The good, the bad and the ugly in books, exhibitions, cinema, TV, dance, music, podcasts and theatre.
After Paul Torday related his latest adventure in the digital new world, here is Fleet Street veteran Walter Ellis on the trials of self-publishing on Amazon. Soon kindled and soon burnt: The gentle art of online publishing The idea of a level playing field is that everyone engaged in a competitive activity should have the
Veteran SF writer and devout Luddite Ray Bradbury has finally bowed to the inevitable and allowed Farenheit 451 to be reproduced in a digital format. Bradbury’s hand was forced by contractual reality: his publishers refused to re-sign him without digital rights. Surely print must now be damned if even Bradbury has to consort with his Devil? To mark the occasion, we have commissioned
Last night, at a secret location in the East End, Andy McNab addressed the London branch of the Royal Green Jackets Association, the body representing former members of the Rifles Regiment. McNab, a decorated Rifleman before he entered SAS folklore on the botched Bravo Two Zero mission, was drumming up support at a private bash for
Earlier this month, former New York Times Iraq correspondent Alex Berenson published the paperback version of The Secret Soldier, his fictionalisation of the CIA’s operations in the Middle East. Last week, life imitated art with the news that the Iranian-backed Hezbollah terrorist group has unwound much of the CIA’s spy network in the Lebanon. Below,
Cambridge academics spend a lot of time worrying about how to persuade taxpayers to keep them in ivory towers. Perhaps it’s for that reason that, twice a year, Cambridge Wordfest invites the reading public into the lecture theatre to be reminded how pleasant it is to chat about books. David Baddiel was there this weekend
How much would you spend on a joke stocking-filler? £5 £10 £15? Not much more than that, surely, the ways things are at present. This vacuous question was prompted by yesterday’s astonishing news that Penguin has apparently paid Pippa Middleton a £400,000 advance for a book on party giving, working title: How to be the
Full marks to Radio 4 for deciding to dramatise Stefan Zweig’s masterpiece, Beware of Pity (listen on BBC iPlayer). This is a rare example of a “neglected classic” that actually lives up to the hype. Born in Austria in 1881, Zweig was one of the most famous writers of the twenties and thirties, his novellas
In some ways, publishing in early post-independence India was like publishing in pre-sixties Canada: cautiously seeking native voices without much financial success. Take GV Desani’s All About H Hatterr (1948), the first Indian novel to ‘go beyond the Englishness of the English language’ as Salman Rushdie once said. It languished out of print for many years,
Several usually eloquent pens spat venom last weekend. The spat between Niall Ferguson and Pankaj Mishra and the London Review of Books has escalated. You might recall that Ferguson and Mishra trading insults over the latter’s review of the former’s book Civilisation; their acrimony has been underscored by references to racism. Mishra has since said that Ferguson
The truth is, we could probably all get by with three or four cookbooks; half a dozen at most, which makes my own collection of dozens seem a bit OTT. But what you need among them is a book that covers all the essentials, so that if you’re stuck to know what to do with
Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver believed that the ideal British prime minister was a creature wholly exempt from joy and grief who applies his words to everything except to the indication of his mind. Swift’s dilation on the virtues of political froideur is only one of many ghosts evoked by Paul Bew’s riveting portrait of the man
Jean-Louis Lebris de Kerouac, better known as Jack Kerouac (1922-1969), the son of French-Canadians spiced with the blood of Mohawk and Caughnawaga Indians and subdued, no doubt, by migration from Quebec to Lowell, an old mill town in Massachusetts, eventually fulfilled his adolescent ambition to live the life of the eccentric ‘artist’ . . .
