"L'affaire Botul" continues

Bernard Henri-Lévy, Balkany and Ségolène Royal.

I blogged a couple of weeks ago about the delight of the French intellectual class at the ridicule to which Bernard-Henri Lévy (aka "BHL") had exposed himself when he was caught quoting the "work" of a fictitious philosopher, Jean-Baptiste Botul, in one of his two newly published books. BHL's extraordinary media profile in France (think Alain de Botton attracting Katie Price-style column acreage) has ensured that l'affaire Botul won't be expiring any time soon.

A week after BHL's working practices were first impugned by Aude Lancelin in the weekly Nouvel Observateur, Delefeil de Ton, who writes a column in the magazine every Monday, compared BHL to Patrick Balkany, mayor of the Paris suburb of Levallois-Perret, and an intimate of Nicolas Sarkozy, who claimed in a recent book to have slept with Brigitte Bardot when he was 18 -- a boast that attracted a furious rebuttal from Bardot herself.

At the same time, Le Nouvel Observateur issued a communiqué congratulating itself -- with some justification, it must be said -- for its "independence" during the whole affair, which contrasted favourably, it claimed, with the "servility that most of the French press had displayed towards Bernard-Henri Lévy".

BHL's reaction was immediate and ferocious: in an appearance on the France Inter radio station (a video of which you can watch here), he expressed his dismay at such an august journal ("the paper of Foucault and of Sartre") engaging in a "manhunt".

And, in the latest twist in the tale, one of BHL's powerful friends, the former Socialist presidential candidate Ségolène Royal, has come to his aid. In a piece in Le Monde entitled "BHL, François Mitterrand, the mob and me", Royal complains about the "incredible manhunt" launched against Lévy, deplores the tone of the debate, and points out that the newspaper Libération was forced to close the comment facility on its website after it was polluted by the ravings of anti-Semites (BHL is Jewish).

She ends by quoting something Mitterrand said about the book that made Lévy's name in the late 1970s, Barbarism With a Human Face: "It is, in the image of its author," the former president wrote, "a book at once superb and naive." Royal concludes with this extraordinary paean to a man whose lack of professionalism ought to have made him persona non grata in polite circles:

The Bernard-Henri Lévy I know, whose advice I have sought, the upright and engaged man whom I admire profoundly, is, at bottom, exactly the one François Mitterrand had sensed. That surprises you? It doesn't surprise me.

Jonathan Derbyshire is Managing Editor of Prospect. He was formerly Culture Editor of the New Statesman.

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Hillary and the Viking: dramatising life with the Clintons

August radio should be like a corkboard, with a few gems pinned here and there. Heck, Don’t Vote for Him is one.

Now is the season of repeats and stand-in presenters. Nobody minds. August radio ought to be like a corkboard – things seemingly long pinned and faded (an Angela Lansbury doc on Radio 2; an adaptation of Charlotte Brontë’s The Professor on Radio 4 Extra) and then the occasional bright fragment. Like Martha Argerich playing Liszt’s Piano Concerto No 1 at the Albert Hall (Prom 43, 17 August).

But on Radio 4, two new things really stand out. An edition of In the Criminologist’s Chair (16 August, 4pm) in which the former bank robber (and diagnosed psychopath) Noel “Razor” Smith recalls, among other memorable moments, sitting inside a getaway car watching one of his fellows “kissing his bullets” before loading. And three new dramas imagining key episodes in the Clintons’ personal and political lives.

In the first (Heck, Don’t Vote for Him, 6 August, 2.30pm), Hillary battles with all the “long-rumoured allegations of marital infidelity” during the 1992 Democratic primaries. Fenella Woolgar’s (brilliant, unburlesqued) Hillary sounds like a woman very often wearing a fantastically unhappy grin, watching her own political ambitions slip through her fingers. “I deserve something,” she appeals to her husband, insisting on the position of attorney general should he make it to the top – but “the Viking” (his nickname at college, due to his great head of hair) is off, gladhanding the room. You can hear Woolgar’s silent flinch, and picture Hillary’s face as it has been these past, disquieting months, very clearly.

I once saw Bill Clinton speak at a community college in New Jersey during the 2008 Obama campaign. Although disposed not to like him, I found his wattage, without question, staggering. Sweeping through the doors of the canteen, he amusedly removed the microphone from the hands of the MC (a local baseball star), switched it off, and projected for 25 fluent minutes (no notes). Before leaving he turned and considered the smallest member of the audience – a cross-legged child clutching a picture book of presidents. In one gesture, Clinton flipped it out of the boy’s hands, signed the cover – a picture of Lincoln – and was gone.

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue