In the Critics this week

Adam Kirsch on stalking, Richard Mabey on urban nature, David Herman on TV nostalgia and much more.

In the Critics section of this week’s New Statesman, writer and former television producer David Herman takes aim at the cosy nostalgia of British TV drama. “British television is on a huge nostalgia binge,” Herman writes. Taking as his examples two enormous ratings successes, Call the Midwife and Downton Abbey, Herman bemoans the “smoothing out” of history that occurs in most of the dramas that make it on to our screens. What we get is “simpler world with the complexities of real history removed”. Series such as these compare unfavourably with the finest fruits of American and Scandinavian TV drama. “A central issue of many of these series,” Herman observes, “is the border between good and evil and the constant worry that the border will not hold.”

Our lead book reviewer this week is the American critic and poet Adam Kirsch, who writes about James Lasdun’s memoir of being stalked, Give Me Everything You Have. Lasdun’s stalker, a former creative writing student of his, traffics in the worst kind of anti-Semitic abuse. “Give Me Everything You Have,” Kirsch argues, “joins a short list of insightful books about Jewish experience and anxiety in the post-9/11 world, along with Howard Jacobson’s The Finkler Question and Philip Roth’s The Plot Against America.”

Also in Books: Richard Mabey reviews Field Notes from a Hidden City, an “urban nature diary” by Esther Woolfson (“Woolfson … isn’t of the school of ‘edgeland’ writers who view urban wildness as insurrectionary … Field Notes from a Hidden City … is genial, readable, warm-hearted and on nature’s side”); David Cesarani reviews Helga’s Diary: a Young Girl’s Account of Life in a Concentration Camp by Helga Weiss (“Helga’s diary resounds with a ferocious will to endure conditions of astonishing cruelty”); Bryan Appleyard reviews The God Argument: the Case Against Religion and for Humanism by A C Grayling (“Grayling, like the other [new atheist] horsemen, goes too far. He narrowly defines religion as a system of physical beliefs and then says such a system has nothing to offer the world”); Anita Sethi reviews Lucy Ellmann’s novel Mimi (“Ellmann’s work is characterised by a delightfully playful style”). PLUS: “The Revenant”, a poem by Fiona Sampson.

In the Books Interview, Jonathan Derbyshire talks to the historian Paul Kennedy about his book Engineers of Victory: the Problem Solvers Who Turned the Tide in the Second World War. “I’m tilting against a very popular strand of literature that says, ‘The decisive battle, the decisive intelligence breakthrough’,” Kennedy tells Derbyshire. “I’m saying that history is much more complicated than that.”

Elsewhere in the Critics: Rachel Cooke reviews two BBC2 documentaries about the railways; Ryan Gilbey reviews Terrence Malick’s To the Wonder and the screen adaptation of David Mitchell’s novel Cloud Atlas; Matt Trueman considers the popularity of banker bashing on the London stage; Kate Mossman reviews new albums by John Grant and Steve Earle; and Antonia Quirke’s listens to various radio programmes from her sick bed.

PLUS: Will Self’s Madness of Crowds.

Members of the cast of Downton Abbey (Photo: Getty Images)
Getty
Show Hide image

The non-fiction novel that takes readers inside the head of Raoul Moat

Andrew Hankinson’s depiction of Moat’s unravelling is being marketed as biography/true crime, but its semi-fictional world is something more complex.

In July 2010, just weeks after becoming Prime Minister, David Cameron expanded upon his vision for the “Big Society” that he had first unveiled at the 2009 party conference. It promised a “big advance for people power”, in which individuals would be responsible for their actions. “To be British is to be sceptical of authority and the powers that be,” he told conference. “There is a ‘we’ in politics, and not just a ‘me’.”

That same month, just two days after being released from HMP Durham for the assault of a child, the self-employed gardener and former doorman Raoul Moat shot and injured his ex-girlfriend Samantha Stobbart and killed her boyfriend Chris Brown, who he wrongly believed to be a policeman. Moat went on the run, shooting a policeman at point-blank range, then fleeing to the rural Northumberland town of Rothbury. For a week, the story of this exotically named, delusional man who left behind a wealth of material, including letters and four-hour-long Dictaphone recordings, was given joint top billing with Cameron’s “Big Society” – soon to be as dead and buried as Moat, who, cornered by police after a seven-day hunt, killed himself.

