In the Critics this week

Craig Raine on Manet, Alexandra Harris on Britten, Toby Litt on Tracey Thorn, Cheryl Strayed interviewed and much more.

In the Critics section of this week’s New Statesman, poet, novelist and critic Craig Raine visits “Manet: Portraying Life” at the Royal Academy in London. Raine declares the exhibition “absorbing”. And comparing Manet with Rembrandt, Raine concludes that “Manet’s best portraits are conspicuous refinements, subtly understated, less dramatic, more realistic [than Rembrandt’s]”.

Our lead book reviewer this week is the writer and critic Alexandra Harris, who reviews Paul Kildea’s major new biography of Benjamin Britten, whose centenary is being celebrated this year. “Britten’s journey to the centre of British public life was amazingly rapid,” Harris notes, “and does not seem to have been much hampered by the chattering prejudice that followed wherever he went.” As befits a practising conductor, Kildea is particularly good on Britten’s music itself. “[His] verbal explorations of the music are done with level-headed sensitivity leavened by a quirky lightness of touch …”

Also in Books: Tim Bale, one of our leading historians of the Conservative Party, reviews Tory Modernisation 2.0, edited by Ryan Shorthouse and Guy Stagg (“The Tories are in far more trouble than they – particularly those on the Thatcherite and populist right – realise”); Jonathan Derbyshire reviews The Scientists: a Family Romance by Marco Roth (“The Scientists is not just an intellectual memoir, a memoir of reading … it is also a memoir of Roth’s father”); novelist Toby Litt reviews Tracey Thorn’s memoir Bedsit Disco Queen (“It’s no surprise that Bedsit Disco Queen is an immensely likeable book. Everything But the Girl are (were?) an immensely likeable band”; Nina Caplan reviews Lawrence Osborne’s alcoholic travelogue The Wet and the Dry: a Drinker’s Journey (“[Osborne] is not interested in cultures that exist without alcohol but in people who drink where drinking is forbidden”); and Kate Mossman reviews A Prince Among the Stones: That Business with the Rolling Stones and Other Adventures by Prince Rupert Loewenstein (“This is one of the funniest rock books I’ve read …”).

In his “Notes in the margin” column, Jonathan Derbyshire celebrates the New Statesman’s association with the Goldsmiths Prize, a new prize that will reward fiction that is “genuinely novel and which embodies the spirit of invention”. And in the Books interview, Derbyshire talks to American author Cheryl Strayed about her memoir, Wild. “I couldn’t have written this book at 26,” Strayed, who is now in her early forties, tells him. “I wasn’t yet the writer who wrote Wild. It takes years to become a writer.”

Elsewhere in the Critics: our classical music critic Alexandra Coghlan enjoys the opening week of the Rest is Noise festival at the Southbank Centre; Ryan Gilbey is not wholly convinced by Robert Zemeckis’s new film, Flight; Rachel Cooke sings the praises of Jonathan Meades’s BBC4 documentary The Joy of Essex; Andrew Billen reviews Polly Stenham’s No Quarter at the Royal Court and the Almeida’s stage adaptation of Henry James’s “The Turn of the Screw”; Antonia Quirke enjoys a BBC World Service documentary about chickens.

PLUS: Will Self’s Real Meals.

A visitor at the Royal Academy's Manet exhibition (Photograph: Getty Images)
JACQUES DEMARTHON/AFP/Getty Images
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Why aren’t there more scientists in the National Portrait Gallery?

If the National Portrait Gallery celebrates the best of British achievements, there’s a vast area that is being overlooked.

The National Portrait Gallery (NPG) in London is my favourite place to visit in the city, even though I’m a mere scientist, or uncultured philistine as the gallery’s curators might consider me. Much of my research involves “omics”. We have “genomics” and “transcriptomics" to describe the science of sequencing genomes. “Proteomics” characterises our proteins and “metabolomics” measures refers to the small chemical “metabolites” from which we’re composed. The “ome” suffix has come to represent the supposed depiction of systems in their totality. We once studied genes, but now we can sequence whole genomes. The totality of scientific literature is the “bibliome”. The NPG purports to hang portraits of everyone who is anyone; a sort of “National Portraitome”.

