Reviews round-up

The critics' verdicts on Wilson, Astill and Doyle.

Ballistics, by D W Wilson

Following his success as a writer of short stories, D W Wilson’s ‘Hyper Macho’ debut novel follows two male protagonists: Alan West and Archer Cole. At the behest of his grandfather Cecil, Alan journeys through the Canadian Rockies, in the grip of wildfires, searching for his father. He takes Archer Cole along with him, an 82-year-old US marine and Vietnam War veteran, who continually experiences disturbing flashbacks.

David Annand of the Telegraph offers praise for Wilson’s first novel. He remarks that “unlike the standard sub-Carver sentences that characterise most of the [Hyper Macho] genre, Wilson’s prose is rich and nuanced, and Archer is a sophisticated portrait of a man intelligent beyond his education”. However, “It’s a shame ... that Alan seems to have been unaffected by his big-city schooling and is as uncritically in thrall as the rest of them to the Hyper Macho honour code.” Annand suggests that the book would thus benefit from a “counterpoint model of masculinity”.

The Scotsman’s Tom Adair offers a similar criticism, remarking that the novel is perhaps too hypermasculine, to the clear detriment of its analysis of women. “The story lacks real insight into its trio of female characters” suggests Adair. “Invermere, [where most of the novel takes place] drenched in testosterone, booze, male sweat, the sounds of gunfire, the rasp of petrol engines, buzzsaws, men revving up for regular blood and bone encounters, is a male-only adventure playground”. Compared to Wilson’s short stories, Adair also believes that “too much happening, too many words”.  A similar overload is lamented in “the closing quarter of the novel” which “almost chokes itself: so much drama”.

Robert Nathan of the Guardian however is not so critical of what he calls a “lean, powerful book about quiet, emotional people”.  He offers particular praise for Wilson’s descriptive ability. He “animates a world that any small-town North American could identify in a moment”. Yet mere description is not all Wilson achieves. The novel “transcends this environment to evoke something universal: how people live through loss, and how they talk about what matters, or don't”.

The Great Tamasha, by James Astill

The critics have lavished praise on James Astill’s exploration of Indian cricket. The Great Tamasha analyses key developments in cricket’s recent history, such as the advent of the IPL, the Indian influence on cricket, and its growing domination of the sport, while also using the game as a lens to view deeper, more problematic issues in Indian society.

The Guardian’s James Burke flatters Astill’s  “engaging, perceptive and rigorous book”. The book is about much more than sport” Burke explains, and features analysis of recurrent Indian issues, such as the caste system. Particular praise is given to Astill’s first-hand research. Astill “spent a week living in both slums in Mumbai and a rural village in the dirt-poor northern state of Uttar Pradesh, which few writers have the time, or the desire, to do”. As a result, his “narrative is helped along by lively interviews with strong characters”. Burke concludes that “The Great Tamasha tells a fascinating story well. Anyone interested in India, or cricket, and most certainly both, will enjoy it very much”.

Mihir Bose of the Independent offers similar adulation. “Much of this story is known” remarks Bose, “but while Astill relies on previously published material, what makes his book exceptional is his first-hand reporting”. The breadth of Astill’s research receives special praise. We “meet powerful Indian politicians from Sharad Power, who aspired to be prime minister and headed international cricket, to residents of Dharavi in Mumbai, one of the biggest slums in Asia”. Like Burke, Bose is also keen to emphasise how other important issues in Indian society are tackled through the lens of cricket. India’s “corruption, crony capitalism, ... [its] thriving democracy” are all explored.

Finally, Tom Fort of the Telegraph congratulates Astill on a “clear-sighted and superbly researched” book. Yet another critic is impressed by Astill’s erudition: “Astill seems to have talked to everyone who is anyone involved in this deeply unattractive business” Fort remarks. Fort also believes that as a “cricket nut” and the “Economist’s bureau chief in Delhi, Astill was well placed to observe the birth of the Indian Premier League (IPL) and monitor its explosive growth”.

The Guts, by Roddy Doyle

Roddy Doyle’s latest novel is a sequel to The Commitments (1987). It follows middle class, middle-aged Jimmy Rabbitte who pays for a three bedroomed house and sizeable family by pursuing a career in the Irish music industry. At the start of the novel Jimmy is diagnosed with bowel cancer (hence the title), exploring both his treatment for the disease, and the Irish music industry simultaneously.

Theo Tait of the Guardian remarks that although the book is “easy to pigeon hole” as a “mid-life crisis novel”, it “has heart and humour, and is thick with Dublin detail”. Impressive too is the fact that Doyle manages to simultaneously serve “up a good-sized helping of nostalgia”, yet attack such sentiments at the same time. Tait believes that the book “provides everything that, back in the mid-1990s, a Roddy Doyle novel seemed to represent: a big, raucous but loving Northside Dublin family; perfectly pitched dialogue; well-observed male camaraderie; a lot of music; and, perhaps most of all, entertaining profanity”. He concludes that “The Guts deserves to be a popular success. Who knows, it might even penetrate a demographic group notoriously resistant to reading novels: middle‑aged men”.

The National Post’s Philip Marchand also emphasises the warmth that Doyle’s latest work contains. “The novel is rich in sentiment and episodes conveying sentiment” Marchand explains, while the book has a “comic mode” which is retained even in its darker moments. This “comic mode is heightened by the form of the narrative, which is basically a series of dialogues - often texted”. However, although this “keeps things sprightly” it “also limits the emotional tone, so that the novel begins to seem like a requiem performed entirely by brass instruments.” In all, Marchand offers a balanced appraisal of a “buoyant tale”.

