Reviews round-up

The critics' verdicts on Claude Lanzmann, Andrew Motion and A N Wilson.

The Patagonian Hare: A Memoir by Claude Lanzmann

In the Telegraph, Nicholas Shakespeare delights in stories from the French director's life. Though Lanzmann is famous for Shoah, his 1985 documentary about the Holocaust, and lived life on the edge fighting for the French resistance, Shakespeare believes that the book has light as well as shade: "his memoir is also - surprisingly and triumphantly - a childlike celebration of life as Lanzmann sees it epitomised by the singularity of another hare that bounds out of the darkness". Though some dates don't seem to add up in this "dense" memoir, Shakespeare approaches such inconsistencies with ease, claiming they do not detract from the remarkable undertaking Lanzmann has attempted at the age of 86.

In this week's New Statesman, George Walden is similarly awed by Lanzmann's execution in condensing such a remarkable life into one (albeit large) volume. Calling it "a breathless book", he writes: "the zest for adventure is compelling, the writing - beautifully translated by Frank Wynne - fluent and inventive...the character and topographical sketches dazzling, the action sequences enthralling". But Walden is less forgiving of Lanzmann's embellishments, and does not hesitate to suggest that "A politician must justify his actions in the light of history; a writer and cineaste, it appears, is permitted his modish enthusiasms".

Silver: Return to Treasure Island by Andrew Motion

There's high praise for Andrew Motion's attempt to pick up where Robert Louis Stevenson left off in the beloved Treasure Island. In the Independent on Sunday, Suzi Feay claims the book convincingly recreates the style and scale of the 19th Century novel. "Motion is never afraid to slow the action in order to create some glowing effect of atmosphere or setting". In terms of its relationship to the Stevenson's classic, Feay believes it is a sensitively rendered homage: "The narrative's darker meditations and developments may stray into the territory of Joseph Conrad, but in a real sense, RLS is on this voyage too ... I think he'd approve of this rich and thrilling narrative which so ingeniously complements his own".

Writing in the Sunday Express, Martin Newell perceives that "Motion, probably for the first time in years, is having fun with this". The style, he says, is "airy, almost carefree, rapidly drawing the reader in", and has an "elegance" befitting the poet in Motion. Newell is also convinced by the attempt to recreate the world of Treasure Island, going so far as to say, "it is sometimes hard to perceive the join between their books".

Hitler: A Short Biography by A N Wilson

A N Wilson's take on Hitler and Nazism has, to say the least, received a mixed response. In the Observer, Nick Cohen describes this "short, sharp" work as "a liberation" when compared to the innumerable hefty biographies of Hitler, and praises the attempt to refresh a subject that has been exhausted by others: "Wilson refuses to play the 'parlour game' of counterfactual history and ask what if Britain and France had found the strength to stop the Nazis in 1936. The historian should only study what happened, he says". Cohen also writes that Wilson "is superb at putting himself in the shoes of others and sketching the mood of a time with a few strokes of the pen". But his adulation ends abruptly at Wilson's closing sentiments, which he believes let the entire book down since they are merely "witterings that are so asinine Thought for the Day could broadcast them".

Historian Richard J Evans dismisses not only the ending as misinformed, but the entire biography. In an acerbic attack in the New Statesman which spares no aspect of the book, he writes : "What might do as background research for a novel won't do as preparation for a serious work of history. Nor does he seem to have thought very hard or taken much care over what little reading he has done". Evans proceeds to list just a few of these failings, turning Wilson's claims inside out. Furthermore, he notes that "There are many contradictions in the book's arguments", and Wilson often uses "material that is marginal or irrelevant". Incredulity is the dominant note: "It's hard to think why a publishing house that once had a respected history list agreed to produce this travesty of a biography".

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Why hasn’t British Asian entertainment built on the Goodness Gracious Me golden age?

It is 20 years since the original radio series of Goodness Gracious Me aired. Over two decades, the UK media portrayal of Asians hasn’t used its success to evolve.

Save for a handful of special one-off episodes, Goodness Gracious Me hasn’t occupied a primetime TV slot for nearly two decades. Yet still it remains the measuring stick for British Asian comedy.

The sketch show, which transitioned seamlessly from radio to screen (it started as a BBC Radio 4 series in 1996), has stood the test of time and is as much a staple of modern British Asian culture as Tupperware or turning up an hour late.

What Goodness Gracious Me did so expertly was to take a set of serious issues facing first, second and now, I suppose, third generation migrants, and turn them on their heads. 

In making light of the pressures of academic expectation or family drama, Goodness Gracious Me wasn’t playing down the poignancy of such concerns; it was raising awareness and combatting their uglier side with humour.

It offered resonance and reassurance in equal measure; it was ok to have an embarrassing uncle who insisted he could get you anything much cheaper, including a new kidney, because other people like you did too.

That Goodness Gracious Me was broadcast on a mainstream channel was also a victory for minorities; it made us feel integrated and, perhaps more importantly, accepted. Against the backdrop of Brexit, what wouldn’t we give for that treatment now?

Really, though, the jewel in Goodness Gracious Me’s crown was its willingness to recognise diversity within diversity. It is a relic of a departed era when discourse on TV around Asians was different, when the broad church of that term was truly represented, rather than reduced to one catchall perception of British Muslims.

Goodness Gracious Me offered insight into the experiences and idiosyncrasies – religious or otherwise – of Indians, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Sri Lankans and even English people. It’s what made it so accessible and, in answering why subsequent programmes have failed to reach similar heights, this is a good starting point.

Without the flexible sketch format, the modern Asian sitcom Citizen Khan has struggled to cover multiple topics, and, by being specifically about a Muslim family, it leaves many non-Muslim Asians wondering: where’s ours?

I hasten to add that I feel plenty of sympathy for the British Muslim community, hounded by tabloid headlines that attack their faith, but it would be disingenuous to suggest that non-Muslim Asians are sitting pretty in 2016 and don’t need a similar level of support in terms of positive public perception.

The current volume of British Asian media products is fairly good. The BBC has its dedicated network, The Good Immigrant essay collection was one of the outstanding reads of the year, and we still have champions of comedy in Romesh Ranganathan and Nish Kumar.

But I think ultimately it comes down to the broadness of appeal, rather than the quantity of products. Goodness Gracious Me was not only able to engage the full spectrum of British Asia; it transcended its target audience and was on terrestrial TV.

The British Asian media on offer now is up against it, released as the country’s attitude towards foreigners completes a full circle back to the same suspicion my grandfather encountered in the Sixties.

Fewer outlets are willing to explore the stretch of what it means to be Asian, either by denying it due consideration in mainstream shows or by peddling their own monolithic observations. The BBC Asian Network, for example, is laudable in its existence, but does little to engage the young Asians who aren’t into techno spliced with Bhangra.

The mainstream representations of Asians in Western film and television that are commissioned, meanwhile, are irritatingly limited and sometimes inaccurate. In an article for the Guardian last year, Sara Abassi lamented the disproportionate appetite for “gritty post-9/11 films about conservative Pakistani families”, and that the researchers of American series Homeland failed to realise that the national language of Pakistan isn’t Arabic.

When I interviewed the actor Himesh Patel for the No Country for Brown Men podcast, he suggested that the answer to re-establishing Asians in mainstream media, both here and in America, was three-fold. The first challenge to overcome was for outlets to acknowledge that not all Asians fit the same religious or cultural profile; the second was to be open to placing Asians in non-Asian specific products to better reflect their presence in society.

Patel, who is best known for his portrayal of Tamwar Masood in the soap opera EastEnders, made his third recommendation based on this role. He felt that characters should be written with only their personality in mind, making the ethnicity of the actor who plays them incidental. Tamwar’s awkwardness but underlying kindness, Patel said, was what defined him – not his skin colour.

Goodness Gracious Me, though a primarily Asian show and a comedy at that, actually taught some salient lessons about representation. It succeeded in providing a window into a multiplicity of cultures, but at the same time wasn’t a total slave to the politics of identity – several of the 100-plus characters needn’t have been Asian at all. It was reflexive to the times we lived in and a perfect advertisement for empathy. That is why we still talk about it today.

Rohan Banerjee is a Special Projects Writer at the New Statesman. He co-hosts the No Country For Brown Men podcast.