Friday Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.

Film

I Am Breathing, directed by Emma Davie and Morag Mckinnon, cinemas nationwide, Friday 21st June

This documentary charts the final days of Scottish architect Neil Platt, who was diagnosed with Motor Neuron Disease in 2008. In a caption at the beginning of the film, Platt promises ‘a tale of fun and laughs with a smattering of upset and devastation’ and he isn’t lying; as well as deeply poignant moments, there is also a fair amount of dark humour. Recently, there have been several films of a similar theme, but critics have called I am Breathing “by far the most honest and poignant”.

Exhibition

Dieter Roth: Diaries, Camden Arts Centre, 22nd June-14th July

In the year leading up to his death, artist Dieter Roth went through the meticulous and gargantuan process of recording his entire existence, using a vast range of media. One of the more dominant pieces in the exhibition is the ‘solo scenes’ - 128 video tapes replaying the everyday actions which constitute our lives. Installations, books, sculpture, drawing and assemblages are also used to create “a record of his relentless and impassioned engagement with life”.

Concert

Die Antwoord, O2 Academy Brixton, Saturday 22nd June

The talented, albeit controversial South-African hip-hop trio are bringing their electro beats and intelligent lyrics to the O2 Academy Brixton this weekend. Described by some as “futuristic rap-rave”, Die Antwoord’s music breaks the mould of generic, popular electronic music, associated with such music artists as David Guetta, and introduces the genre to a level of talent with which it is seldom associated.

TV

Andy Murray: The Man Behind the Racquet, BBC 1, 22:25, Sunday 23rd June

With Wimbledon kicking off on Monday 24th June, this documentary will provide a glimpse into the life of one of Britain’s most prominent sporting figures, promising to reveal “just what it takes to be a global sports star”. Murray suggested recently that he intentionally comes across as dull in press conferences to avoid the brutal scrutiny of media attention. Can it be then that, behind the expressionless face and monotonous voice, Andy Murray lives a wild celebrity lifestyle? Probably not, but this documentary may prove to be an interesting appetizer in the lead up to Wimbledon.

Festival

Night + Day, Hatfield House, Saturday 22nd June

The “enigmatic and artfully moody” electro-pop stars, The XX, have put together this festival on the outskirts of London. From early afternoon, their own favourite artists (Solange, Polica, Kindness, Mount Kimbie and many more) will perform across two stages, culminating in a performance from the organizers themselves. The show debuted at a 16th century defence tower in Lisbon before stopping off at an abandoned amusement park in Berlin on its way to London, leaving very impressed critics in its wake.

Die Antwoord's lead vocalist, Ninja, performs at Outside Lands music festival in 2012.
RICHARD KOEK/REDUX/EYEVINE
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Paul Auster's 4 3 2 1 is by turns rewarding and maddening – just like life

Auster’s epic new novel of immigration, politics and consciousness is rich but imperfect.

It’s a cliché, or a joke: the immigrant who arrives in the New World from the Old Country, to be greeted by an official who promptly renames him, mishearing the strange tongue that the arrival speaks. Paul Auster’s new novel begins: “According to family legend, Ferguson’s grandfather departed on foot from his native city of Minsk with one hundred rubles sewn into the lining of his jacket, travelled west to Hamburg through Warsaw and Berlin, and then booked passage on a ship called the Empress of China, which crossed the Atlantic in rough winter storms and sailed into New York Harbor on the first day of the twentieth century.”

Ferguson’s grandfather is called Isaac Reznikoff. Another Russian Jew advises him that it will be wiser to give his name as “Rockefeller” to the official. “You can’t go wrong with that.” But when it is his turn, “the weary immigrant blurted out in Yiddish, Ikh hob fargessen (I’ve forgotten)! And so it was that Isaac Reznikoff began his new life in America as Ichabod Ferguson.”

A joke or a fable: the way that so many stories begin in America, the stories of those who sailed past the Statue of Liberty and the words inscribed on its base, words to welcome the tired, the poor, those masses yearning to breathe free. And so Auster, in his first novel in seven years, presents the reader with an Everyman, Ferguson-who-is-not-Ferguson, not the man who stepped off the Empress of China but his grandson, Archibald Isaac Ferguson, the cranky protagonist and hero of this tale.

Ichabod begat Stanley and Stanley begat Archie, who was born, like his creator, in Newark, New Jersey, in 1947. This nearly 900-page epic is a Bildungsroman, though it would be more accurate to call it a Bildungs-Bildungs-Bildungs-Bildungsroman, because Archie’s story is told not once but four times. There are that many versions of the protagonist: in each version, his life takes a different turn, and so everything that follows is altered.

Auster is something of a prophet in exile in his own land. His brand of existentialist postmodernism – in which characters with the author’s name might appear, in which texts loop back on themselves to question the act of writing, in which the music of chance can be heard loud and clear – has sometimes found greater favour in Europe than it has in his native United States. For example, City of Glass, the 1985 meta-detective novel that forms part of The New York Trilogy, will be adapted for the stage here this year.

But City of Glass, like all of Auster’s previous books, is a slender novel. The New York Trilogy as a whole comes in at just over 300 pages. Where much of Auster’s work is elliptical, 4 3 2 1 can be overwhelming, but that is precisely the point. The author creates a vast portrait of the turbulent mid-20th century by giving his protagonist this series of lives. The book is divided into sections that clearly mark which Ferguson we are getting: 1.1, 1.2, 1.3 or 1.4.

Yet there is nothing supernatural about this journey lived and relived, as there was in Kate Atkinson’s Life After Life. The only magic involved is the magic of the novelist’s imagination, which allows both writer and reader to juggle realities as if they were balls in the air.

However, it is not as if one Ferguson is midshipman and another a circus performer, or one a loudmouth and another shy and retiring. The strength of this novel is that Ferguson remains himself while events shift around him, changing the course of his life. Ferguson’s father dies, or Ferguson’s father lives but divorces his mother, Rose. What happens then? Rose is a talented photographer; does she continue her work when Stanley prospers and they move to the suburbs, or does she take up golf and bridge? Ferguson is a good student, always a writer: does he go to Princeton or Columbia? What’s the difference between translating poetry in a Paris attic and working as a journalist for the Rochester Times-Union?

At its best, 4 3 2 1 is a full immersion in Ferguson’s consciousness, which, perhaps, is a consciousness not too far removed from Auster’s. His protagonist’s youth is wonderfully, vividly conveyed. Even if you don’t care about baseball, you’ll come to care about it because Ferguson does. The details of the young Ferguson’s life are carefully and lovingly created: the powder-blue Pontiac that his mother drives, the pot roast and cheese blintzes served at the Claremont Diner in Montclair, New Jersey – and  the floorboards in an old house that creak when two young lovers make their way between their separate rooms in the middle of the night. Auster builds a world of heartfelt, lived-in detail.

But this is a novel of politics, too. Ferguson is a young man during the tumult of the late 1960s, when dozens were killed and hundreds injured during riots in Newark in 1967; when students at Columbia occupied the campus in protest over the war in Vietnam; when young men such as Ferguson could be drafted to fight in that war.

It is in this last third of the novel that the book flags a little, as lists of events tumble on to the page: one paragraph contains the My Lai massacre, the killing of the Black Panther Fred Hampton and the Rolling Stones concert at Altamont. At times, history lessons threaten to overwhelm the narrative, and Ferguson’s story/stories lose the texture and particularity that have made them so compelling. And its ending is abrupt, a tying-up of loose ends that fragments on the final page.

But then lives – real lives – have strange, abrupt endings, too. This is a rich, imperfect book, often rewarding, occasionally maddening. Again, like life, or at least if we’re lucky.

4 3 2 1 by Paul Auster is published by Faber & Faber (880pp, £20)

Erica Wagner is a New Statesman contributing writer and a judge of the 2014 Man Booker Prize. A former literary editor of the Times, her books include Ariel's Gift: Ted Hughes, Sylvia Plath and the Story of “Birthday Letters” and Seizure.

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era