The journalist Andrew Hankinson’s depiction of Moat’s unravelling is being marketed as biography/true crime, yet really is a non-fiction novel, in which writer and reader squat inside a mind that moves from irrational anger and self-pity to despondency. Moat’s is a solipsistic narration, in which he is the perennial victim – of circumstance, enemies, authoritarian bureaucracy, police harassment and past lovers. There is little room here for the outside world. Like most outlaws, Moat believed that everyone had failed him. “All my life I wanted death,” he laments.

The real-life Moat story, however, was more than that of a lone fugitive. It was also about rolling news coverage and Facebook groups, some of which celebrated Moat as a Ned Kelly-type folk hero – a “#ledge”. When Cameron denounced him in parliament he inadvertently elevated Moat to a clearer anti-authoritarian position: the antithesis of a “Big Society” citizen, in fact. It is also the story of the Northumbria Police force, which did its very best to show that it had everything under control when it really didn’t.

And, bringing an element of farce to a tragedy, it featured the subplot of a thoroughly leathered Paul Gascoigne – the most exciting and idiosyncratic footballer of his generation – tearing through the countryside in a taxi with a fishing rod, a dressing gown and a rotisserie chicken in an attempt to bring a sense of calm to the situation. “All I want to do is shout, ‘Moaty, it’s  Gazza! Where are you?’” he explained en route during a live radio phone-in. “And I guarantee he will shout his name out: ‘I’m here.’” Gascoigne’s pantomime intervention added to the chaos: now another disenfranchised northern male was running amok. The parallels were evident: Gazza’s career had been beset by injury and alcoholism, Moat’s bodybuilder’s physique was no longer in prime condition after weight loss in prison. Both were separated from their families and prone to self-examination. Onlookers knew it could quite easily have been Gazza holed up in those woods.

Other exponents of the non-fiction novel such as Norman Mailer and Gordon Burn would surely have put all this in, yet Hankinson chooses not to cover any of the peripheral subplots, instead using a second-person narrative to burrow deep into Moat’s paranoia, sourcing all his text from real material. This narrative sacrifice in favour of a singular voice gives the book thrust and authenticity of voice, and manages to show the nuances of a man who was articulate and often capable, and had reached out to social services on many occasions for help. None of which excuses Moat’s action – but it does explain his choices. Where the tabloids favoured the simplicity of the textbook “cold-blooded killer”, Hankinson’s portrait lets the reader make his or her own judgement. Clearly Moat was a bully, and yet he was not born that way. Few are. “There’ll be books written about all this, and you’ll be made out to be some crazed fucking maniac,” he says to himself, with both foresight and grim resignation.

Elsewhere the semi-fictional Moat brushes over past transgressions and labours over the tiniest slights in such repetitive, droning detail that the reader’s sympathy soon wanes. The book’s strength lies in the real-life Moat’s keenness to confess – to be heard, finally, beyond death – through these nocturnal monologues, recorded in his tent after yet another meal of charred burgers. From these remnants, Hankinson deftly assembles the man’s inner workings, lending credibility to his portrait while, beyond the myopic commentary, we know, although we don’t see it, that the outside world is closing in. Critics might ask: why give voice to a loser? Perhaps because in the right hands any real-life story is worth telling, and history should never just record the heroes and victors. The losers play their part, too.

Ben Myers’s novel “Beastings” recently won the Portico Prize for Literature

You Could Do Something Amazing With Your Life [You Are Raoul Moat] by Andrew Hankinson is published by Scribe (211pp, £12.99)

Ben Myers’ novels include Pig Iron and Richard, a Sunday Times book of the year. His writing has appeared in The Guardian, NME, Mojo, Time Out, 3:AM Magazine, Caught By The River and many others. www.benmyersmanofletters.blogspot.com

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war