Reviews round-up

The critics' verdicts on Elias Khoury, Lorna Gibb and Michael Burleigh.

West's World: The Extraordinary Life Of Dame Rebecca West by Lorna Gibb

Cicely Fairfield was born in 1892. As a young woman, she changed her name to Rebecca West and went on to become both a writer and journalist.  She led a tumultuous life, however, and is now remembered more for her dramatic relationships than her writing. But, as John Carey writes in the The Sunday Times, she was a prolific journalist: “In 1946 West was the only woman reporter from Britain to cover the trial and execution of the Nazi war criminals at Nuremberg.” Although, according to Carey, Lorna Gibb acknowledges West’s achievements as a journalist, she fails to adequately consider her efforts as a writer, which “matters because West did, in fact, produce a literary masterpiece”. Discussing West’s travelogue, Black Lamb and Grey Falcon, Carey adds, “Gibb warns that it is long and rambling — which is true. But that is all the more reason to quote tempting chunks of it to lure readers, which she does not.”

The Spectator’s Philip Hensher also criticises Gibb’s “treatment of the context”. Citing an example, where she makes reference to West’s lover Max Beaverbrook, Hensher asserts, “If you know who Max Beaverbrook was, and what he meant, fine; if not, he is just a man who lives in Fulham, and it might come as rather a surprise to discover, later on, that he owned some newspapers.”

Meanwhile, The Guardian's Robert McCrum writes a scathing review of Gibb’s treatment of West’s life, asserting that “West's World is really what Auden called ‘a shilling life’, the retelling of a career we love to read about, lazily written and sloppily edited. Anthony West did not write HG Wells in Love. The editor of the TLS in 1970 was Arthur Crook, not Cook. For a fuller understanding of this fascinating woman, we're better off returning to another biography, published as recently as 1987, by Victoria Glendinning.”

 

White Masks by Elias Khoury

White Masks is set against the backdrop of the 1975-1990 Lebanese Civil War. A journalist embarks on an investigation into the murder of a middle-aged civil servant named Khalil Ahmad Jaber, who is found in a mound of rubbish. Interweaving several other stories including those of a local tradesman, residents and a young militiaman, it underlines the horrors of Lebanon’s bloody civil war. Writing in The Telegraph, Nicholas Blincoe praises Khoury’s “elliptical storytelling”, which he asserts is also evident in Khoury’s 1998 masterpiece Gate of the Sun. “What is even more remarkable,” he adds, “is that White Masks was first published in 1981, making it a contemporary account of one of the most tangled moments in Beirut, a city that is a byword for bewildering complexity.”

The Guardian’s Wayne Gooderham disagrees, however, stating that due to Khoury’s meandering narrative structure, “the overriding impression is of a collection of interconnected short stories being forced into the shape of a rather unsatisfying novel”.

 

Small Wars, Far Away Places: The Genesis of the Modern World by Michael Burleigh

Small Wars, Far Away Places, reveals how the problems we face today may be due to the legacy left by recent wars. Historian Michael Burleigh provides an account of the struggles faced by society in the post-war era, taking the reader on a historical journey through Palestine, Pakistan, Cuba and Indo-China. Writing in The Times, Ben Macintyre praises Burleigh’s examination of history, stating that in focusing on individuals and individual confrontations, he creates a “brilliant, complex, contradictory story, replete with character and incident, pungent and pithy and refreshingly free of preaching”.

George Walden also praises Burleigh's book. Writing in The Telegraph, he calls it both “vividly written” and “stimulating”. Expressing relief that the book is not “suffused with infantile Leftism, patrician liberalism or romantic patriotism”, Walden asserts, “we get the raw truth, conveyed in scintillating language by a master of historical irony”.

Dame Rebecca West speaks to Eric Linklater and Arthur Koestler at a party, 1953. (Photo: Getty/Evening Standard)
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How Ken Loach's radical vision won him a second Palm d'Or

In Loach's films, authenticity is everything, and when his quest for realism pays off, there's nothing as raw in all of cinema.

On 22 May, at the age of 79, Ken Loach became the first British director to win the top prize twice at the Cannes Film Festival. His previous Palme d’Or, in 2006, was for The Wind That Shakes the Barley, which dramatised the British occupation of Ireland and the origins of the IRA. This time, he won for I, Daniel Blake, the story of an ailing carpenter wrongly declared fit for work by the callous UK benefits system. No wonder Ed Vaizey, the culture minister, could issue only the most grudging acknowledgement, alluding vaguely to “Brit success!” in a tweet that failed to mention either Loach or the film.

