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)
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Listening to recordings from the Antarctic, I felt I could hear the earth groan

The Science Hour on the BBC World Service.

A weekend of listening to the radio news ­revealed nothing but sounds of the sucker-punched going through their pockets in a panic and repeating, “I thought you had the keys.” So, never was talk of “a perfectly flat area of just whiteness” more alluring. The oldest Antarctic ice yet recorded was recently found. “For millions of years,” the presenter Roland Pease assured listeners  (25 June, 9am), “snow has been falling, snow on snow, all the while trapping bubbles of air and other chemical traces of climate . . . insights into the ice ages and warm periods of the past.” How was this ice located? “The finding part is pretty easy – you just go there and start shovelling, and ice comes up,” the lead geologist, Jaakko Putkonen, said.

There it was, buried under a layer of dirt “in barren wastelands” high in the middle of Antarctica. An “incredibly mountainous and remote and . . . quite hideous region, really”, Pease said, though it was sounding pretty good to me. The world dissolved into a single, depthless tone. Then Pease mentioned the surprising fizzing of this ancient ice – trapped air bubbles whooshing as they melt. Which is perhaps the thing you least expect about ice regions and ice caps and glaciers: the cacophony. Thuds and moans. Air that folds and refolds like the waving of gigantic flags. Iced water sleeping-dragonishly slurping and turning.

On Friday Greenpeace posted a video of the pianist Ludovico Einaudi giving a haunting performance on a floating platform to mark an imminent meeting of the OSPAR Commission, as it decided on a proposal to safeguard 10 per cent of the Arctic Ocean. Einaudi looked occasionally stunned by the groaning around him. A passing glacier popped and boomed like the armies of Mordor, ice calving from its side, causing mini-tsunamis. When last year I spent some time at the remote Eqi Glacier in Greenland, close to the ice cap, local people certainly spoke of the ice as if it were living: “It’s quiet today,” delivered as though gazing at the fractious contents of a Moses basket.

“This huge cake of ice, basically flat”, Putkonen said, perhaps longing for a moment of deep-space silence, for peaceful detachment. He wasn’t the only one being forced to reappraise a landscape very differently.

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 30 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit lies