However, I am increasingly struck by the subjective view of who is on display. Some areas of British life get better coverage than others. Kings and queens are there; Prime ministers, authors, actors, artists and playwrights too. But where are the scientists? Those individuals who have underpinned so much of all we do in the modern world. Their lack of representation is disappointing, to say the least. A small room on the ground floor purports to represent contemporary science. An imposing portrait of Sir Paul Nurse, Nobel laureate and current president of the world’s most prestigious science academy (the Royal Society (RS)) dominates the room. Opposite him is a smaller picture of Nurse’s predecessor at the RS, astronomer Martin Rees. James Dyson (the vacuum cleaner chap), James Lovelock (an environmental scientist) and Susan Greenfield all have some scientific credentials. A couple of businessmen are included in the room (like scientists, these people aren’t artists, actors, playwrights or authors). There is also one of artist Mark Quinn’s grotesque blood-filled heads. Some scientists do study blood of course.

Where are our other recent Nobel winners? Where are the directors of the great research institutes, funding bodies, universities and beyond? Does the nation really revere its artists, playwrights and politicians so much more than its scientists? I couldn’t find a picture of Francis Crick, co-discoverer of the key role played by DNA in genetics. Blur, however, are there. “Parklife” is certainly a jaunty little song, but surely knowing about DNA has contributed at least as much to British life.

Returning to my “omics” analogy, the gallery itself is actually more like what’s called the “transcriptome”. Genes in DNA are transcribed into RNA copies when they are turned on, or “expressed”. Every cell in our body has the same DNA, but each differs because different genes are expressed in different cell types. Only a fraction of the NPG’s collection ends up “expressed” on its walls at any one time. The entire collection is, however, available online. This allows better insight into the relative value placed upon the arts and sciences. The good news is that Francis Crick has 10 portraits in the collection – considerably more than Blur. Better still, Sir Alexander Fleming, the Scottish discoverer of antibiotics has 20 likenesses, two more than Ian Fleming, creator of James Bond. I had suspected the latter might do better. After all, antibiotics have only saved hundreds of millions of lives, while Bond saved us all when he took out Dr No.

To get a broader view, I looked at British winners of a Nobel Prize since 1990, of which there have been 27. Three of these were for literature, another three each for economics and physics, a couple for peace, five for chemistry and 11 for physiology or medicine. The writers Doris Lessing, Harold Pinter and V S Naipaul respectively have 16, 19 and five portraits in the collection. A majority of the scientist winners have no portrait at all. In fact there are just 16 likenesses for the 24 non-literature winners, compared to 40 for the three writers. Albeit of dubious statistical power, this small survey suggests a brilliant writer is around 20 times more likely to be recognised in the NPG than a brilliant scientist. William Golding (1983) was the last British winner of a Nobel for literature prior to the 90s. His eight likenesses compare to just two for Cesar Milstein who won the prize for physiology or medicine a year later in 1984. Milstein invented a process to create monoclonal antibodies, which today serve as a significant proportion of all new medicines and generate over £50bn in revenue each year. Surely Milstein deserves more than a quarter of the recognition (in terms of portraits held in the gallery) bestowed upon Golding for his oeuvre, marvellous as it was.

C P Snow famously crystallised the dichotomy between science and the humanities in his 1959 Rede lecture on “The Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution” (which was based on an article first published in the New Statesman in 1956). He attacked the British establishment for entrenching a cultural preference for the humanities above science, a schism he saw growing from the roots of Victorian scientific expansion. The gallery supports Snow’s view. Room 18, my favourite, “Art, Invention and Thought: the Romantics” covers that turbulent period covering the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Here we find the groundbreaking astronomer (and harpsichordist) William Herschel, the inventor of vaccination Dr Edward Jenner, the pioneering chemist Humphrey Davy and the physicist who came up with the first credible depiction of an atom, John Dalton. Opposite Jenner (who also composed poetry) is the portrait of another medically trained sitter, John Keats, who actually swapped medicine for poetry. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Burns, Blake, Clare, Shelley and Byron, all adorn the walls here. The great Mary Shelly has a space too. She wrote Frankenstein after listening to Davy’s famous lectures on electricity. The early nineteenth century saw the arts and science united in trying to explain the universe.

Room 27, the richest collection of scientists in the building, then brings us the Victorians. The scientists sit alone. Darwin takes pride of place, flanked by his “bull dog” Thomas Huxley. Other giants of Victorian science and invention are present, such as Charles Lyell, Richard Owen, Brunel, Stephenson, Lister and Glasgow’s Lord Kelvin. Inevitably the expansion of science and understanding of the world at this time drove a cultural divide. It’s less clear, however, why the British establishment grasped the humanities to the bosom of its cultural life, whilst shunning science. But as the gallery portrays today, it is a tradition that has stuck. However, surely the NPG however has an opportunity to influence change. All it needs to do is put some more scientists on its walls.