“It is bright, jokey, wry and robust” explains Patricia Craig of the Independent. She a makes a point of commenting on the book’s authenticity, as Doyle “captures the authentic tones of a late 20th-century, urban working-class, pub- and housing-estate culture, all Howyeh and Wha' d'you mean? and shite and fuck”. This creates an “emphatic atmosphere” which “in a sense... takes the place of a plot”. Like the other “’Barrytown’ novels in particular” The Guts is by no means a book where you will find intricate plot making.

Again, reference is made to the book’s treatment of sentimentality. At times, Doyle’s “and his characters' exasperation with sentimental shite ('it was fuckin' everywhere') gives way to actual sentimental shite: 'the sadness, the grief, had never left. Like losing the kids, them growing up and away from him, one by one'. But such lapses are rare, amid the whole demotic, chaotic onrush of Dublin life and inimitable carry-on”, Craig explains.

Craig remarks that The Guts features much of what is typical of Roddy Doyle: social criticism, “immense skill” and an intensely Irish feel.

James Astill's "The Great Tamasha", an exploration of indian cicket, has been well received. Images: Getty Images.

Book talk from the New Statesman culture desk.

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Shami Chakrabarti’s fall from grace: how a liberal hero lost her reputation

Once, it was trendy to say you liked the former director of Liberty. No longer.

It might be hard to remember now, but there was a time when it was trendy to like Shami Chakrabarti. In the mid-2000s, amid the Iraq War backlash and the furore over identity cards, speaking well of the barrister and head of the human rights campaign group Liberty was a handy way of displaying liberal credentials. She was everywhere: Question Time, Desert Island Discs, Have I Got News For You. A young indie band from Worcester called the Dastards was so keen on her that it even wrote a song about her. It included the lyric: “I turn on my TV/The only one I want to see/Is Shami Chakrabarti.”

The daughter of Bengali immigrants, Chakrabarti was born and brought up in the outer-London borough of Harrow, where she attended a comprehensive school before studying law at the London School of Economics. Her background was a great strength of her campaigning, and during the most authoritarian years of New Labour government she burnished her reputation.

Fast-forward to 13 September 2016, when Chakrabarti made her House of Lords debut as a Labour peer. Baroness Chakrabarti of Kennington wore a sombre expression and a rope of pearls looped round her throat beneath her ermine robe. It was hard to recognise the civil liberties campaigner who was once called “an anarchist in a barrister’s wig” by Loaded magazine.

Yet Chakrabarti has also been cast in another role that is far less desirable than a seat in the Lords: that of a hypocrite. On 29 April this year, Jeremy Corbyn announced that Chakrabarti would chair an independent inquiry into anti-Semitism and other forms of racism in the Labour Party. The inquiry was prompted by the suspensions of Naz Shah, the MP for Bradford West, and Ken Livingstone, for making offensive remarks that were condemned as anti-Semitic. On 16 May Chakrabarti announced that she was joining Labour to gain members’ “trust and confidence”. She said that she would still run the inquiry “without fear or favour”.

The Chakrabarti inquiry delivered its findings on 30 June at a press conference in Westminster. The atmosphere was febrile – there were verbal clashes between the activists and journalists present, and the Jewish Labour MP Ruth Smeeth was reduced to tears. The report stated that Labour “is not overrun by anti-Semitism, Islamophobia or other forms of racism” but that there was an “occasionally toxic atmosphere”. It listed examples of “hateful language” and called on party members to “resist the use of Hitler, Nazi and Holocaust metaphors, distortions and comparisons”. Many Labour supporters were surprised that the report’s 20 recommendations did not include lifetime bans for members found to have shown anti-Semitic behaviour.

Then, on 4 August, it was revealed that Chakrabarti was the sole Labour appointment to the House of Lords in David Cameron’s resignation honours. Both Chakrabarti and Corbyn have denied that the peerage was discussed during the anti-Semitism inquiry. But critics suggested that her acceptance undermined the report and its independence.

In particular, it attracted criticism from members of the UK’s Jewish community. Marie van der Zyl, vice-president of the Board of Deputies of British Jews, said: “This ‘whitewash for peerages’ is a scandal that surely raises serious questions about the integrity of Ms Chakrabarti, her inquiry and the Labour leadership.” A home affairs select committee report into anti-Semitism in the UK has since found that there were grave failings in the report for Labour.

Two further incidents contributed to the decline in Chakrabarti’s reputation: her arrival on Corbyn’s front bench as shadow attorney general and the revelation that her son attends the selective Dulwich College, which costs almost £19,000 a year in fees for day pupils (£39,000 for full boarders). She said that she “absolutely” supports Labour’s opposition to grammar schools but defended her choice to pay for selective education.

Chakrabarti told ITV’s Peston on Sunday: “I live in a nice big house and eat nice food, and my neighbours are homeless and go to food banks. Does that make me a hypocrite, or does it make me someone who is trying to do best, not just for my own family, but for other people’s families, too?”

This was the end for many of those who had respected Chakrabarti – the whisper of hypocrisy became a roar. As the Times columnist Carol Midgley wrote: “You can’t with a straight face champion equality while choosing privilege for yourself.”

Hypocrisy is a charge that has dogged the left for decades (both Diane Abbott and Harriet Harman have fallen foul of the selective school problem). The trouble with having principles, it is said, is that you have to live up to them. Unlike the right, the left prizes purity in its politicians, as Jeremy Corbyn’s squeaky-clean political image shows. Shami Chakrabarti started the year with a campaigning reputation to rival that of the Labour leader, but her poor decisions have all but destroyed her. It’s difficult to recall a time when a liberal icon has fallen so far, so fast. 

Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood