Reviews Round-up

The critics' verdicts on Jaron Lanier, Michael Axworthy and Jane Dunn.

Who Owns the Future? By Jaron Lanier

Jaron Lanier’s latest book has received critical acclaim for its unique inquiry into the information economy. He writes about economic imbalances on account of online corporations such as Google, Amazon and Facebook dubbed “Siren Servers” which have hoarded valuable data from its customers in exchange for the use of their services, denying them remuneration for this information.

James Harkin of the Financial Times observes Lanier’s scepticism over the power of the internet to spur widespread economic growth. He states Lanier “complains that the latest waves of high-tech innovation have not created jobs like the old ones did” adding that the conventional “'levees' that protected us from economic devastation are being swept away by this digital free-for-all.”

The Observer’s John Kampfner states Lanier’s book has pointed out the presence of an internet “ruling class” as a factor of serious consideration by “policymakers and technologists.”Kampfner adds that "our insatiable demand for information and entertainment and for access to instant communication has come at a heavy price. Most people don't know they're paying it.” 

Lanier’s book proposes a method to balance what the Guardian’s Laurence Scott describes as “capitalism…gone digital.” Lanier suggests that a small royalty sum should be paid to each customer when they part with information used by the company in a similar method to focus groups used by market research firms.  Scott commends the book for producing an "inspiring portrait of the kind of people [in a] democratic information economy.” He adds Lanier’s hypothesis implies that “if we are allowed to lead absorbing, properly remunerated lives, we will likewise outgrow our addiction to consumerism and technology.”

The Telegraph’s Matt Warman highlights Lanier’s doubts that this system of remuneration could result in us “reclining in the lap of luxury” but commends Lanier’s hypothesis for the future as “persuasive” and one which cannot be disputed “until we get there.”

Daphne du Maurier and Her Sisters by Jane Dunn

 

The Independent’s Helen Taylor praises Jane Dunn’s biography of Daphne du Maurier for its inclusive study of the three du Maurier sisters - Angela, Daphne and Jeanne during “a period of class and gender upheaval, and the sisters' response to social change.” She notes how biographies of artists “often ignore the interaction with siblings in favour of parent-child bonds” and adds the strength of the book lies in accounting for tense relations between the three sisters of on account of their mother Muriel’s favouritism towards Jeanne.

Nicholas Shakespeare relishes Jane Dunn’s biography Daphne du Maurier and Her Sisters in the Telegraph and gushes how “Dunn, one of six sisters herself, has written before of sisterhoods”. He states she understands that “it is sisters who weave the most complex web of love and loyalty, resentment and hurt.” Shakespeare concedes that her portrayal does “sag in places” but it is a feat of organisation – flamboyantly explaining that Dunn succeeds in keeping, “each du Maurier sister separate and yet still bubbling at the same intensity, like three temperature charts.” Thus the overall effect of “her triptych is sensitive and sympathetic.” It is described as a compelling biography, with Shakespeare highlighting psychoanalytical themes including the du Maurier girls’ relationship with their father, their "forbidden" sexual experiences and dreams of child rebellion.

In contrast, Rachel Cooke in the Guardian  provides a damning and sparky review of this latest installment that tries to establish the lives of the du Maurier sisters. She writes matter of factly that, “Dunn has nothing much that is new to say about Daphne. This version of the writer is just as introverted and as selfish as the last.” Cooke points out that Dunn's most surprising discovery is the fact that the sisters were not rivals in adulthood, especially considering the fact that they grew up in a household where "histrionics were a way of life". The longueurs in the biography, as Cooke puts it, are mostly down to the problematic organisation of the book. Cooke criticises the way all three women are dealt with at once, and chronologically, rather than in separate sections, which gives Dunn’s narrative “a fatal blow”. She concludes how, “Bing, that great mistress of narrative pace, would have rolled her eyes at this book, and set about its more laboured passages with a sharp, red pencil.”

Revolutionary Iran: A History of the Islamic Republic by Michael Axworthy

James Buchan praises Michael Axworthy in the Guardian  for his “calm and literate portrait of the Islamic Republic,”and explains how the central thesis in Revolutionary Iran is that, “certain long-lived chickens are coming home to roost.” The Persian nezam or system is under threat, and for Axworthy the turning point in Iran was the 2009 Presidential election – in which Khomeini's policy of balance between the factions in favour of "naked force" alienated the ruling clique, which served to weaken the republic. Buchan describes Axworthy as, “an academic historian, and sometime British diplomat” who “avoids the grand schemes and theories that have so clouded the study of Iran.” Buchan notes that Axworthy’s theory of the 1979 revolution has parallels with Tancredi in Tomasi di Lampedusa's novel The Leopold: "If we want things to stay as they are, everything must change."

The Economist writes that Axworthy mined newly opened archives effectively, balancing “scholarly precision with narrative flair”, exposing the failure of Western governments to keep abreast of fast-changing events, including the episode whereby the Iranian hostage-takers were astounded to find that none of the four CIA officers in the American embassy in Tehran could speak Persian. Axworthy is lauded for his description of the Iran-Iraq war, in which he draws on first-hand accounts of key military personnel, and challenges the contention that the Iranian air force was inept. The Economist’s analysis is that Axworthy breaks from James Buchan’s thesis that Khomeini was bent on exporting Islamic government to Iraq, “arguing instead that he saw the conflict as a just war to fend off a real threat.” Overall, the verdict is that Axworthy’s “analytical approach helps demystify a revolutionary regime that has needed to feed off myths.”

According to David Shariatmadari in this week’s issue of New Statesman, Axworthy has confirmed “his position as one of the most lucid and humane western interpreters of Iran writing at the moment” and is good at putting Iran into context. A narrative with “plenty of historical echoes” is formed and Axworthy makes modern parallels, which is “important as [Iran] is too often seen as exceptional.” Sameer Rahim reiterates this sentiment for the Daily Telegraph, endorsing it as a book packed with gobbets of information and policy advice on how to deal with Iran, and that it “feels like a book designed for William Hague’s bedside table.”

Photo: Karen Bleier, Getty Images
BBC/ ITV Cradle Ltd/Matt Squire
Show Hide image

Is Danny Baker a “bona fide genius”? Not in his new show

The clichéd decade: Cradle to Grave and Danny and the Human Zoo reviewed.

I’m not qualified to rule on whether or not Danny Baker is, as the newspapers insist, a “bona fide genius”; I gave up listening to the ever more blokeish BBC Radio 5 Live a while ago, and I’m too young to remember the supposedly fantastic pieces he delivered to the NME back in the day (I read that they were even more amazing than those of Tony Parsons, which is saying something, isn’t it?). But I can tell you this: his new autobiographical comedy series, Cradle to Grave (Thursdays, BBC2, 9pm), displays no evidence at all of his talents, brilliant or otherwise. Anecdotes that just peter out. Jokes that fail to hit home. Misplaced nostalgia. Honestly, what’s the point? If you want 1974 – and quite a lot of us seem to, if the performance of Jeremy Corbyn is anything to judge by – you’d be better off treating yourself to a box set of the eternally satisfying Whatever Happened to the Likely Lads?.

The series, co-written with Jeff Pope, is based on Baker’s memoir Going to Sea in a Sieve. It’s 1974, and Danny (Laurie Kynaston) is a randy teenager who still lives at home in good old Bermondsey with his ducking and diving docker dad, Fred, aka Spud (Peter Kay), his kindly mum, Bet (Lucy Speed), and his older sister, Sharon (Alice Sykes). A voice-over tells us, in effect, to forget all about the nasty old three-day week and to consider instead the warmth of lovely south-east London. How decent its people are, how eager to try out newfangled consumer goods such as the continental quilts Spud has pilfered and which now fill the hall of his tiny house like clouds. (Correct: he’s basically Del Boy, minus the Robin Reliant, the cocktail bar and, fatally, the workmanlike jokes.)

The denizens of Bermondsey are not, you understand, quite ready for the new world. In this part of London, bomb sites remain, merrily sprouting buddleia and pink willow herb; men are men and women are women. Spud is horrified to discover that his daughter’s new boyfriend wears – wait for it – white plimsolls, though not quite so horrified as Danny is to find a stranger’s ­penis flapping exuberantly against his cheek when he goes up west to see Hair (needless to say, our Danny was in search of naked girls, not sweaty blokes). If you find this kind of thing funny and (I can hardly bear to write the words) “heart-warming”, then you have seven weeks of bliss ahead. Who knows? Perhaps the characters will go on to debate the virtues of the various flavours of Old English Spangles. But I can’t believe that many people will be so easily pleased. Those who are old enough to remember the Seventies will know that the best of the decade’s own comedy was ten times more sophisticated than this, and those who aren’t – those who have never had anything other than a duvet on their bed, and can locate a naked female or even a flapping male member with just one tap of their mobile – will simply watch something altogether more grown-up on Netflix.

Kascion Franklin (centre) on BBC1. Photo: BBC/RED

Unfathomable BBC scheduling (is it having some kind of John Whittingdale-induced nervous breakdown?) treated us to two doses of 1974 as the summer limped to an end. The second loving spoonful came in the form of Danny and the Human Zoo (31 August, BBC1, 9pm), an almost-biopic drama in which Lenny Henry told the story of his painful start in comedy.

My TV critic colleagues have all been most respectful but, lovely as Kascion Franklin’s performance in the lead role was, I couldn’t altogether get with the show. Unlike Baker, Henry certainly wiped the Vaseline from the lens: his version of the Seventies was clear-eyed, particularly in the matter of racism. But his tendency as a writer is to tell rather than show, which becomes wearying, and the narrative he offered us – success on the New Faces talent show, followed by the self-loathing that came of joining the Black and White Minstrels – wasn’t exactly unfamiliar. An unscrupulous manager with bad hair; parents who think their son should get a “proper” job but are secretly oh-so-proud; Mud’s “Tiger Feet” and Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out” on the soundtrack: such TV clichés really should be illegal by now.

Rachel Cooke trained as a reporter on The Sunday Times. She is now a writer at The Observer. In the 2006 British Press Awards, she was named Interviewer of the Year.

This article first appeared in the 03 September 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Pope of the masses