In the Critics this week

David Priestland on popular history, Anthony Horowitz interviewed and Sarah Churchwell on Henry James.

In the Critics section of the New Statesman this week, historian David Priestland argues that “the struggle to interpret our history has been won by a complacent liberalism”. He warns that this “is a triumph with serious consequences.” A new form of Whig history has developed, practiced both by those on the centre-right and centre-left, in which “history is seen as a battle between liberalism and totalitarianism.” Andrew Marr’s BBC series History of the World is representative of this trend in that it “assumes, as Margaret Thatcher once put it, that “there is no such thing as society””.

In Books, Mark Leonard, director of the European Council on Foreign Relations, reviews James Mann’s The Obamians “which seeks to paint a portrait of the 44th president’s foreign policy through the prism of his relationships with his closest advisers.” Mann explains how Obama and his “Obamians” wish to develop a doctrine of “low-cost leadership”, the “apotheosis” of which is Libya: “The conflict revealed [Obama’s] willingness to use force and his commitment to humanitarian goals and multilateralism.” Leonard sees Mann building the book up “to a description of a 'pivot to Asia' that could be the beginning of a new era of bipolarity.” If this is so, Obama could come to be seen as “playing a similar role to that played by Harry S Truman in the early stages of the cold war. In that case – like his predecessor – Obama may yet have a doctrine named after him”.

In the Books Interview, Jonathan Derbyshire speaks to children’s author Anthony Horowitz who has just published Oblivion, the last book in the Power of Five series. Horowitz tells Derbyshire that the book was written in the midst of the phone-hacking scandal. As a result, “the three main characters are heavily influenced by the Murdochs.” The author explains that the danger of broaching big issues such as this in children’s literature “is that you forget that your first duty is to entertain, to write books that are page-turners”.

Also in Books: Sarah Churchwell reviews Michael Gorra’s book Portrait of a Novel: Henry James and the Making of an American Masterpiece; Talitha Stevenson reviews Songs of Innocence: the Story of British Childhood by Fran Abrams; and Andrew Adonis looks at Douglas Carswell’s The End of Politics and the Birth of iDemocracy; PLUS: “The Descent”, a poem by Emily Berry.

Elsewhere in the Critics: Rachel Cooke on A History of Horror with Mark Gatiss; Ryan Gilbey gives his verdict on Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master and the US cut of Stanley Kunbrick’s The Shining; Rachel Haliburton on a London-bound production of Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya; Kate Mossman reviews the album Gonwards by Peter Blegvad and Andy Partridge; and Antonia Quirke denounces the BBC’s cuts to its arts programming. PLUS: The Madness of Crowds by Will Self.

US President Barack Obama. Photo: JEWEL SAMAD/AFP/Getty Images
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Against the Law: Peter Wildeblood must be one of the bravest men who ever lived

BBC2's historical gay rights film evokes bewilderment, fear and agonising pain.

My head told me that Against the Law (26 July, 9pm), the BBC’s film about Peter Wildeblood, the only openly gay man to give evidence to Lord Wolfenden’s committee, wasn’t up to much. Wildeblood was one of the three men who in 1954 were convicted of buggery in the notorious Montagu case (the others being Lord Montagu of Beaulieu and his cousin Michael Pitt-Rivers) – a trial that led, thanks to unease about the verdict, to the inquiry that resulted in the Wolfenden report, which in 1957 recommended the decriminalisation of homosexuality in Britain.

The film is based on the book Wildeblood published (he was a journalist) after his release from Wormwood Scrubs. Its script, by Brian Fillis, was underpowered and off-puttingly didactic, and I couldn’t understand, at first, the decision to keep interrupting the drama with the spoken-to-camera recollections of a series of elderly gay men. But at some point my heart, which was aching, told my head to shut up. This is… good enough, I thought, watching the film’s last few moments, in which the 89-year-old Roger and the 77-year-old Percy tenderly kissed for the camera. I was mad for Roger. Did he remember Wolfenden? My dear, how could he ever forget it? At the time, he was having an affair with Lord Wolfenden’s son, Jeremy, which certainly added piquancy to the newspaper reports as he read them over breakfast.

If I’d been casting this piece, I might have gone for a floppy-haired Matthew Goode type for Wildeblood, the former public school boy – but that would have been my mistake. It’s hard to imagine a finer performance than the one given by Daniel Mays, an actor who is not even remotely floppy haired.

Here was all of the wit and compassion you find in Wildeblood’s prose, combined with emotions I’d hitherto only been able rather half-heartedly to imagine: bewilderment, fear, agonising pain. As Wildeblood watched his former lover, an RAF corporal called Edward McNally, turn Queen’s evidence during his trial, May’s face grew slack with disbelief. He looked, to me, as if some unknown hand was quietly disembowelling him. By which had he been most betrayed? Love, or the law of the land?

Everyone knows what followed, but it was horrible to see nevertheless. Mailbags were sewn; aversion therapy was discussed (the prison shrink, played with viper-like precision by Mark Gatiss, told Wildeblood he could either receive a series of electric shocks or a drug that would make him vomit for two days). I thought, not for the first time, that Wildeblood must have been one of the bravest men who ever lived – though it’s not as if he wanted for company: the director’s talking heads, silver of hair and soft of jowl, reminded us of this at every turn, and I was glad of the human punctuation they provided. For most of us, this stuff is history. For them, it had been life.

Some people are devoted to newts, and others to hobbits; a few enjoy recreating the battles of the Civil War. The film My Friend Jane (17 July, 7pm) got down and not very dirty with the Austen super-fans, by which I mean not those who have read Sanditon and The Watsons but types who like to dress in full Regency garb and dance to the sound of a spinet come Saturday night. Actually, it’s scarier than this. A former doctor, Joana Starnes, breathlessly described her new career as a writer of “top-tier JAF”. Translated, this means highly superior Jane Austen fan fiction. She’s produced seven JAF novels, which sounds like a lot until you discover that 60 come out every month.

Zack Pinsent, meanwhile, who is 22, makes his living as a period tailor in Hove, where he likes to promenade in fall-front trousers – a flap enables the gentleman thereby to pee – and top hat. I wanted to laugh at him, and all the other empire-line eccentrics in this odd little documentary. But there was something touching about their obsession; at least they didn’t attempt to intellectualise it, unlike those literary fan girls who have lately taken to writing entire books about why their lives would be meaningless without this or that great writer for company. 

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 27 July 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Summer double issue