Interesting enough, though no massive revelations. In practice focussing on a handful of sectors that are likely to become more significant (genomics,Interesting enough, though no massive revelations. In practice focussing on a handful of sectors that are likely to become more significant (genomics, cybersecurity, codified money, etc. I haven't got skills in any of them, so cheers, mate. Suffers slightly from that written-by-a-high-level-wonk effect where we're not spared references to Secretary Clinton's impressive endeavours - which of course now reads very differently. Reasonably optimistic though - and turns out speaking languages will still be a skill of sorts, Gott Sei Dank. ...more
I hunted this book down (and found it at Stratford library) after discovering that my new neighbourhood is Small Faces country par excellence, and thaI hunted this book down (and found it at Stratford library) after discovering that my new neighbourhood is Small Faces country par excellence, and that Steve Marriott was born and grew up a few doors down from our house. Renee - in the song about the prostitute - lived at number two hundred and something.
Quite the archetypal rock tragedy, in many ways - and grimly readable for that. This is rock stardom in an age when young stars were brazenly exploited by assorted crooks (included Sharon Osborne's thieving father, Don Arden), gigged more in two weeks than most bands in a year and had all the self control of kids in a candy shop - only that's not candy, it's cocaine and booze, and boy did Marriott like that .
It's a pretty fascinating story: working class talent from a rough part of town, rises to fame way too young and is dead by forty something. What stands out is how young they were, how much they drank (I mean, does anyone drink brandy like that anymore?) and how commercially naive they were. I was also reminded of how much rockers of a certain age love their blues / R&B - something which I eternally struggle with (it's fucking boring, right) - I remember reading in Simon Reynolds's Retromania about John Lennon going through a second adolescence in the early seventies and wanting to just play blues and drawing a cultural blank - or maybe that was just the lyric of Jimmy T. Chaps 'Rhythm and Blues is Fucking Tedious', itself a close borrowing the riff from Chappy T. Jimm's 'Can We Get Some (More Chords In?)'.
Naturally, you find yourself rooting for Marriott, while realising as the years pass by that he's a pretty broken, desperate case and was probably a nightmare to be around . After a while, the walk-outs and strops go well past Spinal Tap levels and he just sounds like an arse... that thing he said in Germany about Hitler and a gas bill probably the final wince. But amazing voice, you have to agree...and evidently a force of nature. As a piece of writing, it's a little bit clunky, but well meant. I'm just disappointed that Lazy Sunday Afternoon was seen as a bit of a liability. The line ''ello Mrs Jones: how's your Bert's lumbago?' (apparently overheard in a stairwell) is priceless. ...more
As with 95% of business books, could have been half the length. Still, sensible enough and a welcome shape up of the ossified methods I've had to partAs with 95% of business books, could have been half the length. Still, sensible enough and a welcome shape up of the ossified methods I've had to participate in over the years....more
(Read after AN's appearance on La Librairie Francophone - and only lately becoming aware of her as a Belgian publishing sensation of shorts). Yet to w(Read after AN's appearance on La Librairie Francophone - and only lately becoming aware of her as a Belgian publishing sensation of shorts). Yet to work what her English language equivalent would be (the Jodis and Jojos?).
Lightweight, but pretty entertainingly dark. No huge surprises where it heads, but some decent set pieces. Claude is enjoyably awful - from that hyper-driven 'You Shall Be My Wife' act that I'm sure we were once supposed to admire, all the way down to the cheesy eighties Chanel No. 5 and flowers. I kind of wanted him to drown in a vat of overpriced champagne or get blown off the Eiffel tower in a freak gust of wind, but you can't win them all. ...more
(Franse versie op de achtergrond / Version française au verso)
3.5.
A peculiar choice for such a prominent prize. Very much of our times and in a mode(Franse versie op de achtergrond / Version française au verso)
3.5.
A peculiar choice for such a prominent prize. Very much of our times and in a mode that you see a lot in English language fiction: the fictionalised writer's memoir / diary. In this case our narrator is a French writer based in Istanbul, hanging out with the Western-learning beau monde and writing about and learning about the life of murdered Armenian writer, Hrant Dink.
To be honest, it's actually all rather interesting in itself, if you imagine it as a piece of contemporary reportage on the State of Turkey: the erosion of civil rights, the silence around minority victimhood and the outrageous suppression of truth about the Armenian genocide (ever was it so). For all that, our narrator is self-confessedly only partially there (she doesn't speak the language) and in the conceit she's mostly being passed insights from assorted clever others - with a hint of occasional personal anxiety and the odd nightmare.
I dunno: it certainly casts light on modern Turkey (which, Economist aside, is something that's not unwelcome) and got me reading more around the life of Hrant Dink. But did we need this novel? It's the oddest choice. Did we need it? Not sure. I suspect Armenia is rather more front of mind in France than elsewhere (alongside matters of race and identity?). Perhaps that connection gives it closer proximity.
