In the Critics this week

Sarah Churchwell on Paul Auster, Ryan Gilbey on Woody Allen and Jonathan Derbyshire interviews Michael Chabon.

In the Critics section of the New Statesman this week, Simon Heffer reviews Britannia Unchained: Global Lessons for Growth and Prosperity, a new book written by five Tory MPs including Elizabeth Truss, who was promoted to the front bench as an education minister in the recent reshuffle. He argues that what the five politicians have to say is both sensible and illuminating. “Their words, because of the empiricism that underpins them, have an authority not seen in a policy submission by a group of Tories since the original One Nation group in 1950,” writes Heffer. He goes on to declare that although many on the left will dismiss the arguments as, to use Theresa May’s phrase, “nasty”, these ideas “represent a long-overdue confrontation with a reality that the present government seems not even to have half the measure of.” The main thrust of the book is that we continue to live beyond our means: “the authors … say that without serious cuts in taxation, funded by even deeper cuts in public spending, there will be insufficient impetus and incentive in the private sector to economic recovery … They warn the present opposition that nothing has changed… There has to be a better way: and [they] seek to find it.” Ultimately, Heffer finds that the book adds something worth hearing to the current political conversation: “[T]his book deserves to be taken seriously by all with an interest in politics, whatever their beliefs.”

Elsewhere in the Critics, Sarah Churchwell is underwhelmed by Paul Auster’s Winter Journal. “Readers hoping to find an inventive and intelligent exploration of grief will be disappointed by Winter Journal … in fact, readers expecting too much of anything will be disappointed. Auster is too fluent a writer to produce a book that is irredeemably bad but Winter Journal is eye-wateringly pointless, drifting inertly from one unremarkable thought to the next.” Churchwell finds Auster’s decision to address himself in the second person tedious and alienating: “there is a reason why writers avoid the second person: the paradoxical effect is not to create intimacy but to estrange the reader. There is something coercive in his use of “you” that provokes a reflexive resistance, a constant mental chorus asserting the reader’s difference from him.” As for the subject matter? “It offers little more than a series of lists,” says Churchwell, concluding that “the real lesson of Winter Journal is that the more lists a book compiles, the more helplessly listless the book becomes.”

“To wish for world peace might seem naïve but it’s an act of the staunchest realism next to the hope that Woody Allen will one day return to making films worthy of his name,” begins Ryan Gilbey’s review of Allen’s 42nd and most recent film, To Rome With Love. So, he says, “it’s a perfect time to receive with gratitude Allen’s comic roundelay, easily his least-bad movie in a decade or so.” Faint praise perhaps, but Gilbey stands by it: “while this movie feels like what it is – a late-period bagatelle from an artist too remote to render human encounters without mannerism – its silliness is rejuvenating … not one of the stories adds up to a hill of borlotti beans, but the echoes and resonances between them generate a cumulative spell. Each plot concludes with the renouncing of the superficial, and a return to humility: Americans and Italians alike are disabused of their illusions, and the only enduring magic is shown to be the chance and chaos of love.”

Also in the Critics: Jonathan Derbyshire interviews Michael Chabon, poetry by Judi Sutherland and Rachel Cooke on ITV’s The Scapegoat.

Sarah Churchwell finds Paul Auster's book underwhelming in the latest issue of the New Statesman.
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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