The least you can do is read it

Ian Hamilton, 2 October 1997

Cyril Connolly is famous now, and was famous in his lifetime, for not having written a masterpiece. A peculiar sort of fame: after all, many thousands of literary persons share the same...

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Earl Grey Moments

Tobias Jones, 2 October 1997

The speechless quality of music is much envied and imitated. Spoken language follows in music’s wake, verbalisation a poor second best. The musical metaphors of Romanticism are steeped in...

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Poem: ‘Dead Button: China Command Aircrew’

Christopher Middleton, 2 October 1997

Now the dead button does not stick, Where should we put it? The rock face We hit, propellers feathering, off the map, Provided our skeletons, but first Sorrow, deep, no news, a lacuna cut out In...

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Three Poems

Charles Simic, 2 October 1997

The School for Visionaries The teacher sits with eyes closed. When you play chess alone, it’s always      your move. I’m in the last row with a firefly...

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Hagiophagy

Elaine Showalter, 2 October 1997

Michèle Roberts’s sensual saints are so bloodthirsty that I wonder whether the heroine seduces her visitor or eats him.

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Rainy Days

Gabriele Annan, 18 September 1997

The only book about Albania I had read before this one was Edith Durham’s deadpan account of her travels there before the First World War. It is called In High Albania and describes how she...

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The Life of Henri Grippes

Jonathan Coe, 18 September 1997

This enormous volume – beautifully designed, bound and typeset by its publishers – represents the merest sliver of Mavis Gallant’s lifelong achievement. Even discounting the two...

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Poem: ‘Impossibility’

Robert Crawford, 18 September 1997

Under the North Sea, a mile off Elie Where once she was noticed in a mullioned window, White lace cap rising, brooding over her table, Margaret Oliphant Wilson Oliphant Translates onto starfish...

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Two Poems

Ruth Padel, 18 September 1997

Sumatran Watching him handle his life as a flame-thrower on pilgrimage for a key geological event – say, volcanic eruption in snow, the frozen cocaine of church bells giving out under ice...

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Dancing in Her Doc Martens

Lorna Scott Fox, 18 September 1997

‘Dares to be intellectual,’ breathed the Guardian’s review of Patricia Duncker’s first novel, Hallucinating Foucault. But co-opting the defenceless Michel Foucault into a...

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Such a Husband

John Bayley, 4 September 1997

The two most interesting letters in this selection are not by Meredith: a fact suggestive of the Meredithian tendency to evade evidence or embodiment of a personal sort, and disappear into the...

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Poem: ‘Botanical Gardens’

Don Coles, 4 September 1997

Here’s a handy Arcadia, let’s go in. Rich loamy smell, heavy fronds – I’ll hold this one up while you bend through. Frangula siliquastrum – fissured trunk, glossy...

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Burning Witches

Michael Rogin, 4 September 1997

In 1955, the Daily Express conducted a poll to discover the most popular celebrities according to highbrow, middlebrow and lowbrow tastes. Raymond Chandler and Marilyn Monroe were, as Chandler...

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Poem: ‘Elegiac Stanzas’

Anthony Thwaite, 4 September 1997

The famous poet’s mistress, forty years ago, Now heard five times a week on radio Acting an ageing upper-class virago. ‘The deadbeats of the Caves de France, the suicidal’, The...

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A Very Good Job for a Swede

E.S. Turner, 4 September 1997

In his first Father Brown story, ‘The Blue Cross’, published in 1910, G.K. Chesterton introduced a ‘colossus of crime’ who seemed to have strayed in from Comic Cuts: a...

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When the Balloon Goes up

Michael Wood, 4 September 1997

A young woman is shaken in her understanding of who she is and what she wants. The walking holiday she and her husband have planned now seems, Ian McEwan says, ‘a pointless detour from her...

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Pretty Much like Ourselves

Terry Eagleton, 4 September 1997

Left-wing utopias which dream of a society beyond privilege are instances of the privileges they disown: as Oscar Wilde knew, there is something offensively idle and frivolous about thinking up other worlds,...

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Poem: ‘For the Record’

Simon Armitage, 21 August 1997

Ever since the very brutal extraction of all four of my wisdom teeth, I’ve found myself talking with another man’s mouth, so to speak, and my tongue has become a mollusc such as an...

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