For all that, the novel does have substance and purpose, which the standard Anglo-Saxon 'Novel About Writer Writing a Novel (With Occasional Cameos From Other Writers)' I tend to find myself reading rarely do. I mean, at least it's got something bigger in its sights than bowel movements, migraines and this idea I'm trying to develop about Woolf in a cafe in Williamsburg with my smart friend Megan with bangs. Always with bangs.
There's little here I'd disagree with, really, and the idea that much of it can be found in the original deeds of municipal liberalism andYes please.
There's little here I'd disagree with, really, and the idea that much of it can be found in the original deeds of municipal liberalism and capitalism-with-a-conscience is convincing. I never got round to reading Maurice Glassman and the Blue Labour thing, but I suspect much of it can be found in here: the idea of welfare as egalitarian but contributory; the idea of localism; nation state as a good thing, etc. I loved the rebuttal of the right's sovereignty fetish (sovereignty in the 21st century is like a bloke on the tube during rush hour getting all hissy about personal space and Brompton room).
I also really enjoyed the memoir element of it: the ceiling-blasting power of reading; the Tory materfamilias teaching Collins to read at three from The Times in 1970 (it's fairly established in my family that my older brother taught me to read from Peter and Jane). He's absolutely right about the beauty of a power transition and the ballot box. It's so easy to forget how miraculous the peaceful transfer of power is in a democracy.
Slightly scattergun and shopping listy in places and only a few turkeys. I'm an ardent republican, but I nowadays 'get' and agree to humour the British thing for monarchy - it's like panto and Sunday Roasts... fucking awful rituals but you just have to leave them to it. So the idea of streamlining the honours system and de-dafting parliamentary ritual feels a bit de trop (seriously: it'll never happen).
Bravo. If only even half of this would happen....more
Decent, sober and convincing analysis of how we've come to live in this bewildering political Age of Stupid (which - by the way - is here to stay.
StiDecent, sober and convincing analysis of how we've come to live in this bewildering political Age of Stupid (which - by the way - is here to stay.
Still, it can at times feel like it begins to be an apologia (look, they're racists. Le Pen: racist. Trump: racist. Voters for them: kinda racist).
One area I think it misses: the adaptation and rearticulation of racism over recent years, such that surveys will tell you that people are not xenophobes but merely worried about threats to 'our way of life' (whatever that means). Look, you can still play cricket, go to a pub, walk your dog, have a Sunday roast, non?
This tendency to couch attitudes in contemporary language shouldn't be taken as meaning populist voters 'aren't racist'. The writers here feel rather too trusting.
Still, depressingly accurate on the withering of social democracy: in retrospect, god knows how that ever worked....more
2.5. Good summary of thinking, but generally stating the bleeding obvious and little you won't already know: people like greenery; richer people live 2.5. Good summary of thinking, but generally stating the bleeding obvious and little you won't already know: people like greenery; richer people live in nicer areas; academic studies in a lot of these areas are laughably feeble. Well meaning, but a bit underwhelming. Wanna book on cities and psychology? Jane Jacobs....more
Extremely readable and nicely uncluttered (sticking to Heart of Darkness, Nostromo, Lord Jim and a few other titles helps). Not sure how far this goesExtremely readable and nicely uncluttered (sticking to Heart of Darkness, Nostromo, Lord Jim and a few other titles helps). Not sure how far this goes to being proper biography though - but perhaps that wasn't the mission.
Full of cracking anecdotes and some utterly knockout Victorian superheroes: I mean Cunninghame-Graham, man. Jesus, what an amazing life. Fascinating too to see how JC knew Roger Casement; the observation that he was 'all emotion' is so smart - one gets the impression that Casement was a sort of decent, non-cuntish Galloway or suchlike. And Conrad himself: what a remarkable life too. I find it incredibly useful to know about the ex-szlachta background: that will explain a ton of outsider spirit.
And Congo. Some fine focus on this fascinating, ghoulish chapter. I can't wait for the Tevuren African museum to open in Brussels - I'm hoping for a massive wing to be dedicated to Leopold's mutilation and murder hustle. Not a big fan of statue removal outside former dictatorships, but next time I see a statue of him in Brussels (I think there aren't many left), I am definitely going to micturate on it.
This one came heavy with praise from various colleagues. Strong concept, but profoundly tedious and slow-going in its execution. As per the form with This one came heavy with praise from various colleagues. Strong concept, but profoundly tedious and slow-going in its execution. As per the form with very many business books (this happens nearly every time), it's making points that could easily be condensed into a short essay.
Somewhere in there, there are a handful of useful dimensions to think about (e.g. high context vs low context communication). But successive dimensions feel narrower and narrower - to the extent where I'm not sure 'giving negative feedback' deserves its own axis. As with a lot of it, you could probably make some more universal, multi-behavioural generalisations (I'd probably start by looking again at Hofstede actually).
What I found most grinding about it though was the high corporate tone of it all, and the heavy reliance on dreary anecdote populated by dreary business lounge dullards - being, no doubt, ultimately pitched at Americans, who buy 97% of the world's business books. Every faithfully named and job-titled character is slightly wet behind the ears and in for a big surprise that the half self-aware reader has seen a mile off. And then you start to notice the writer's tic of picking out one element of an appearance ('a lady with a neat bob', 'with smiley eyes', 'with snowy white hair').
At intervals I wanted to yell "Look, sod Geoff Tipple. Just sum the point you're making up in two lines". And as with many a business book too, we're never far away from a pitch for consultancy work or conference speech opportunities. Thus:
'While providing leading edge consultancy for a lot of money at a range of major businesses across Western Europe, I was approached recently by Jens Kugelschreiber, a London-based VP from Amsterdam who was working with a team across Indonesia and Legoland. Kugelschreiber, who sported a jet black moustache, explained that he had been experiencing tensions with Chinese colleagues after exposing his private parts during meetings. 'I don't understand it. I do this all the time at HQ'. I told him to read my book, and stop exposing his private parts during meetings. 'It worked! Now I only expose them to Germans', said Jens. Lesson: don't expose your private parts during meetings in China. And maybe everywhere else. Actually, just don't be a prick'.
Superbly accomplished and fully deserves the attention it's been getting.
With less expert handling, a first-person, child's eye take on Belgian nowherSuperbly accomplished and fully deserves the attention it's been getting.
With less expert handling, a first-person, child's eye take on Belgian nowheresville's domestic violence could easily be forced and feel commercially opportunistic. Instead we here's a distinctive, utterly credible young girl's perspective and steady coming of age. If this was British, it would be crowded with class and regional accent, but happily this isn't.
The world it creates is brutal and haunting; our protagonist's cosmology is superbly evocative and weird (the spirit of the hyena; the one Gaulish village holding out in Gilles' body). The imagination of a child's imagination is terrific - from Back to the Future Time Travel to the cemetery of cars. Adults rarely get their real names: 'La Plume', 'Le Champion'... it's childlhood par excellence. And from there, the characterisation is superb - real Chekhovian economy. Dad is pretty much the sum of his jaw movements and a remarkably menacing creature; Gilles checking out all her limbs; mother with her 'earn money and leave' and 'amibe' status.
Vivid, stark memoir of the writer's year in detention for joining a student protest in the late sixties, c/o the Moroccan army. Captures the everyday Vivid, stark memoir of the writer's year in detention for joining a student protest in the late sixties, c/o the Moroccan army. Captures the everyday brutality and mental torture of a civil-rights-free existence at the hands of assorted psychopaths and Illiterates.
One for your '20th Century Tyranny' shelf, alongside Solzhenitsyn and Koestler. (Particularly if you're one of those little shits in my political orbit currently beguiled by totalitarianism)....more
I heard Polet being interviewed about this on La Librairie Francophone and the idea really grabbed me. It's co[Franco-Belge literature year continues)
I heard Polet being interviewed about this on La Librairie Francophone and the idea really grabbed me. It's conceptually really interesting - setting the emergence of a mass-movement based on direct democracy in 2012ish Europe. Think: Occupy meets 5 Star Movement meets wonky political innovation.
What we get is three well-rounded testimonials of the movement from three very different characters: convincingly human, but not quite the daring reimagining-of-politics-through-fiction that I was hoping to find.
Firstly, there aren't so very many radical ideas or mechanisms to speak of, beyond rather familiar 'direct democracy', that digital financial transaction tax (which proves to be a panacea), a swift settling of the Belgian national question and a swift erosion of European borders...because... hmmm, not sure. Secondly, the 'how' is rather conveniently unanswered and unconvincing; how, for example, did that tiresome question of borders and tribe suddenly disappear; how did we manage to not bring back the guillotine and summary executions of paedophiles, for example. In other words: it would have been nice to see how a 'Tous' might feel to a woman who runs a flower shop or a photocopier engineer in Mechelen. (Actually, I'd also like to know how a digital transaction tax isn't every bit as as dodgy as the fabled 'Flat Tax' - where millionaires pay the same as cleaners).
For all that, some fine characterisations. I really enjoyed the retelling of the awakening of the autistic Adam by his bereaved father. Our pompous Greek diplomat was made bearable (along with his sometimes achingly technocratic details) by virtue of a well-played father-son tension. Our heroine is likewise engaging - her injuries are a strong plot-driver (I assumed she'd been hospitalised by enemies of Tous - government or other).
So, well crafted and highly original - but could do with more meat on those bones....more
Finally got round to reading this - a mere 20 years too late. Lively, thoughtful and full of character. The album's a c[Franco-Belge season continues]
Finally got round to reading this - a mere 20 years too late. Lively, thoughtful and full of character. The album's a clever device for exploring the family's stories, and I have to confess I spent a lot of time trying to determine who each was based on. Several I *think* I could recognise (I'm thinking of the son who invents a new language, randomly adding ge- to French words, playing out the Vlaams-Wallon divide at every turn). But I could be wrong. Plenty of echoes of things I'd heard (though I thought I had the monopoly on kibbutzniks! Clearly not.). Bravo / kol haKavod. ...more
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