In the Critics this week

Richard Mabey on autumn, Jason Cowley on George Osborne and Sarah Churchwell on A M Homes.

In the Critics section of this week’s New Statesman, Richard Mabey, in his final seasonal diary (autumn), considers how to evaluate the significance of wildlife. “The problem is that we don’t have an agreed alternative scale for the 'value of species,'” Mabey writes. “That clunking, portmanteau term 'biodiversity' doesn’t help. Like 'natural capital' it’s an intruder from corporate-speak.”

In Books, NS editor Jason Cowley reviews Janan Ganesh’s biography George Osborne: The Austerity Chancellor. “Who is this book for?” asks Cowley. “Is it for the general reader interested in Westminster politics or Janan Ganesh’s friends in journalism and those aides and special advisers who work for George Osborne...?” Elsewhere, Tom Wolfe’s latest novel Back To Blood is reviewed by Leo Robson. “The new novel is broadly concerned with the limits of what the US is willing to assimilate and accept,” Robson writes.

Also in Books: writer and literary critic Sarah Churchwell reviews A M Homes’ novel May We Be Forgiven (a “comic epic of modern America”); Yo Zushi looks at David Byrne’s How Music Works (“a partly autobiographical trawl through music history and theory that is essential that is essential reading for anyone with even a passing interest in the subject”); and William Skidelsky reviews Steven Poole’s You Aren’t What You Eat: Fed Up With Gastroculture (“the author’s two main charges in this polemic are indeed that, on one hand, “foodists” talk a lot of rubbish and, on the other, that an overweening interest in food is a new, specifically western type of deviance”).

In his “Personal Story”, Hunter Davies makes a confession about his 1968 Beatles biography and reveals the origin of the phrase “I am the eggman.”

Elsewhere in the Critics: Rachel Cooke is won over by new US TV show Girls; Antonia Quirke on Simon Callow and Classic FM’s Tasting Notes; and Alexandra Coghlan reviews Decasia.

PLUS: Will Self’s Real Meals, Nina Caplan on Drink, Down and Out by Nicholas Lezard, and Ed Smith’s Left Field.

George Osborne at the Tory Party conference (Photo: Getty Images)
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How the radio stations reacted to Bob Dylan's Nobel Prize

For its part, Radio 1 was too absorbed by the Duke of Edinburgh’s Awards to mention the proclamation on Newsbeat.

Bob Dylan’s Nobel Prize in Literature inspired a bewildering gamut of radio responses. At first, proof of his talent was abundantly forthcoming, Andy Kershaw yelling down the line for World at One from a motorway services on the M6 within ­moments of the announcement. (“I can’t understand why they didn’t give this to him 41 years ago!”)

However, a full six days after Talk Radio excitedly reported the event on its home page (“a pivotal part of the cultural revolution of the 1960s”), the online feature has yet to attract a single comment. That’s zero talk. For its part, Radio 1 was too absorbed by the Duke of Edinburgh’s Awards to mention the proclamation on Newsbeat, though Heart FM firmly quoted the chair of the English faculty at Oxford (“The Tennyson of our time”), and pencil-suckingly dissected lyrics (“Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’/ Up the road . . .”).

Is it poetry? Is it literature? You could tell it was doing everybody’s head in. But when, on Radio 4’s Front Row, Billy Bragg praised Dylan for “bringing a literary and poetic thread into pop music”, the argument sounded terribly old.

The whole battle about Dylan being as great a poet as Tennyson is a hangover from an ancient battle, from a time when it actually had to be pointed out that this pop-music stuff can be brilliant and clever. A time when boring people battled for respect and prestige for an obvious genius. Over on Radio 2, Mark Goodier cheerfully played “Tangled Up in Blue” (“Major, major prize for Bob today. If that isn’t a decent excuse to play a song, I don’t know what is”). But by Sunday, on Radio 4’s Broadcasting House, the gloves were off and guests were declaring that they couldn’t stand Dylan’s voice (cliché, pathetic).

By Monday Simon Armitage was saying that Dylan’s lyrics had no more sophistication than something composed by a child. Is it poetry? Is it literature? Well, it kind of is. But it kind of isn’t. And it doesn’t matter very much, except to the likes of Dylan – and only a long, long time ago. Now he hardly requires the approbation. The Nobel Committee has given the prize to the one writer in the world who doesn’t need it. 

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 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood