The Stones of Muncaster Cathedral: Gargoyle wrestling

Like the hem-sucking demon crouched beneath the slabs in James’s “An Episode of Cathedral History”, Westall’s gargoyle had one purpose: to destroy with a terror that exploited our primal fear of darkness.

An afternoon play about a gentle, modern-day stonemason (played by Terry Molloy from The Archers) battling a possessed medieval gargoyle was clearly inspired by M R James, the great Victorian writer of supernatural fiction (29 September, 1.30pm). But as it also involved takeaway pizza and the sentence “That’s totally crap, Keith”, it could never be accused of too-blatant plagiarism.

Those familiar with James know that his stories of crosspatch academics visiting forgotten country houses are absolutely set: no sex, no marriage, just the slow setting down of buttered toast before the removal of dread-filled papers long locked in an antiquarian’s briefcase.

Robert Westall’s play ostensibly had this kind of thing in spades: the provincial town, the night-wanderings of the innocent, the bachelor clergyman, the deep suspicion of all things foreign. Here, the cause of all the trouble turned out to be an Italian. I can’t recall if any of James’s characters travel as far as Italy but they certainly venture now and again to the kind of eastern European hostelry happened upon by Peter Cushing in the Hammer movies – “Europe” as a snowcapped, stollen-heavy location with garlic flowers around the door that still manages to feel precisely like Berkshire.

“He’s an ugly fellow right enough!” gasps the stonemason when he first sees the gargoyle, “and he seems to be watching me somehow. I’ll wear my hobnails instead of trainers next time . . . ” From the interior of the cathedral emanates the sound of a choir perpetually rehearsing Allegri’s “Miserere” – the bit when the boy soprano goes for the top C and your fingers start to claw in anxiety for him. There was an uncanny smell of rotting fish among mouse droppings, and stone that mysteriously crumbled into mulch, centuries before its time. Like the hem-sucking demon crouched beneath the slabs in James’s “An Episode of Cathedral History”, Westall’s gargoyle had one purpose: to destroy with a terror that exploited our primal fear of darkness.

It was spooky enough – though lacking the appalling malice I personally always hope for (Westall, who died in 1993, generally wrote for children). But it was strangely consoling in the way of all good horror stories. An alternative world was quietly and sadly acknowledged – a place of phlegmatic rustlings and lowered temperatures, fetid smells (must ghosts always smell?) and violence, mainly voiced by the one-eyed grump who processes the milk up at Grange Farm. A world precisely like our own.

Gargoyles versus stonemasons. Image: Getty

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 07 October 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The last days of Nelson Mandela

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Social media tome #Republic questions the wisdom of crowds

Cass R Sunstein explores how insulation pushes groups towards more extreme opinions.

Cass Sunstein, one of the leading public intellectuals in the United States and a former Obama administration official, has worried and written for more than 15 years about the effects of the internet and digital communications on democracy. This book, his third on the subject, tackles social media.

The heart of his argument lies in the cumulative, collective effect of what individuals do online. Networking, shopping, dating and activism are all transformed by the engine of opportunity that is the internet. But those new links and choices produce a malign side effect: “filter bubbles”, inside which like-minded people shut themselves off from opinions that might challenge their assumptions. Insulation pushes groups towards more extreme opinions.

Sunstein’s organising principle is the ­difference between consumer and political sovereignty. The former promotes individual choice despite its possible consequences; the latter takes into account the needs of society as a whole. His inspiration is Jane Jacobs, the historian of US cities who celebrated, in poetic language, the benign and enriching effect on democracy of random encounters between citizens on pavements and in parks. How do we now reverse or dilute the polarisation driven by Facebook and Twitter?

The solutions Sunstein proposes for this very difficult problem are oddly tentative: websites stocked with challenging ideas and deliberative debates, voluntary self-regulation and “serendipity buttons”. He rightly stresses transparency: we know far too little about the algorithms that sift news for our attention on the networks. Facebook has talked about trying to show news that is “engaging” and “interesting”, without ever engaging in detailed public discussion of what these words mean. The disclosure requirements for social networks “require consideration”, Sunstein writes, without saying whether Facebook might have to be required legally to explain precisely how it routes news to almost two billion users.

Sunstein’s most interesting arguments are myth-busters. He questions the “wisdom of crowds”, while refraining from pointing out directly that the single strongest argument against this idea is the inequality of opinions. Not all opinions are equally valuable. He warily suggests what only a very few American voices have so far dared to say: that the First Amendment to the constitution, which guarantees a free press, should not be treated – as the courts have recently tended to do – as an equally strong protection for the freedom of all speech.

Sunstein is nostalgic for the media system and regulation of the past. I spent years working for a daily “general-interest” newspaper (the Times) and regret the decline of those outlets as much as he does, yet there is no reversing the technological and economic changes that have undermined them. It might have been a mistake to deregulate television in the United States, and killing the “fairness doctrine” might have had unforeseen effects, but that does not deal with the dilemmas thrown up by WhatsApp or Weibo, the Chinese version of Twitter.

Users of these platforms face the problem of managing abundance. Writers such as Sunstein imply that people who lock themselves in filter bubbles are deplorably unable to break out of their informational isolation. But we all now live in bubbles that we design to make sense of the torrent of information flowing through our phones. Better-designed, heterogeneous bubbles include the unexpected and the challenging.

Yet the problem lies deeper than the quality of your bubble. Polarised societies can no longer agree on how to recognise the truth. Filter bubbles play a part, but so do a preference for emotion over reason, attacks on scientific fact from religion, decades of public emphasis on self-fulfilment, and a belief that political elites are stagnant and corrupt. Like many journalists, Sunstein treats the problem of a malfunctioning communications system as a supply-side matter: the information being generated and distributed ought to be better.

In the case of fake news, that is indisputable. But there is also a demand-side problem, one that hinges on the motives of those consuming information. If, inside their bubbles, people are not curious about alternative opinions, are indifferent to critical thinking and prefer stoking their dislike – of, say, Hillary Clinton – will they have even the slightest interest in venturing outside their comfort zone? Do we have a right to ignore the views of others, or an obligation to square up to them? Millions of Americans believe that one of the most important guarantees in their constitution is the right to be left alone – and that includes being left alone by the New York Times.

Sunstein does not venture far into this territory. He only hints that if we worry about what people know, we must also worry about what kinds of societies we build. Globalisation has reshaped communities, dismantling some and building others online, but the net effect has been to reduce deliberation and increase a tendency to press the “Like” button, or loathe opponents you can’t see or hear. The ability to debate civilly and well may depend on complex social chemistry and many ingredients – elite expertise, education, critical thinking, culture, law – but we need to be thinking about the best recipes. 

George Brock is the author of “Out of Print: Newspapers, Journalism and the Business of News in the Digital Age” (Kogan Page)

#Republic: Divided Democracy in the Age of Social Media
Cass R Sunstein
Princeton University Press, 328pp, £24.95​

George Brock is a former managing editor of The Times who is now head of journalism at City University in London.

This article first appeared in the 22 June 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The zombie PM

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