The actor and Cannes jury member Donald Sutherland, on the other hand, called I, Daniel Blake “an absolutely terrific movie that resonates in your heart and soul”. It was an incongruous delight to see Loach posing before swarms of paparazzi. He usually disdains such frivolities; he might be red but he’s hardly red carpet. “As a film-maker, you’re forever involved in things that constantly inflate their own importance,” he once complained. Artifice, hyperbole and celebrity hold no appeal. Even film-making itself is full of irritating impediments. “If Loach could make a film without a camera, he would,” said Trevor Griffiths, who collaborated with him on Fatherland (1986).

Authenticity is everything. Unusually, Loach shoots in sequence, even if it requires moving back and forth at great cost between locations. In the days of celluloid, he would forfeit much of his fee to buy more film stock so that his beloved improvisations could roll on and on. When I visited the set of Carla’s Song near Loch Lomond in 1995, Loach gave the actor Robert Carlyle a good-natured ticking off for speaking to me between takes. “I’d rather he didn’t talk to anyone,” he said, “because then he’ll start thinking about things in terms of technique and who he really is, and it’ll all become conscious.”

When the quest for realism pays off, there is nothing as raw in all cinema. Think of the chilling attack on a family home by loan sharks in his 1993 drama Raining Stones, one of the films that began his most successful period, or the climax of Cathy Come Home, made for the BBC in 1966 and arguably his most groundbreaking film. As Cathy (Carol White) has her children taken off her by social workers and police, Loach films the entire traumatic episode in a wide shot with a hidden camera to preserve the reality. The movie led directly to the founding of Crisis.

Conversely, Loach at his worst can be one of the most simplistic sentimentalists out there. The characterisation of the salt-of-the-earth heroes in recent films such as Jimmy’s Hall and Route Irish, or the pantomime-villain Brits in The Wind That Shakes the Barley, shows what happens when action is overpowered by agenda.

Born in Nuneaton, Warwickshire, Loach read law at Oxford but became seduced by theatre directing and acting: he was in a revue for which Dudley Moore composed the music, and understudied in the West End in One Over the Eight. He joined the BBC in 1963, where he brought extra earthiness to Z-Cars before finding his ideal outlet in The Wednesday Play slot that went out after the news. “We were very anxious for our plays not to be considered dramas but as continuations of the news,” he said. He made ten TV films under that banner but it was with his second movie, Kes, in 1969, that he took flight, proving that the gritty and the lyrical need not be mutually exclusive.

His politics was fully formed by this point. Though he has rejected claims that he is Marxist or Trotskyist, he admits that the analysis to which he turned after his disillusionment with Harold Wilson in the mid-1960s was a Marxist one. “The idea of a class analysis was the one we identified with,” he said of himself and his collaborators the producer Tony Garnett and the writer Jim Allen. “What we realised was that social democrats and Labour politicians were simply acting on behalf of the ruling class, protecting the interests of capital.”

This stance was consolidated by a series of run-ins in the 1980s, when he saw his work banned and thwarted by political forces. The transmission of his four-part 1983 television documentary Questions of Leadership, which asked whether the trade union leadership was adequately representing its members’ interests, was delayed and blocked by Labour string-pulling. Which Side Are You On? – a documentary about the miners’ strike – was rejected because of footage showing police violence.

Since his full-time return to cinema in the early 1990s, acclaim has eclipsed controversy. Even if he had not won a Palme d’Or, his stamp is all over other directors who have won that award in the past 20 years. The Belgian social realists Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne (Rosetta, The Child) have never hidden their debt to him, while recent winners such as Jacques Audiard (Dheepan) and Cristian Mingiu (4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days) exhibit his mixture of directness, compassion and realism.

If there is anything that defines him, it is his fight, which has made it possible for him to remain one of cinema’s angriest and most effective voices. “In the long term, I guess I’m optimistic because people always fight back,” he said. “The reason to make films is just to let people express that, to share that kind of resilience because that’s what makes you smile. It’s what makes you get up in the morning.”

“I, Daniel Blake” is released later this year

Ryan Gilbey is the New Statesman's film critic. He is also the author of It Don't Worry Me (Faber), about 1970s US cinema, and a study of Groundhog Day in the "Modern Classics" series (BFI Publishing). He was named reviewer of the year in the 2007 Press Gazette awards.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad