Book Reviews

I confess myself baffled by this fable. The narrative is as clear, the prose as uncluttered, as one expects from Susan Hill, but its very simplicity leaves me wondering whether I’ve missed the point. I confess myself baffled by this fable. The narrative is as clear, the prose as uncluttered, as one expects from Susan Hill, but its very simplicity leaves me wondering whether I’ve missed the point. The strapline tells me to expect a tale of ‘greed, goodness, and an extraordinary miracle’. Well, it doesn’t seem to be about greed at all. There isn’t a greedy person in it. Needy, yes; it deals with need. ‘Goodness’ is more like

Mark Amory has written the Bookend column in this week’s magazine. Here it is as a blog exclusive In the Christmas issue of The Spectator there was a review of Showtime: A History of Broadway Musicals, a book which ran to 785 pages. Ruth Leon, in The Sound of Musicals, deals with the whole lot, well perhaps 20 in practice, in 128 much smaller ones; so she has to be selective. The top three, in her view, select themselves: Guys and Dolls (1950), My Fair Lady (1954) and West Side Story (1957) – ‘almost everyone agrees on this’. She finds respectable reasons for her enthusiasm: Guys and Dolls has an

As promised, here is Craig Brown’s apprieciation of John Gross, published in today’s issue of the Spectator. To subscribe, click here. Mark Boxer once drew a caricature of his friend John Gross half-buried beneath piles of hardback books while glancing up from a copy of Tatler. It’s a caricature that contains a nugget of truth — it is rare, these days, for anyone so bookish to keep such a close eye on the toings-and-froings of high society and showbiz — but there is still something not quite right about the rather severe, tight-lipped expression on John’s face. Though he always read  everything with a singular intensity, the moment he looked

John Gross, the literary lion of his generation, died on Monday. The Spectator will publish a piece commemorating his life and work tomorrow. In the meantime, here is a selection of extracts from the deluge of adoring obituaries. The Telegraph: ‘Once described as “the best-read man in Britain”, Gross was probably best known among his literary peers for his first book, The Rise and Fall of the Man of Letters: English Literary Life since 1800 (1969), a racily entertaining romp through the history of literary criticism and its practitioners which won the Duff Cooper Prize and established its author’s reputation as a man whose huge erudition was matched by a

The spending axe is descending on local government and libraries are poised to close. Campaign groups have mapped probable closures. There’s no key as to what each colour and symbol indicate, but that’s rather beside the point. In reality, the colossal waste in local government means that cuts can be implemented without damaging services. But councils play dirty when defending ‘their’ money, resorting to industrial action, unreliable bin collection and headline grabbing closures. Libraries fall into the latter category, and cherubic children will be hauled before cameras to cast the coalition in the most callous of roles. Of course, learning must never be hindered, especially if Britain is to weather

While looking for something interesting to read online recently I stumbled across something boring. Namely, Robert McCrum’s Guardian piece on ‘The best boring books’, listing big, grey bricks of supposedly anaesthetic prose. Two modernist novels had been singled out for critique: James Joyce’s notorious Finnegans Wake and Virginia Woolf’s The Waves. I began to wonder whether there was something intrinsic to modernism that leant itself towards dullness and tedium in the mind’s eye of the public. Gabriel Josipovici recently asked What Ever Happened to Modernism? As part of an in-depth literary study, he charted the recent decline of modernist literature in opposition to other, more traditional forms of storytelling. Is