In the Critics this Week

T C Boyle on nature, Queen Elizabeth's face and the sins of the Empire.

In the critics' section of this week's New Statesman, Tim Adams considers Queen Elizabeth's many portraits and observes that although she possesses "perhaps the most frequently depicted features in all history, she remains faceless". Of those who have taken her photograph or painted her portrait, "[Lucian Freud] made her wear the most exposing crown... made her look almost masculine in her dourness, and the crown seems to sit anachronistically on her clayey flesh," Adams writes.

Historian Amanda Foreman reviews Running the Show: Governors of the British Empire by Stephanie Williams. It is Williams's misfortune, Foreman writes, to have written a paean to the Empire just as evidence has emerged of British abuse in Kenya, where "prisoners were routinely starved and tortured to death, but the colonial authorities knew about the abuse and even tried to cover it up". Foreman criticises Williams's "incompatibilities of tone and subject matter," arguing that "some crimes are just too great to sandwich between letters about high tea and elephant hunting". The Books Interview this week is with T C Boyle, who reflects on the presence of nature in his fiction and his indifference to modern technology. "To take a walk down the beach with your headphones in is missing the point," he suggests.

An "oppressively grisly movie... of unvarying sadism," Ryan Gilbey remarks of I Saw the Devil, directed by the Korean Kim Jee-woon, while Rachel Cooke takes on The Suspicions of Mr Whicher, an ITV period murder mystery based on Kate Summerscale's book of the same name and declares the drama "painfully stretched and slight". NS Culture editor Jonathan Derbyshire reviews The Art of the Enlightenment exhibition at the National Museum of China in Beijing, which opened just as the Chinese authorities were demonstrating the limits of their embrace of Enlightenment values with the arrest of the artist Ai Weiwei. Finally, our radio critic Antonia Quirke finds The Organist Entertains on BBC Radio 2 "as pleasantly depressing as a Cath Kidson apron".

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Listening to recordings from the Antarctic, I felt I could hear the earth groan

The Science Hour on the BBC World Service.

A weekend of listening to the radio news ­revealed nothing but sounds of the sucker-punched going through their pockets in a panic and repeating, “I thought you had the keys.” So, never was talk of “a perfectly flat area of just whiteness” more alluring. The oldest Antarctic ice yet recorded was recently found. “For millions of years,” the presenter Roland Pease assured listeners  (25 June, 9am), “snow has been falling, snow on snow, all the while trapping bubbles of air and other chemical traces of climate . . . insights into the ice ages and warm periods of the past.” How was this ice located? “The finding part is pretty easy – you just go there and start shovelling, and ice comes up,” the lead geologist, Jaakko Putkonen, said.

There it was, buried under a layer of dirt “in barren wastelands” high in the middle of Antarctica. An “incredibly mountainous and remote and . . . quite hideous region, really”, Pease said, though it was sounding pretty good to me. The world dissolved into a single, depthless tone. Then Pease mentioned the surprising fizzing of this ancient ice – trapped air bubbles whooshing as they melt. Which is perhaps the thing you least expect about ice regions and ice caps and glaciers: the cacophony. Thuds and moans. Air that folds and refolds like the waving of gigantic flags. Iced water sleeping-dragonishly slurping and turning.

On Friday Greenpeace posted a video of the pianist Ludovico Einaudi giving a haunting performance on a floating platform to mark an imminent meeting of the OSPAR Commission, as it decided on a proposal to safeguard 10 per cent of the Arctic Ocean. Einaudi looked occasionally stunned by the groaning around him. A passing glacier popped and boomed like the armies of Mordor, ice calving from its side, causing mini-tsunamis. When last year I spent some time at the remote Eqi Glacier in Greenland, close to the ice cap, local people certainly spoke of the ice as if it were living: “It’s quiet today,” delivered as though gazing at the fractious contents of a Moses basket.

“This huge cake of ice, basically flat”, Putkonen said, perhaps longing for a moment of deep-space silence, for peaceful detachment. He wasn’t the only one being forced to reappraise a landscape very differently.

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 30 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit lies