Friday Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.

Film

Joss Whedon’s Much Ado About Nothing, cinemas nationwide, 14th June

Whedon had a 12 day break after filming The Avengers, so what did he decide to do? Make a feature-length film of course! Filmed in black and white, Much Ado About Nothing unites the original Shakespearean language (spoken in American accents) with the modern day. Surprisingly, it has earned a reputation with critics as “the must-see film of the summer so far”, with one critic saying that “it ought not to work, but it does”. The film is released nationwide today.

Exhibition

Sky Arts Ignition: Memory Palace, V & A, 18th June- 20th October

Presented as a walk-in story at the Victoria and Albert Museum, Memory Palace brings a new fiction book by the author Hari Kunzru to life. It is visualised through a set of 20 commissions from a range of people including internationally renowned illustrators, graphic designers and typographers.  The exhibition opens on Tuesday and is open until Sunday 20th October.

Concert

Pet Shop Boys, The O2, 18th June

The internationally acclaimed Pet Shop Boys bring their Electric tour to London on Tuesday. This tour highlights the duo’s electronic music and style, but they will perform songs from across their entire career, up to and beyond their current album "Elysium", which has been received with much critical approbation.

TV

The White Queen, BBC 1, premieres 16th June

This 10-part remake of acclaimed author Phillipa Gregory’s series The Cousins’ War premieres on Sunday. It is set in 1664, around the time of the Wars of the Roses, in what has become a turbulent part of British history. Filmed in Bruges, the series tells the story of a woman by the name of Elizabeth Woodville, who was relatively unkown until Gregory brought her into the public eye. Following the success of the dramatisation of her novel The Other Boleyn Girl, fans and critics alike await The White Queen with much anticipation.

Festival

Meltdown Future Sounds 1: Baltic Fleet, The Clore Ballroom at Royal Festival Hall, 16th June 6:00pm

As part of the Festival of Neighbourhood and Meltdown at the South Bank centre, marking  Yoko Ono's long-standing support of young and emerging artists, Baltic Fleet will be making their first of two appearances tonight at 6pm. Baltic Fleet are described by Time Out as being “Modern post-punkish sombre pop that's both melodic and kraut-rocking', and they are the winners of the 2013 GIT Award. Entry is free for this event.

 

Joss Whedon's take on Shakespeare's "Much Ado" is a surprise hit with critics. Photograph: fastcocreate.com
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In Kid Gloves, the stories tumble out like washing from a machine

Adam Mars-Jones' has created a clever, stoical and cool account of caring for a dying father.

In bookish circles, it’s pretty commonplace these days to remark on the way in which the spirit of the Norwegian writer Karl Ove Knausgaard hangs over our literary culture – noxious gas or enlivening blast of ­oxygen, depending on your point of view. Nor would I be the first critic to point out the similarities between his prolixity and that of the British novelist Adam Mars-Jones. Reviewing Knausgaard’s My Struggle in the New Yorker, James Wood likened its style – “hundreds of pages of autopsied minutiae” – to that of Mars-Jones’s novels Pilcrow and Cedilla, the first two volumes in a thus far unfinished project in “micro-realism”. But originality be damned: I’m going to say it anyway. As I read Mars-Jones’s new memoir, Kid Gloves: a Voyage Round My Father, it was Knausgaard I thought of repeatedly. Mostly, this was because I simply couldn’t believe I was so fascinated by a book that was at times so very boring.

Mars-Jones is by far the more elegant writer of the two. He is also feline where Knausgaard is only wide-eyed. Nevertheless, they clamber (slowly and with many pauses to consider the view) over comparable territory. What, after all, is Knausgaard’s account of the effect of milk on a bowl of ­cereal compared to Mars-Jones’s disquisition on the subject of orange juice? The Norwegian’s reverie is the longer of the two but it is Mars-Jones who is the more triumphantly banal. “Shopping on a Monday I saw a wide variety of types of orange juice on display in a supermarket and bought large quantities,” he writes early on. I love that “Monday” – it’s so precise. But it also prompts the question: which supermarket, exactly, was he in? Was it the same “large branch of Sainsbury’s” where, three paragraphs later, we find him picking up a carton of buttermilk?

You will think that I am taking the piss. I’m not – or not entirely. For all its pedantic weirdness, Mars-Jones’s memoir, clotted and rich and true, does its job rather well. As the subtitle suggests, at its heart is his tricky relationship with Sir William Mars-Jones, the high court judge who died in 1999. A clever man but also a difficult one (having made a bit of a leap in terms of education and social class, he clung rather ardently to certain comforting reflexes), he is brought to life vividly by his son, who often simply replays their most frustrating conversations. In doing so, Mars-Jones, Jr also tells us something of himself. He comes over as a bit silly and fastidious but also as clever, stoical, kindly and, above all, ever cool in the face of provocation. In this light, his Pooterish digressions are just another symptom of his unnervingly temperate personality, his clinical even-handedness.

His memoir is oddly artless, the stories tumbling out, one after another, like washing pulled from a machine. An account of his father’s better-known cases (he prosecuted in the Moors murders trial) shades into a detour on soup-making; an analysis of Sir William’s retirement – he gravitated, his son writes, towards the state of “inanition” – takes us, almost slyly, to an explanation of why Mars-Jones tenderly associates Badedas with shingles (a friend who had yet to discover he had Aids, of which shingles can be a symptom, bathed in it).

The reader waits, and waits, for the big scene, for the moment when Mars-Jones tells his father, a regular kind of homophobe, that he is gay. But in a strange way (it does arrive eventually) this is beside the point. From the outset, we know that it was Adam, not his brothers, who looked after his widowed father in his last days, sharing his flat in Gray’s Inn Square; so we know already that an accommodation has been reached, however horrifying Pater’s reaction was at the time. (Mars-Jones, Sr suggested that his son could not possibly be gay because, as a boy, he played with himself during a film starring Jacqueline Bisset; more cruelly, he delegated his clerk to research the possibilities of testosterone treatment for his son.) In any case, there is a universality here: for which of us, gay or not, hasn’t trembled on hearing our mother say, down the line from home, the dread phrase “Dad would like a word”?

After his father’s death, Mars-Jones attempts to continue to live in his parents’ home, insisting that the inn will have to evict him if it wants him gone. When it does turf him out, he writes a piece for the Times in which he denounces its members – in ­effect, his parents’ friends and neighbours. Is this just the response of a more than usually broke freelance writer? Or is it that of a man in deep grief?

Perhaps it’s both. Mars-Jones tells us quite a bit about his parlous finances but relatively little of his feelings of abandonment. He was closer to his mother. It is more than 15 years since his father died. And yet, here it is, his book. Those Knausgaardian impulses of his – perhaps they’re just displacement for his loss, word-fill for a void so unfathomably big that it still takes him by surprise, even now. 

Kid Gloves: a Voyage Round My Father is available now from Particular Books (£16.99)

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 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism