Culture Vulture: reviews round-up

The critics' verdicts on memoirs by Antonia Fraser and Edmund White.

 

Don't look back in anger

In the Guardian, Blake Morrison has only good things to say for Antonia Fraser's Must You Go? My Life with Harold Pinter: "the book is intimate without being confessional . . . But she's not so discreet as to be dull." He believes that "[Pinter's] wishes have been honoured in this book, which is less flowery than most elegies have a right to be, one year on". Robert Harris in the Sunday Times concedes that the book "certainly has at times a bosom-heaving, lace-handkerchief-fluttering quality", but is concerned at how Pinter's first wife and son are treated "with chilling contempt". Charles Spencer, in the Telegraph, describes it as a "moving and compellingly readable memoir", which is written "with palpable love, warmth, affection and a huge sense of loss . . . the book is deeply moving in its closing section, following Pinter's cancer diagnosis in 2001".

One-trick pony?

For Jay Parini in the Guardian, the novelist and critic Edmund White's New York memoir, City Boy, is "the story of sexuality run amok, detached from love, caught in its own whirligig of mindless sensual motion . . . [White] takes us into the 1960s and 70s, describing Manhattan life in those tumultuous decades with a compulsive, self-revelatory energy." To Nicholas Shakespeare in the Telegraph, it is "at bottom, an old-fashioned period piece about a fascinating period". Despite flashes of White at his best, Shakespeare "wanted to like the result more than I did. Too often I found myself wondering if he had mistaken candour for truth or if his characters were one-trick ponies overly defined by their sexuality."

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Katy Perry just saved the Brits with a parody of Donald Trump and Theresa May

Our sincerest thanks to the pop star for bringing one fleeting moment of edge to a very boring awards show.

Now, your mole cannot claim to be an expert on the cutting edge of culture, but if there’s one thing we can all agree on in 2017, it’s that the Brit Awards are more old hat than my press cap. 

Repeatedly excluding the genres and artists that make British music genuinely innovative, the Brits instead likes to spend its time rewarding such dangerous up-and-coming acts as Robbie Williams. And it’s hosted by Dermot O’Leary.

Which is why the regular audience must have been genuinely baffled to see a hint of political edge entering the ceremony this year. Following an extremely #makeuthink music video released earlier this week, Katy Perry took to the stage to perform her single “Chained to the Rhythm” amongst a sea of suburban houses. Your mole, for one, doesn’t think there are enough model villages at popular award ceremonies these days.

But while Katy sang of “stumbling around like a wasted zombie”, and her house-clad dancers fell off the edge of the stage, two enormous skeleton puppets entered the performance in... familiar outfits.

As our Prime Minister likes to ask, remind you of anyone?

How about now?

Wow. Satire.

The mole would like to extend its sincerest lukewarm thanks to Katy Perry for bringing one fleeting moment of edge to one of the most vanilla, status-quo-preserving awards ceremonies in existence. 

I'm a mole, innit.