An early sentence in this collection of stories, first published between 1979 and the current issue of Granta, runs thus: We were in the late stages now, about 45 minutes out, and I was thinking it could still change, some rude blend of weather might yet transform the land, producing texture and dimension, leaps of
The Pursued (Penguin, £12.99) is a lost crime thriller by C. S. Forester, the author of the Hornblower novels. It was written in 1935, rediscovered in 2003 and is now published for the first time. Marjorie, a suburban wife and mother, comes home after a ‘jaunt’ in ‘town’ to find her sister dead in the
This book is a mess. Simon Mann may have been brought up on John Buchan, educated at Eton and Sandhurst, and taken Conrad and the Iliad with him on his African travels, but his style is appalling — a sort of demotic militarese. Short sharp sentences. Few verbs. Acronyms sprinkled like confetti. The third sentence
Charlatan, fornicator, liar, inebriate, pugilist, Marxist, anti-Semite; Ken Livingstone has been called many things but never a writer. Actually, that’s a shame because his words following the 2005 London bombings were brilliantly defiant; perhaps the most powerful speech by a British politician in the last decade. He can be witty — the former leader of
When a man is tired of Johnson, he’s liable to vote for Livingstone. Boris has decided to head Londoners off at the pass by writing a book about them, or rather about 18 of their famed predecessors. From Boudica and Alfred the Great, through Shakespeare and Robert Hooke to Winston Churchill and Keith Richards, we
It was the second week of term and my grandson’s birthday. He had just started at primary school and the only alternative to social suicide seemed to be to invite the whole class to his party. With a few old friends that made a total of 30. They ran yelling in various enjoyably noisy games
It might be that the stage musical is now pretty well over as a form. Certainly, the gloomy parade of ‘juke-box’ musicals through the West End doesn’t give one much hope for the future. It is difficult to pick out a worst offender, but the Ben Elton We Will Rock You, confected from the Queen
I’ll never forget my first piece of secondary school Maths homework. Our hapless teacher, fresh out of training college and anxious to be liked, instructed us to decorate the front page of our exercise books with the slogan: “Maths is Fun!” Even the dimmest wits among us could see she was up to something. If
Do you fancy yourself as an edgy literary type? Have you got a thing for Marilyn Monroe? Marilyn Monroe by Norman Mailer and Bert Stern, could be the Christmas present for you. The handsome photo-book is a combination of Mailer’s cool prose and some of the most ‘revealing, intimate’ shots of Marilyn ever taken. (Revealing
What to do if you want to write a novel, but can’t find a plot (in the broadest sense of the term) around which to frame your ideas? Give up, is Margaret Atwood’s stark advice. There is no formula, she says, no easy answer to writing fiction. Most people have a creative spark, but not
Well, at least Ed’s won something. The Oxford English Dictionary has chosen Ed Miliband’s ‘squeezed middle’ as the word of the year. It beat off competition from the hopeful ‘Arab Spring’, the dully functional ‘phonehacking’ and the abominable ‘Hacktivism’. It is a remarkably political list, no doubt reflecting the interesting times in which we live.
Today is the 20th anniversary of the death of Freddie Mercury. A couple of thoughts about him, one related to reading, the other to writing. Reading first. I’ve just finished Lesley-Ann Jones’s brilliant biography of the singer (Freddie Mercury, The Definitive Biography), and have been thinking that it’s exactly the sort of tribute Mercury himself
The Guardian currently seems to be embarking on more crusades to save literature than Salman Rushdie’s Twitter account. Last week’s post by blogger Sam Jordison was no exception. He asked whether book reviews are “bland, boring and formulaic”. Fresh from judging Not the Booker (a Guardian online award designed to champion independent publishers and celebrate the vox
Amanda Craig tells us what she would title her memoirs, which book reduces her to tears and the 19th century literary heart throb her husband most looks like. 1) What are you reading at the moment? I always read several books at once, so it’s Richard Bradford’s Martin Amis biography (review), Julia Jones’s A Ravelled Flag
As part of our book of the month coverage, here is Nicholas Lezard’s review of Anthony Horowitz’s The House of Silk, taken from the current issue of the Spectator. You can read other posts on the book here. So: does Moriarty exist, or not? Well no, not really, and not just in the literal sense
The Centre for Policy Studies hosted a party for Robin Harris earlier this evening, in honour of the publication of his one volume history of the Conservatives. Andrew Gimson reviewed the book in a recent issue of the Spectator and described it as ‘a marvel of concision, lucidity and scholarship’, plenty of eminent Tories agree.
It’s that time of the year again: prepare for bad sex, courtesy of the Literary Review. The Bad Sex Awards will be held, wait for it, at the In and Out Club on 6 December. The list is still open, and readers can still nominate worthy candidate by contacting the Literary Review. At present, though,