In the Critics this week

Norman Lamont on Iran, Michael Rosen on children and literature, Leo Robson on John Lanchester and J

In the Critics section of this week's New Statesman, the lead book review is by former Conservative chancellor of the exchequer Norman Lamont. Reviewing Trita Parsi's A Single Roll of the Dice: Obama's Diplomacy with Iran, Lamont argues that western policy on Iran has failed. "[It] has become institutionalised," he writes. "As one US state department official put it: 'Thirty years of doing something in a certain way is pretty powerful.'" Yet the case for doing things differently, Lamont thinks, is unarguable. "Washington's containment policy is accompanied by other measures such as cyber warfare, sabotage and, allegedly, the murder of Iranian scientists. Iran seems to be retaliating by targeting Israeli diplomats, The spiral continues."

In the Books interview, Sophie Elmhirst talks to American writer Nathan Englander about his new collection of short stories What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank. Englander says he "appreciate[s] and love[s]" the short story form. "There was so much pressure when I was writing [my] novel. I've also freed myself from this idea of definition ... I tell stories, that's it."

Also in Books, the NS's lead fiction reviewer Leo Robson breaks with the burgeoning critical consensus on John Lanchester's novel Capital. "Lanchester's new novel," he writes, "has the daunting dimensions, totalising ambition and democratic cast list of a 19th-century novel in modern-day dress." However, "as a portrait of metropolitan decadence, [Capital] is all surfaces and stereotypes, all symptoms."

Also under review: David Herman reviews Film: A Very Short Introduction by Michael Wood; Jane Shilling reviews the watercooler book du jour, Rachel Cusk's memoir Aftermath ("Readers who admire the difficult discipline of self-scrutiny will find precision, beauty and a complicated truth in Cusk's narrative. The censorious will enjoy it, too, for different reasons"); Maurice Walsh reviews Douglas Murray's Bloody Sunday: Truths, Lies and the Saville Inquiry; and Robert Hanks reviews New Ways to Kill Your Mother by Colm Toibin.

Our Critic at large this week is the children's author and poet Michael Rosen. Rosen complains that children's writers are rarely asked for their opinion on how to get children reading - more's the pity. "The makers of children's books are people who spend their lives trying to figure out ways to make [their] wisdom interesting ... What infuriates me .... is that the past 30 years have seen successive governments waging war on the democratic sharing of this wisdom."

Elsewhere in the Critics: Ryan Gilbey on Michael directed by Markus Schleinzer; Will Self's "Real Meals"; Kate Mossman on Madonna; Antonia Quirke on Radio 4's Living World; Rachel Cooke on Jeremy Paxman's series Empire; Andrew Billen on In Basildon at the Royal Court; Hunter Davies's "The Fan"; and "2004", a poem by Owen Sheers."

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Why do the words “soup, swoop, loop de loop” come to mind every time I lift a spoon to my lips?

It’s all thanks to Barry and Anita.

A while ago I was lending a friend the keys to our house. We keep spare keys in a ceramic pot I was given years ago by someone who made it while on an art-school pottery course. “That’s er . . . quite challenging,” the friend said of the pot.

“Is it?” I replied. “I’d stopped noticing how ugly it is.”

“Then it’s a grunty,” she said.

“A what?” I asked.

“A grunty. It’s something you have in your house that’s hideous and useless but you’ve stopped noticing it completely, so it’s effectively invisible.”

I was much taken with this idea and realised that as well as “grunties” there are also “gruntyisms”: things you say or do, though the reason why you say or do them has long since been forgotten. For example, every time we drink soup my wife and I say the same thing, uttered in a strange monotone: we say, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop.” How we came to say “soup, swoop, loop de loop” came about like this.

For a married couple, the years between your mid-thirties and your late forties might be seen as the decade of the bad dinner party. You’re no longer looking for a partner, so the hormonal urge to visit crowded bars has receded, but you are still full of energy so you don’t want to stay in at night, either. Instead, you go to dinner parties attended by other couples you don’t necessarily like that much.

One such couple were called Barry and Anita. Every time we ate at their house Barry would make soup, and when serving it he would invariably say, “There we are: soup, swoop, loop de loop.” After the dinner party, as soon as we were in the minicab going home, me and Linda would start drunkenly talking about what an arse Barry was, saying to each other, in a high-pitched, mocking imitation of his voice: “Please do have some more of this delicious soup, swoop, loop de loop.” Then we’d collapse against each other laughing, convincing the Algerian or Bengali taxi driver once again of the impenetrability and corruption of Western society.

Pretty soon whenever we had soup at home, Linda and I would say to each other, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop,” at first still ridiculing Barry, but eventually we forgot why we were saying it and it became part of the private language every couple develop, employed long after we’d gratefully ceased having soupy dinners with Barry and Anita.

In the early Nineties we had an exchange student staying with us for a year, a Maori girl from the Cook Islands in the southern Pacific. When she returned home she took the expression “soup, swoop, loop de loop” with her and spread it among her extended family, until finally the phrase appeared in an anthropological dissertation: “ ‘Soup swoop, loop de loop.’ Shamanistic Incantations in Rarotongan Food Preparation Rituals” – University of Topeka, 2001. 

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt