knew how to behave well, invariably writing me a stiffly formal Collins on the morning after I had taken her out to the theatre or dinner. But her way of behaving well was totally different from that of her female guest. If Ivy Compton-Burnett seemed unnaturally starched, as though