Reviews round-up | 7 January

The critics' verdicts on Linda Colley's book on the union, David Gilbert's "& Sons" and Mark Bostridge's history of England at the outset of the First World War.

Acts of Union: Acts of Disunion Linda Colley

With the referendum on Scottish independence looming on the horizon, Linda Colley’s Acts of Union: Acts of Disunion could be seen as a timely addition to the literary canon. The book focuses on what its title suggests – the disjointed way in which modern Britain has been created. However, having been adapted from a series of short talks that Colley did for BBC Radio 4, critics have not been universally pleased with the depth of the book.

David Robinson of The Scotsman appears disappointed by the fact that although it is worth getting Colley’s "historical perspective on what kind of country Scots ought to aim at living in […] the fact that Scotland only takes up one out of her 15 short chapters means that we won’t get too many answers." Although obviously impressed with the argument that "Britain was forged together through war, Francophobia, Protestantism and commercial prosperity" and the idea of Britain being an unstable "state-nation" with no common identity, his criticism of what the book is lacking in content and form seems to outweigh his reflection on its merits.

On the other hand, the Independent’s Yasmin Alibhai-Brown is hugely appreciative of Colley. Noting that she initially took issue with the length and depth of Acts of Union, feeling "the book was rushed, sparse and unsatisfactory", she states that on her second reading she began to fully understand "Colley's alchemic genius". Believing that the book’s pinpoint accuracy and demolition of "unreconstructed patriotisms, tight certainties, received notions and political manipulations" renders it a text to be admired, Alibhai-Brown is generous in her praise. Although she too has her own criticisms – specifically in the way in which the "monarchy is waved through and kneeled before" and a lack of recognition of historic ethnic diversity – like Robinson she is ultimately swayed by Colley’s depiction of an "unsettled nation".

The Economist takes a similarly appreciative line on Colley’s book. Stating that "the themes it explores are universal: how national identities react to globalisation and migration", the paper focuses on the awareness brought to specific, yet generally unrecognised, aspects of British history. This includes Britain’s "mythical" history as a liberal country, its "islandhood" and subsequent colonialism, and the fact that its unions were "forged in a time of conflict with Europe". Despite their praises, the Economist does note, as Robinson seems to imply, that Colley is not necessarily as neutral a writer on the topic of union as she claims, "for the prescriptions she offers are designed to maintain some kind of union".

& Sons, David Gilbert

Although published back in July, David Gilbert’s & Sons has just started to take off in UK literary circles. Telling the story of aging novelist Andrew Newbold (A. N.) Dyer’s attempt to reunite his estranged family in the wake of a close friend’s funeral. The book is narrated by the deceased’s son – who manages to get caught up Dyer’s messy life as he brings his three sons into the embrace of New York City’s Upper East Side for a life-affirming reunion. Gilbert’s second published novel, & Sons has received mainly positive reviews.

The Guardian’s Emma Brockes is particularly taken by the "charm" of "the unreliable narrator, Philip Topping," whom she insinuates is an interesting character. Her largest criticism of the novel is Gilbert’s tendency to focus on "surface details", stating that "Gilbert has to watch himself; he has been known to disappear, Alice-like, down rabbit holes of meaning." Equating this to his OCD, this flaw is forgiven however, with Brockes recognising Gilbert’s authentic knowledge of his hometown, New York City, and commenting on "a great scene in the Metropolitan Museum, where he spent a lot of his childhood".

James Wood, writing in The New Yorker, amplifies the relationships Gilbert creates between his characters in relation to the novel that A. N. Dyer is famous for, Ampersand. Noting that the title of & Sons reflects Ampersand’s looming presence over the lives of AN Dyer’s sons, who are "struggling to establish a viable independence", Wood appears to admire Gilbert’s skill in weaving the metaphorical idea of the ampersand throughout the novel. He writes that one the novel’s "funniest and most biting scenes" is when Dyer’s oldest son thinks he has achieved success with a new script, but that soon it is revealed that the director's "real interest is in making a movie of Ampersand". Wood goes on to praise Gilbert’s "rich theme", stating that he "has a wonderfully sharp eye for the emotional reticence of the men of A. N. Dyer’s generation and class".

In The Financial Times, Erica Wagner is similarly complimentary. The novel makes overt references to the similarities between A. N. Dyer and JD Salinger, author of Catcher in the Rye. Wagner believes that Gilbert has been successful in creating this comparison, calling the novel "much more than a satire on the New York literary and social world". As with Brockes, she too finds the character of Philip Topping praiseworthy, describing him as "engaging company and a fine storyteller". Wagner concludes by applauding the "reminder that all of us transform our lives into stories – and that every narrative comes at a cost."

The Fateful Year: England 1914, Mark Bostridge

It has been 100 years since the beginning of WWI, and as can be seen with the skein of books being published this year by authors such as Adam Tooze, Frank Furedi and Neil Astley, the Great War is still very much part of the national consciousness. In his new book, The Fateful Year: England 1914, Mark Bostridge tells the story of England at the beginning of the war in a unique way – focusing on the small, yet important, initial details of a disastrous conflict.

In The Times, Lucy Hughes-Hallet’s descriptive review presents a positive recommendation of the book. She believes Bostridge’s main aim of the book is showing that "pre-war England was not as idyllic as popular tradition suggests", and approves of this message. However, Hallet also enjoys the "modest" and "humane" elements of the book. Stating that "Bostridge has a pleasantly off-hand way of introducing his major themes", Hallet is particularly pleased with what she deems an unromanticised depiction of the beginning of WWI.

Lucy Lethbridge of the Financial Times also likes the way in which Bostridge "takes us through" 1914, using "details found in a range of diaries, letters, newspapers and memoirs". She comments that the way in which Bostridge "digs out stories behind the stories" and in effect personalises the world of 1914, makes it easier for the reader engage with the past. For Lethbridge, the book harnesses the tragedy of the war through showing the way it was foreshadowed, noting that the book is "a truly gripping chronicle of the mood of a nation moving unwittingly towards catastrophe."

The NS's TV critic, Rachel Cooke, writing in the Observer, finds The Fateful Year to be a refreshingly "idiosyncratic diary", commending Bostridge’s rich details, and attention to the "shadows and portents," of 1914. Like Lethbridge, Cooke is affected by the foreshadowing of the devastation of war, commenting on the "descriptions of paintings, music and poems that seem to predict the coming carnage" as "unnerving". However, Cooke goes on to offer her criticism of the book, stating that some "episodes feel misplaced" within the narrative, and suggests that "its primary engine was a desire to honour an important anniversary", rather than offer a genuinely new idea about WWI.

Gilbert is praised for his depiction of New York. Photograph: Getty Images.
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Why hasn’t British Asian entertainment built on the Goodness Gracious Me golden age?

It is 20 years since the original radio series of Goodness Gracious Me aired. Over two decades, the UK media portrayal of Asians hasn’t used its success to evolve.

Save for a handful of special one-off episodes, Goodness Gracious Me hasn’t occupied a primetime TV slot for nearly two decades. Yet still it remains the measuring stick for British Asian comedy.

The sketch show, which transitioned seamlessly from radio to screen (it started as a BBC Radio 4 series in 1996), has stood the test of time and is as much a staple of modern British Asian culture as Tupperware or turning up an hour late.

What Goodness Gracious Me did so expertly was to take a set of serious issues facing first, second and now, I suppose, third generation migrants, and turn them on their heads. 

In making light of the pressures of academic expectation or family drama, Goodness Gracious Me wasn’t playing down the poignancy of such concerns; it was raising awareness and combatting their uglier side with humour.

It offered resonance and reassurance in equal measure; it was ok to have an embarrassing uncle who insisted he could get you anything much cheaper, including a new kidney, because other people like you did too.

That Goodness Gracious Me was broadcast on a mainstream channel was also a victory for minorities; it made us feel integrated and, perhaps more importantly, accepted. Against the backdrop of Brexit, what wouldn’t we give for that treatment now?

Really, though, the jewel in Goodness Gracious Me’s crown was its willingness to recognise diversity within diversity. It is a relic of a departed era when discourse on TV around Asians was different, when the broad church of that term was truly represented, rather than reduced to one catchall perception of British Muslims.

Goodness Gracious Me offered insight into the experiences and idiosyncrasies – religious or otherwise – of Indians, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Sri Lankans and even English people. It’s what made it so accessible and, in answering why subsequent programmes have failed to reach similar heights, this is a good starting point.

Without the flexible sketch format, the modern Asian sitcom Citizen Khan has struggled to cover multiple topics, and, by being specifically about a Muslim family, it leaves many non-Muslim Asians wondering: where’s ours?

I hasten to add that I feel plenty of sympathy for the British Muslim community, hounded by tabloid headlines that attack their faith, but it would be disingenuous to suggest that non-Muslim Asians are sitting pretty in 2016 and don’t need a similar level of support in terms of positive public perception.

The current volume of British Asian media products is fairly good. The BBC has its dedicated network, The Good Immigrant essay collection was one of the outstanding reads of the year, and we still have champions of comedy in Romesh Ranganathan and Nish Kumar.

But I think ultimately it comes down to the broadness of appeal, rather than the quantity of products. Goodness Gracious Me was not only able to engage the full spectrum of British Asia; it transcended its target audience and was on terrestrial TV.

The British Asian media on offer now is up against it, released as the country’s attitude towards foreigners completes a full circle back to the same suspicion my grandfather encountered in the Sixties.

Fewer outlets are willing to explore the stretch of what it means to be Asian, either by denying it due consideration in mainstream shows or by peddling their own monolithic observations. The BBC Asian Network, for example, is laudable in its existence, but does little to engage the young Asians who aren’t into techno spliced with Bhangra.

The mainstream representations of Asians in Western film and television that are commissioned, meanwhile, are irritatingly limited and sometimes inaccurate. In an article for the Guardian last year, Sara Abassi lamented the disproportionate appetite for “gritty post-9/11 films about conservative Pakistani families”, and that the researchers of American series Homeland failed to realise that the national language of Pakistan isn’t Arabic.

When I interviewed the actor Himesh Patel for the No Country for Brown Men podcast, he suggested that the answer to re-establishing Asians in mainstream media, both here and in America, was three-fold. The first challenge to overcome was for outlets to acknowledge that not all Asians fit the same religious or cultural profile; the second was to be open to placing Asians in non-Asian specific products to better reflect their presence in society.

Patel, who is best known for his portrayal of Tamwar Masood in the soap opera EastEnders, made his third recommendation based on this role. He felt that characters should be written with only their personality in mind, making the ethnicity of the actor who plays them incidental. Tamwar’s awkwardness but underlying kindness, Patel said, was what defined him – not his skin colour.

Goodness Gracious Me, though a primarily Asian show and a comedy at that, actually taught some salient lessons about representation. It succeeded in providing a window into a multiplicity of cultures, but at the same time wasn’t a total slave to the politics of identity – several of the 100-plus characters needn’t have been Asian at all. It was reflexive to the times we lived in and a perfect advertisement for empathy. That is why we still talk about it today.

Rohan Banerjee is a Special Projects Writer at the New Statesman. He co-hosts the No Country For Brown Men podcast.