Hating Them

Nuruddin Farah, 18 September 1997

I have been thinking about Responsibility ever since visiting Mogadiscio last year: the householder’s responsibility to the household, that of the smaller community to the larger, of the...

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Diary: The Lake Taupo Stamp

Christopher Hadley, 18 September 1997

Three and a half hours into the auction at the Westbury Hotel in London earlier this year, Jason Chapman is smoking Old Holborn rolled in liquorice paper. In the inside left pocket of his blazer...

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Taking Bad Arguments Seriously

Ian Hacking, 21 August 1997

The idea of social construction is wonderfully liberating. It reminds us, for example, that motherhood and its meanings are not the fixed and inevitable consequence of child-bearing and rearing,...

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Diary: A Psychiatrist in Gorazde

Lynne Mastnak, 21 August 1997

Monday. Something has happened in Gorazde. I have the feeling I am on the receiving end of an exponential increase in violence and distress, as if my being a psychiatrist here has suddenly given...

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Large and Rolling

Penelope Fitzgerald, 31 July 1997

Anthony Sampson begins and ends his book with an account of his grandfather’s funeral, held, as requested in his will, at the top of a Welsh mountain, Foel Goch. Among the mourners were...

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The Road to Paraguay

Edward Luttwak, 31 July 1997

Our highly unreliable map of Bolivia puts the distance from Trinidad to Santa Cruz de la Sierra at roughly 500 km, none of it paved. But after driving through floods and deep mud all the way from...

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Sergeant Jones’s Sleeping-Bag

Michael Ignatieff, 17 July 1997

It adds greatly to the glamour of this book that its author was threatened for having written it. Her offence was to argue that many of the passing media events of our culture – chronic...

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Diary: I was William Hague’s Tutor

R.W. Johnson, 17 July 1997

Johannesburg, one can never forget, is a mining town. There are physical reminders – great pyramids of spoil from the mines litter the landscape – but more entrenched is the...

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Talking More, Lassooing Less

Michael Rogin, 19 June 1997

Will Rogers died in 1935 the most loved man in America. Ray Robinson, who was 14 years old, remembers the news reaching his summer camp by radio and spreading like wildfire from bungalow to...

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Larkin was right, more or less

Michael Mason, 5 June 1997

Historians prefer not to think about coincidence. It threatens their generalising if the resemblances between events are just accidental. Simon Szreter’s remarkable and very important book...

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In the index to that best of bedside books, the Army and Navy Stores Catalogue for 1915, there are 148 entries under ‘Brushes, various’. For men there were such essentials as...

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Raving

Hari Kunzru, 22 May 1997

‘Ecstasy’ is a brand name. According to tradition, the tag first became attached to the drug MDMA (3-4 methylenedioxymethamphetamine) some time in the early Eighties, when it moved...

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Yakety-Yak

Frank Cioffi, 8 May 1997

An unfortunate student who had been attempting to attract Harvey Sacks’s attention: HS: Are you asking a question, or are you bidding or what? Q: Well I was just wondering if we are ever...

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Diary: Protesting at Fairmile

Jay Griffiths, 8 May 1997

The scene: the A30 protest, at Fairmile. The cast includes a girl called Animal, a dog called Badger, a man called Ratty, and Swampy digging his famous tunnel. A white Rasta is cleaning dishes...

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Top of the Class

Geoffrey Hawthorn, 8 May 1997

No theorist of what only a theorist would dare to call ‘modern society’ commands more attention in the anglophone world; no one is closer to the centre of the local ‘field of...

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It is easy to conjure up landscapes of the past peopled by holy fools, and to suppose that medieval times were full of simpleton jesters, and boy bishops leading rites of inversion and showing...

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Get it out of your system

Jenny Diski, 8 May 1997

It’s life, death and the whole cyclical thing we can’t stand. We are appalled by life’s fertility, and anything that reminds us of it, especially anything that provokes thoughts of excess, will be...

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Diary: Just across the Water

Edward Luttwak, 24 April 1997

My son Joseph, his college room-mate Benjamin and I had come to the lowlands of the Beni in Bolivia to see the animal life. But the rains had caused plenty of problems for our 4x4 on the journey...

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