Reviews round-up

The critics' verdicts on Nelson Mandela, Nadine Gordimer and a critique of the modern media.

Conversations with Myself by Nelson Mandela

Peter Godwin gives a highly laudatory account of Conversations with Myself in the Observer, describing it as a self-portrait of "a man devoid of self-pity, who is immune to the temptations of self-aggrandisement". Godwin praises the book for containing "substantive political insights" on the negotiations to end apartheid, but notes that it is also filled with "unexpectedly lighthearted moments".

Graham Boynton, in his Telegraph review, is less glowing in his still fulsome praise, complaining of the "unnecessary foreword by Barack Obama" and the "strange traces of Harvard-speak throughout", the legacy of Mandela's American ghostwriter, Richard Stenghel. Boynton is, however, impressed by the book's ability to jump "from the mundane ... to the historic ... with barely a breath taken" and says it offers a thorough account of the "extraordinarily self-disciplined" Mandela.

Alec Russell, in the Financial Times, concurs, saluting Conversations with Myself as a "splendid finale to the Mandela literature".

The Return of the Public by Dan Hind

Writing in the Guardian, Roy Greenslade describes Hind's critique of the modern media as a "superb analysis of the way in which citizens have lost power in a political and economic system built around the free market".

John Lloyd, in the Financial Times, is more equivocal, pointing out that "Hind wildly overestimates the appetite for information and revelation, as he does the ability of journalism to create the kind of public he wants" but accepting that "there is something large-hearted in the view that the facts will not just set us free, but allow us to be fuller citizens".

In the Independent, Boyd Tonkin is largely positive, semi-ironically praising the "near-theological splendour of his opprobrium", though acknowledging that Hind's schemes to harness "the ultra-involved citizens of tomorrow" sometimes seem "fanciful or utopian".

Life Times: Stories 1952-2007 by Nadine Gordimer

In the Telegraph, Ruth Scurr is impressed that Gordimer's stories are both "deeply embedded in the social, political or historical context that gave rise to them" and yet seem "almost undated in content, style or tone". The first and final stories in this collection "provide a more meaningful frame to Gordimer's work than any stark set of dates".

Penelope Lively, though, writing in the Financial Times, is perplexed as to why the stories are "clumped according to collection but not dated". While, according to Lively, the inclusion of certain stories suggests that "perhaps sometimes she just wrote too much", this collection still illustrates Gordimer's "extraordinary capacity to summon up a time, a place, a people".

Show Hide image

Why does food taste better when we Instagram it?

Delay leads to increased pleasure when you set up a perfect shot of your dinner.

Been on holiday? Take any snaps? Of course you did – but if you’re anything like me, your friends and family didn’t make it into many of them. Frankly, I can only hope that Mr Whippy and I will still be mates in sixty years, because I’m going to have an awful lot of pictures of him to look back on.

Once a decidedly niche pursuit, photographing food is now almost as popular as eating it, and if you thought that the habit was annoying at home, it is even worse when it intrudes on the sacred peace of a holiday. Buy an ice cream and you’ll find yourself alone with a cone as your companion rushes across a four-lane highway to capture his or hers against the azure sea. Reach for a chip before the bowl has been immortalised on social media and get your hand smacked for your trouble.

It’s a trend that sucks the joy out of every meal – unless, that is, you’re the one behind the camera. A new study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology suggests that taking pictures of food enhances our pleasure in it. Diners at the food court of a farmers’ market in Philadelphia were asked either to photograph their meal or to eat “as you normally would”, then were questioned about how they found it. Those in the photography group reported that not only did they enjoy their meal more, but they were “significantly more immersed in the experience” of eating it.

This backs up evidence from previous studies, including one from this year in the Journal of Consumer Marketing, which found that participants who had been asked to photograph a red velvet cake – that bleeding behemoth of American overindulgence – later rated it as significantly tastier than those who had not.

Interestingly, taking a picture of a fruit salad had no effect on its perceived charms, but “when descriptive social norms regarding healthy eating [were] made salient”, photographing these healthier foods did lead to greater enjoyment. In other words, if you see lots of glossy, beautifully lit pictures of chia seed pudding on social media, you are more likely to believe that it’s edible, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
This may seem puzzling. After all, surely anything tastes better fresh from the kitchen rather than a protracted glamour shoot – runny yolks carefully split to capture that golden ooze, strips of bacon arranged just so atop plump hemispheres of avocado, pillowy burger buns posed to give a glimpse of meat beneath. It is hardly surprising that 95 million posts on Instagram, the photo-sharing site, proudly bear the hashtag #foodporn.

However, it is this delay that is apparently responsible for the increase in pleasure: the act of rearranging that parsley garnish, or moving the plate closer to the light, increases our anticipation of what we are about to eat, forcing us to consider how delicious it looks even as we forbid ourselves to take a bite until the perfect shot is in the bag. You could no doubt achieve the same heightened sense of satisfaction by saying grace before tucking in, but you would lose the gratification that comes from imagining other people ogling your grilled Ibizan sardines as they tuck in to an egg mayonnaise at their desk.

Bear in mind, though, that the food that is most successful on Instagram often has a freakish quality – lurid, rainbow-coloured bagel-croissant hybrids that look like something out of Frankenstein’s bakery are particularly popular at the moment – which may lead to some unwise menu choices in pursuit of online acclaim.

On the plus side, if a diet of giant burgers and salted-caramel lattes leaves you feeling queasy, take heart: if there is one thing that social media likes more than #avotoast, it is embarrassing oversharing. After a week of sickening ice-cream shots, a sickbed selfie is guaranteed to cheer up the rest of us. 

Felicity Cloake is the New Statesman’s food columnist. Her latest book is The A-Z of Eating: a Flavour Map for Adventurous Cooks.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser