The Friday Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.

Festival
The London Korean Film Festival, various venues, 22 October-3 November

Across various London venues, comprising 33 events, the seventh London Korean Film Festival will feature a combination of films ranging from low-budget independent works to big-budget, box office hits. This year’s festival sees the return of the animation section which will include the violent morality tale King of Pigs, a film that has been doing the rounds on the international festival circuit. “Regardless if you are a connoisseur of Korean cinema or completely new to the country’s film scene we have created an exciting and varied program that will delight, thrill, scare and, most importantly, entertain you,” says festival director Hye-jung Jeon.

Music

Barclaycard Mercury Prize, Channel 4, 1 November, 12:10am

The 20th Mercury Prize for best album sees the list of nominees dominated by guitar bands – including the Macabees – and singer-songwriters, most notably former Pulp guitarist Richard Hawley. But it’s Plan B who’s tipped to win. His third album marks a change in direction, his sound harder, his music more political. Elsewhere on the list is the funky-jazz outfit Roller Trio and South London solo artist Jessie Ware.

Art

Seduced by Art: Photography Past and Present, National Gallery, 31 October-20 January 2013

The National Gallery’s first major photographic exhibition will show the work of leading photographers alongside historical paintings to emphasise how photographers draw on the traditions of fine art to inspire their own work. The exhibition will show the works of painters, early photographers and contemporary photographers ordered by traditional genres such as portraiture, landscapes and nudes. The exhibition will feature images from British and French photographers as well as works from international contemporary artists.

Television

Homeland, Channel 4, 28 October, 9pm

Last week, former marine, current congressman and reluctant, part-time al-Qaeda operative Nicholas Brody killed his tailor (who was also his purveyor of bespoke explosive vests). A devastating result was that this caused him to be late for his wife’s party – which made her angry. Meanwhile, twitchy, jazz-loving, ex-CIA agent and current English teacher Carrie Mathison gets un-friended by the CIA – again – before being vindicated by seeing Brody’s “By the time you watch this, I would have killed a lot of people, including myself” terrorist farewell video. This week we can expect more of the same kitchen-sink shenanigans. Brody’s video will be shown to Estes, Carrie’s former boss, who will authorise surveillance on Brody. But will Carrie get to put her twitchy eye to the telescope?

Film

Hackney Halloween screenings, Round Chapel, Hackney, London, 30 October

On the eve of Halloween, the creators of the Rooftop Film Club will host a short series of classic spooky films. The venue, Hackney’s Round Chapel, will only add to the ambience of horror. The event will comprise four screenings, two of which are suitable for children: ET: The Extra Terrestrial, Shaun of the Dead, Ghostbusters and The Lost Boys. 2012 marks the thirtieth anniversary of ET and a special edition Blu-ray was released this month to mark the occasion. A note on the dress code and a disclaimer from the organisers: Fancy dress is not enforced but encouraged. Please note that Experience Cinema does not accept responsibility for any lost limbs, teeth, or fingers!”

Richard Hawley: one of the nominees for the 2012 Barclaycard Mercury Prize. Photo: Getty Images.
Photo: Getty
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The End We Start From imagines London underwater

Megan Hunter's fictional apocalypse is a tender one. 

It is six months after the flood. The nameless narrator of The End We Start From is a new mother and a refugee, and by the midpoint of the novel we have followed her and her baby from the “Gulp Zone”, where their London flat was swallowed, to a safe house that proved to be not safe enough, and then refugee camps, every move stripping life a little closer to the essentials. First what can be fitted in a car as you flee to safety, then what can be carried in your arms; first porridge, then only gruel.

Halfway through, the narrator and her baby make it to an island under the guidance of another new mother she befriended in the camps. Here, a family has established a small life of plenty. The narrator has left behind a “place of not-enough”, but here there is food to spare. Seeds grow into vegetables. The baby “likes to eat butter in chunks”. But where has the butter come from? There’s no mention of cattle on the island, no bucolic descriptions of churning. We’re told there is no electricity. So how do they have butter and why is it not rancid?

It’s a small thing, but an outsize irritant in a book whose prose is pared back to match the minimal existence it describes. Every detail feels weighted with significance because it was chosen over something else. Megan Hunter is a poet (this is her first novel), and her poetic instincts are underlined by the TS Eliot-referencing title, borrowed from Four Quartets: “What we call the beginning is often the end / And to make an end is to make a beginning. / The end is where we start from.”

Apocalypse and rebirth are central to Hunter’s story. Butter aside, it invokes a thoroughly plausible end of the world. Like Emily St John Mandel’s luminous Station Eleven, or Margaret Atwood’s MaddAddam trilogy, you read it with the conviction that this is what it would be like. (These stories are told from the perspective of the resourceful fortunates who make it through. Apocalypse literature kindly dodges the reality that, if it came to it, most of us would die whimpering in a dirt hole.)

But realism is not the only dictate here. The End We Start From is also deeply invested with symbolism. It begins with the narrator going into labour: “Finally I am waterless, the pool of myself spreading slowly past my toes.” Maternity is a kind of apocalypse, an end to being one kind of self who lives one kind of life, and the beginning of another. Names, like everything else here, are cut back to the barest essentials, becoming just initials. The narrator’s husband is R, her in-laws are N and G, and her baby Z – an alphabetical end who is at the beginning of his life. Anyone who has welcomed the catastrophe of a newborn into their lives is likely to feel sympathy for this parallelbetween infant and Armageddon.

There is a cost to the allegory, though, and it comes through in moments when Hunter sacrifices the merciless logic of calculating survival in favour of giving play to her metaphor. Milk is, as it would be for a new mother, a theme. The milk in the narrator’s breasts that keeps her baby alive becomes an analogue for all sustenance: “As for food, I have started to think of it all as milk,” she says. “I wonder how long we would survive, how quickly human milk runs out in famine.” Perhaps it’s inevitable, then, that the unexpected gift of security and nourishment the narrator and Z find on the island should be represented through dairy; but it also punctures a world you could otherwise believe in utterly.

Hunter’s apocalypse is a tender one. There is violence and disorder at the start: one of the most affecting uses of Hunter’s spare style is when the narrator’s mother-in-law fails to return from a brutal trip to gather provisions, and the narrator simply announces: “No G.” But while R chooses isolation and suspicion of others, leaving his wife and child to make his own way, the narrator chooses humanity. She tells us how she “falls in love”, deep and quick, with those with whom she forms alliances. To borrow again from Four Quartets, “The houses are all gone under the sea” – but The End We Start From promises the possibility of life afterwards. 

The End We Start From
Megan Hunter
Picador, 127pp, £9.99

Sarah Ditum is a journalist who writes regularly for the Guardian, New Statesman and others. Her website is here.

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear