January 27, 2019


This novel by Matt Wesolowski is very easy to read. I read it under a day- in a matter of hours actually- it is short but it is also a book in which I was thoroughly absorbed. Wesolowski's book starts with a scenario which is familiar to anyone who is a routine consumer of the news (sadly): a child, in this case a small boy called Alfie, disappeared when his father stopped the car in some woods on the Welsh/English border (the location is important). The cold case is taken up by a true crime podcaster- who presents the material in six narrative segments, each roughly from the perspective of one of the main participants in the drama. These podcast episodes are written out for us as live scripts: one chapter for example will begin in the tone of the young boy's favourite teacher, another will focus on the account of a worker of strange happenings on a building site near the woods, a third will take place in the frame of reference of a friend of the family and so on. We read the interviews which are written in the kind of language people speak and gradually we get a sense of the family and the scenario from which the child was kidnapped and what might have happened thirty years ago.

The first thing that I noticed about this book is the format. Telling this story through six podcast episodes makes the story very immediate. There were moments when I could almost hear the music that comes with one of those podcast- a "serial" or something like it that would set the scene. Wesolowski captures the voices of these individuals very powerfully too: the supply teacher and her affection for the boy, the builder, the retired businessman who owned the building site- all of them are precisely situated. You could imagine these interviews happening on this podcast in that way. Secondly, and perhaps the reason I picked up the book, I noticed the setting. Woods have their own mythical arcana in European folk history. The Welsh and English border speaks to tales of the wilderness and of the marches which spread across it in the Middle Ages. This is set in a place that does have resonances within the culture I grew up in of being ancient, uncanny and strange. Wesolowski plays with images of fairies, and beasts who rise out of the past to confront the conscience of the presence. The wood has a personality: my mind flipped to the wood which the hobbits walk through from Hobbiton in the Lord of the Rings and Old Man Willow's deceit but I'm sure everyone will have their favourite tale. The wood continues to be an image winding through the entire book: an image of darkness and mystery and crookedness.

The interviews and the woods set up what is a tale of the darkness of humanity. Most of the characters here operate on the margins of poverty: they are the school drop outs, the waiters, actors etc. It is interesting that there is very little political context to the book: 1988, when the murder happened, was a very particular time in the history of the UK: after the miner's strike but just on the edge of the recession of the early nineties and the poll tax riots. The book does have its standard political characters; the knighted industrialist is instantly identifiable, for example, as a figure from that period. The marginality of most of the characters here is important to the plot- but it is also important to the atmosphere: the stakes for young Alfie are high precisely because everyone around him is on the edge, so to speak. Wesolowski is also brilliant at capturing the attractiveness of various characters: the school teacher with her motherly ability to deal with any child put across from her, the father who is able to convey a kind of sexual charm to almost all the women in the story, the podcast host, whose sincerity I took as axiomatic as I read. There is a message to the story, and I'll leave that for you to discover, as there are surprises along route- but I think the intensity of the character development here is impressive. If you bind that together with the notion of the forest, with the notion of myth, I think what you get is a story that in its darkness has a lot to compare with myth itself.

December 30, 2018

Winston Churchill predicted it

I am currently reading Andrew Roberts's book on Winston Churchill- its a good read and Roberts has an eye for a good quotation and anecdote. There are a couple of things that I'm not happy about in the book however- one is that half the book seems to be given over to Churchill's first premiership which is probably the period of his life that we know most about and where (I haven't got there yet so may be wrong) there is  least "new" to say. The second is the occasional moment where I think Roberts overclaims for Churchill. For example, on page 43 Roberts quotes a teenage Churchill suggesting that vast changes were coming for Europe:

great upheavals, terrible struggles; wars such as one cannot imagine, and I tell you London will be in danger- London will be attacked and I will be very prominent in the defence of London. I see further ahead than you do. I see into the future. This country will be subjected somehow, to a tremendous invasion, by what means I do not know but I tell you I shall be in command of the defences of London and I shall save England and London from disaster
Anyone who knows Churchill's subsequent career, as Prime Minister in the second world war and the leader who took Britain through the Blitz, must experience a reaction reading those words. Roberts labels this "extraordinary prescience" but is it? I would argue strongly that this is not a prediction that is anything more than a teenager's grandiosity. There are details which are wrong- Britain was not invaded in 1940 but bombed and Churchill was not directly in control of the defences of London- he was Prime Minister not say Field Marshall for the capital. Churchill did not explain in his prediction, as Roberts retells it, why he thought that disaster was coming either.

This is a case as well of history being told backwards not forwards. What I mean by that is simple- we are reading Churchill as is Roberts through the lens of 1940-5. It is understandable- people often talk about history explaining who we are and how we came to be the kind of people we are. It does not help us understand the past that well: we can't see Churchill correctly if we view his entire career as a preparation for the moment he faced Hitler. Churchill in 1893 or 1903 or 1913 had no knowledge- and neither did any of his friends or enemies- of what would happen in 1943 or 1953. When you read the statement above, you can only see what it really means if you forget the blitz and Dunkirk, and even forget the Somme and Gallipoli and Sidney Street and think of it through the lens of a precocious teenager, arguing with and boasting to his friends at school. It tells us a lot about that teenager- both in terms of his interests (clearly historical and in the broad sweep of history and politics), his ability to imagine and his sense of his own importance- but it tells us little about that teenager's future or indeed the future of his country.

May 31, 2017


I saw Martin Scorsese's Silence back in January and I have been thinking about it ever since. It is a film about the persecution of Christians in Japan in the mid seventeenth century and the real phenomenon of priests who went there from the Spanish possessions in the Philippines and,after capture, recanted their faith. The story is based upon a novel by the Japanese novelist Shusako Endo, which reimagines the story from the point of view of an imagined priest (SebastiĆ£o Rodrigues) modelled on Guissepe Chiara. There is so much that is of interest in the film and the story: for a start, the mid seventeenth century is an important point in the history of Japan. Japan is not the only country to have partially formed through the persecution of a religious minority- you could say the same of England and Spain for example. There is also the story of the Japanese Christians which is touched on here, who survived through this persecution right down to the present day. Lastly there is the story that I think Scorsese is most interested in, the story of the priest who recanted and why.

The history of Christianity is the history of an extended meditation on this theme. For the Church Fathers this was a real issue or one that was real in living memory. The early Church was persecuted under Emperors such as Nero, Decius and Diocletian. The son of God, according to Christians, met his death in an act of religious persecution. The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church said Tertullian in the 2nd Century. Furthermore those images have resonated down the centuries. Martin Luther, for example, cast himself in their image when he went to the Diet of Worms. Martyrdom is key to Christianity- so the real challenge of this film is explaining how a priest, who went to Japan knowing that persecution was happening, knowing that he would be captured, confessed.

The first thing to say is that we don't and can't know why the priests who recanted confessed. Neither I, nor Scorsese, nor Endo have any access to what they thought or why they did it. Even memoirs would be self serving. So all we have is an imagined thought experiment- why did they confess? What I think is interesting about this film is that it provides a Christian counter narrative for that confession. The argument here is that the priest who does not confess is arrogantly seeking to sacrifice others for his own vanity. Confessing is a way of saving the lives of others. The inquisitors do not threaten the priest with torture and death, they say that if he holds out, they will threaten his followers with torture and death. Notice for a second that I have used the word life- not soul. This to me is the real weakness of the argument of the film. There is a Christian case for allowing people to die when they are being persecuted- for tonight they shall be in Paradise. I found this argument on first sight therefore rather weak. It seemed to miss the point of Christian theology. Augustine for example continuously says in De Civitate Dei that the focus of human hope and human fear should be on the City of God not the City of Man.

This is not an easy dilemma but its one on which I think Silence largely turns. Scorsese seeks to address this dilemma in part by having his main character at the end of the film face Christ himself who commands him to make the decision to recant. We can see this as an easy way out for the director. We could also see this as part of another tension in Christianity between the word- scripture- and revelation from God directly. This conflict played its way out in the seventeenth century- just take the English Civil War- but also in the Catholic Church over time, with the conflict between the Church hierarchy and various orders of monks, nuns and friars. Is the Christ that we see a devil or really Christ and how would someone, racked by hunger, listening to the screams of his co-accused, realising the pain and agony that is to come, make that distinction?

I am not going to answer any of these questions. Theologically, there are probably cases on both sides. What I feel is so interesting about Silence as a film is its attempt to take us inside these dilemmas, to let us try and imagine what the right decision for this priest in Japan might have been. From a secular view point in the 21st century, admittedly one I probably subscribe to, that choice seems obvious- confess, recant and save lives. What I think the film almost does and where it does do this, it succeeds in being a great film, is show us that that decision for a 17th Century Catholic priest was not simple nor was it morally uncomplicated.

May 21, 2017

Lady Macbeth

I have tried to write a review of Lady Macbeth three times so far and failed each time. It is easy to write a synopsis of this film but I don't want to do that. The film is about one of the oldest cinematic story- a young wife, with an older husband, who falls in love with a younger man. We've seen it often from the male point of view- think for example of The Postman always rings twice- a story which focusses on John Garfield as the central narrator. Lady Macbeth plays with this narrative because the central character is not the male lover, not the husband, both of whom have barely any character at all. The central figure in the film is the wife- she is the only character in this film with any character whatsoever. Florence Pugh plays this Lady Macbeth- Catherine- brilliantly and her performance is definitely the best thing about the film. What she shows though is a character who is neither likeable nor admirable- though possibly sympathetic.

It is easy to sympathise with Catherine in the film. She is married to a husband who not merely is older and implicitly not sexually attractive to her but who will not give her any sexual outlet. Her father in law humiliates her- demanding that she has a child when he knows that his son will not take the necessary action. She is confined in doors by the two of them and by respectable opinion and she is clearly constrained in everything she can or might do. She is treated by her husband as though she were a commodity that his father bought for him, along with a piece of land that as he says would not even provide enough fodder for a cow. This is a woman trapped in a sexist household and constrained in a sexist society. Even after her husband dies, she is still threatened by the potential threat of a male coming into her world and taking it over. Perhaps most symbolically, the film traps Catherine in her house- which feels very Victorian and starchy. She is also trapped by her clothes- we see her again and again being put into corseted dresses, a symbol of her constrained circumstances.

However whilst she is sympathetic, she is not likeable. Catherine is not dislikeable because she has an affair. I think any reasonable woman or man seeing her position would see how an affair was natural. She wants in the early parts of the film affection and sexual desire which her husband will not, for some unexplained reason, give her. However, she is still not likeable. There is another set of relationships in the film apart from the relationships between Catherine and the men in her life and that is the relationships between Catherine and her social inferiors- including her maid and her lover. Catherine's relationship with her maid- Anna- is vicious and she exploits her position as a mistress to the full. She clearly treats Anna badly at several points in the film. This is a woman who sees nothing in making her maid complicit in murder. She also steals Anna's love interest. With her lover, Catherine's behaviour may not be as coercive, but it is still clear that their relationship is all about sex and not about his personality or his qualities. Catherine is unlikeable because she constrains other characters in similar ways to the ways in which her husband and father constrain her.

What I took from Lady Macbeth was a horror story. It is set in an imagined 19th century- where slavery existed in the North of England. Her fieriness may remind one of Catherine Earnshaw- but that Catherine's story is very different. This is fictional setting I think makes me generalise this story- it is not about a particular place or time but about a human condition of constraint. What's interesting about it I think is that no character in this film really has a character. Catherine's character is the most fully developed- but I think for her, we have three real insights- firstly the effects of sexist constraint, secondly her exploitation of class constraint and thirdly her raw desire for pleasure and independence. Character has been obliterated by convention. In an odd way, the very stylised dialogue which made me think of Pinter reasserts that point. Human beings communicate in this film to express lust, domination and order- rather than to communicate about their different worlds. Catherine has no apparent interests- her one interest (going outside) is really a symbolic choice by the director to suggest her desire for freedom.

Some reviewers have seen this film and come across with much less complicated feelings about it than mine (take Deborah Ross in the Spectator for example). My own analysis is that this film is in a sense a fable about how extreme constraints on human behaviour produce a humanity drained of everything save for its desire for freedom. The constraints on Catherine and on Anna mean that their personalities are only really visible in their conformity or struggle against those constraints. It is suggestive I think that these two- both of the characters who we feel sympathy with in the film- are left at the end of it both mutely looking into an uncertain future.

April 15, 2017

The railways in Scotland

I was doing some research a couple of years ago in the British Library and came across John Kerr's Memories Grave and Gay- an account of his life as a school inspector. Kerr is an interesting source for school inspection in the late 19th century but he is also an interesting source for the way in which Scots treated the inspector. Kerr was interested not just in recording the content and the ideology of his inspections but also the way in which he found Scotland itself. One of the most interesting facets of this was transport. Kerr was appointed to be an inspector in 1860 within the 'whole of the north of Scotland, between Dundee and Shetland, with the exception of Perthshire and the Western Islands'. He was one of three men who covered this vast area and he described them as 'regular vagabonds' (p.14). Kerr says in his memoir that he was 'one of the last men in Scotland who did his travelling by the now almost disused pair of saddle-bags' and equipped with waterproofs said he rode several times from Dundee to John O'Groats and back.

Trains were just making it to Scotland in this period. Kerr describes his experiences with them in this fairly long passage.

On the Elgin and Rothes line I saw the Provost of Elgin walk across a field with a letter in his hand, which he waved to the driver of a train going at its usual full speed. The train stopped and the guard took charge of the letter. At Ordens, a siding on the Banff and Buckie branch line, I was instructed to go into this siding and as the train approached, set fire to a newspaper or other material that would make a good blaze and the train would stop. The night was very dark and windy and I failed to set fire to the newspaper, but a stentorian shout which I executed had the same effect and I was taken on board. On another occasion, I called on a school correspondent whose house was about a mile from a station on the Findhorn line. When I proposed to walk back to the station, he said "You needn't take the trouble. I always stop it as it goes past." And he did. (pp. 22-3) 

There is a serious point here beyond the whimsy of stopping trains like taxis. Transport in these remote areas of Scotland was obviously badly used and limited. What Kerr was doing would not have been out of the ordinary to someone in the reign of Macbeth- riding around the northern hamlets and villages. What was different is that there is no indication in his memoir of any fear of highwaymen or bandits- something that anyone doing what he did in centuries past would have faced. Secondly in terms of the railways, I think you can see the fascinating way in which railways came in to life here- in the response of the correspondent you see an attitude to railways that is far less limited to the station than our attitude today- but also depends as Kerr notes on the fact that that line was under used. (Incidentally he points out it was closed by 1902 when he wrote the book- a line that didn't even make the Beeching cull of the early 1960s). The availability of this kind of transport though was only arriving in the Britain of 1860: and that tells us something about the way in which the UK government could project its power. I wonder as well whether it is entirely an accident that the kind of administrative welfare that Kerr represented- with its systems of central funding and inspection- arose at the same time as the mass transport Kerr recognised arriving in the Highlands.

April 20, 2016

Medieval Poisoning a doorway on the past

I haven't yet finished Stephen Bednarski's book on Margarida du Portu, accused of poisoning in her medieval town in the fourteenth century. Du Portu was accused of poisoning her husband by her brother in law, Raymon, and for the moment I'll leave it there. Bednarski's book is interesting because its a reflexive book. He goes inside his own choices and shows you the different books he might have written. His interest is in family history so the first story he shows you is the story of Margarita and Raymon. Then he shows you how you could tell the same story but focus on the gender aspects or the way that it reveals how Roman law was practiced in a medieval French town. The story becomes illuminated from different points with the different angles of light illuminating different features of the tale.

It is a really interesting way of writing history and one I've not seen much of before. It takes you inside the box with the historian. I found it quite disorientating. I was quite gripped by the story of Du Portu's family and to be suddenly transported back into the confines of Roman legal procedure and how it worked in this case- I found quite disturbing. I also found it spoiled the book for me in some ways- the neat flowing story that my mind wanted was broken up. That's possibly a good thing- but its an interesting thing because it shows to me how much I am dependent on that narrative flow to understand the world. As soon as you present the way that the light shifts depending on how the historian shines the torch, my mind struggles and gets upset.

January 30, 2014

12 year a slave: views of Washington

After seeing the film, 12 years a slave, I went away and read the book by Solomon Northup, published in 1853 on which the film is based. There are numerous features which aren't in the film but are in the book. One that I thought was really interesting was that the film doesn't make explicit some of the things that Northup says. Northup is very keen to bring out the hypocrisy of the Washington establishment: for example, he talks of Washington, and says of the house that he was imprisoned in

Strange as it may seem, within plain sight of this same house, looking down from its commanding height upon it, was the Capitol. The voices of patriotic representatives boasting of freedom and equality and the rattling of the poor slave's chains, almost commingled. A slave pen within the very shadow of the Capitol.
We can support Solomon's insight with other sources. Solomon also mentions a time when the ships sailed bearing him south, as they passed Mount Vernon, the White Men bared their heads to the memory of George Washington, whether the black slaves did is left to us to imagine.

There were probably good artistic reasons to leave these things out. Slavery is not a live political issue today- but I think they also demonstrate the change of genre that the film represents as opposed to the book. The Book is quite clearly a political polemic: its saying, look America is the land of the free and Washington fought for justice for all- look at how you don't do this. The film is talking about the suffering of the slaves in the past- a suffering that thanks to the sacrifice of US citizens (both black and white) has passed. I can imagine reading the book in 1853 would have been a completely different experience to how we see the film in 2014: the latter is a shocking artefact, the former something more akin to reading about an atrocity today. Our responses are different therefore: the book is trying to rouse anger, the film, understanding and regret. The book fights against actual southerners who believed in slavery, the film against forgetting the suffering.