Ghost story: Hillary Clinton at a book signing. Photo: Joshua Roberts/Reuters
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Mark Lawson on the ghostwriter who popularised the misery memoir

Plus “Virginia Woolf: Art, Life and Vision” at the National Portrait Gallery.

The departure of top politicians generally creates one job for their successor and another for whoever is hired to ghostwrite their memoirs. But William Hague, who resigned from the Foreign and Commonwealth Office on 14 July, will be expected, as a published author of political biographies, to tell the story himself. Hired typing fingers, however, are unlikely to be left idle. Four of the top six titles in the most recent Sunday Times non-fiction bestseller list are ghosted memoirs (including those of Hillary Rodham Clinton and Joey from The Only Way Is Essex) and as one of the other books is the biography of a dog, only Thomas Piketty’s Capital in the 21st Century contains no element of creative seance. Assisted life-writing is a flourishing art and a science for which a fascinating and engaging textbook is now available.

Confessions of a Ghostwriter reveals the secrets of Andrew Crofts, who helped to popularise the “misery memoir” by putting in the heavy word work for books including Stuart Howarth’s Please, Daddy, No. A complete list of his 80-plus projects is impossible because, as he explains, ghostwriters are increasingly required by their contracts to delete their own name. Even when writing about aborted commissions, he must keep an eye over his shoulder for a wigged figure. In a chapter magnificently titled “Sacked by a Glove Puppet”, Crofts is legally unable to identify the TV character whose handlers he antagonised with a too-frank manuscript.

Most often, withheld identities have no effect on the heft of the anecdotes. Crofts was twice asked to write autobiographies with an intended print run of one: the authors were a dying man wanting to leave an account for his future grandson and a divorcing wife who planned to pressure her husband into paying more alimony by threatening publication of the book.

When he does drop names, we get the startling revelation that Crofts was a prospective Boswell to both the Marcoses and the Mubaraks, although respective revolutions in the Philippines and Egypt prevented anything reaching the shelf. Flirtations with such work inevitably raise the question – the subject of Robert Harris’s novel The Ghost, which was partly inspired by Crofts’s career – of whether the life-assister needs to approve of the life. With impressive candour, he admits that he might well have been tempted, journalistically, not politically, by an offer to co-operate on Mein Kampf. Ghosting can open doors closed to reporters and diplomats.

As Confessions of a Ghostwriter is an example of the ventriloquist chucking aside the doll and delivering a monologue, unusual attention is focused on the authorial voice. On this evidence, that voice is bluffly clubbable – publishers are “such august folk”; a book “has sailed out into the world” – but culturally intelligent. Intriguingly, Crofts identifies The Great Gatsby’s Nick Carraway and Charles Ryder of Brideshead Revisited, voyeuristic plodders who seek access to great houses, as prototypes of ghostwriters.

I turned next to Joey Essex’s Being Reem (a spectral bestseller), which represents an unusually severe test for the memoir form, as the subject became famous for inarticulacy and a lack of self-knowledge, or indeed of much knowledge at all, having once on television mixed up Jesus Christ and Guy Fawkes. But the acknowledgements page makes unexpectedly compelling reading. “Firstly,” Essex notes, “I’d like to thank Lucie Cave for helping me turn my life into words you can read and enjoy. I don’t know why she’s called a ghostwriter, she’s not actually a ghost, she’s a real person!” The tone of moronic bonhomie passes the first test of assisted life-writing – it certainly sounds like Joey.

Haunted canvas

Another type of literary ghost is the image of a writer stamped upon pos­terity through the portraits chosen for the cover of biographies. Hermione Lee’s life of Virginia Woolf nodded to the subject’s modernism by opting for a 1925 Vogue photograph, while Alexandra Harris’s biography went, more conventionally, for a Roger Fry painting.

Originals of both can be seen in the thoughtful exhibition “Virginia Woolf: Art, Life and Vision” at the National Portrait Gallery, among other less familiar images, such as a 1924 Lady Ottoline Morrell photo of T S Eliot and Woolf sitting in front of a fireplace, staring at the camera with expressions of such solemn apprehension that they resemble a couple about to receive marriage counselling from the Spanish Inquisition.

In almost every other image – by Morrell or anyone else – Woolf is sideways on: Man Ray and Gisèle Freund photograph her in such severe profile that her sharp nose seems to be trying to trim the margin of the print. Vanessa Bell, though, paints Virginia front on and softens and broadens the face. An act of sisterly kindness, I suspect.

“Confessions of a Ghostwriter” is published by the Friday Project on 14 August

“Virginia Woolf: Art, Life and Vision” is at the National Portrait Gallery, London WC2, until 26 October

Mark Lawson is a journalist and broadcaster, best known for presenting Front Row on Radio 4 for 16 years. He writes a weekly column in the critics section of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 23 July 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double 2014

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Former MP Bob Marshall-Andrews: Why I’m leaving Labour and joining the Lib Dems

A former political ally of Jeremy Corbyn explains why he is leaving Labour after nearly 50 years.

I’m leaving home. It’s a very hard thing to do. All of my natural allegiances have been to Labour, and never had I contemplated leaving the party – not even in the gloomy years, when we were fighting Iraq and the battles over civil liberties. I have always taken the view that it’s far better to stay within it. But it has just gone too far. There has been a total failure to identify the major issues of our age.

The related problems of the environment, globalisation and the migration of impoverished people are almost ignored in favour of the renationalisation of the railways and mantras about the National Health Service. The assertion that Labour could run the NHS better than the Tories may be true, but it is not the battle hymn of a modern republic. It is at best well-meaning, at worst threadbare. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life talking about renationalising the railways while millions of people move across the world because of famine, war and climate change.

The centre left in British politics is in retreat, and the demise of the Labour Party has the grim inevitability of a Shakespearean tragedy. Ironically, history will show that Labour’s fatal flaw lay in its spectacular success.

Labour is, in essence, a party of the 20th century, and in those 100 years it did more to advance the freedom and well-being of working people and the disadvantaged than any other political movement in history. The aspirations of the founding fathers – access to education, health and welfare; equality before the law; collective organisation; universal franchise – have all to a large extent been achieved. The party’s record of racial and religious tolerance has been a beacon in a century of repression. These achievements have been enshrined in the fabric of British society and reproduced across the world.

The success brought deserved, unprecedented power and created political fortresses across the industrial heartlands of Britain. But with power, the party became increasingly moribund and corrupt. The manipulation of the union block vote at party conferences became a national disgrace. The Labour heartlands, particularly Scotland, were treated like rotten boroughs, and were too often represented by union placemen.

Instead of seeking a new radicalism appropriate to the challenges of the age, New Labour sought to ambush the Tories on the management of market capital and to outflank them on law and order: a fool’s errand. It inevitably succumbed to another form of corruption based on hubris and deceit, resulting in attacks on civil liberty, financial disaster and catastrophic war.

The reaction has been to lurch back to the status quo. The extraordinary fall from a massive majority of 179 in 1997 to a political basket case has been blamed on the false dichotomy between Blairism and the old, unionised Labour. Both have contributed to the disaster in equal measure.

I believe desperately in the politics of the 21st century, and Labour is at best paying lip service to it – epitomised in its failure to engage in the Brexit debate, which I was horrified by. The Liberal Democrats are far from perfect, but they have been consistent on Europe, as they were in their opposition to the Iraq War and on civil liberties. They deserve support.

But it’s a serious wrench. I’m leaving friends, and it hurts. Jeremy Corbyn was a political ally of mine on a number of serious issues. We made common cause on Tony Blair’s assaults on civil liberty and the Iraq War, and we went to Gaza together. He has many of the right ideas, but he simply has not moved into addressing the major problems.

To be blunt, I don’t think Corbyn is leadership material, but that is aside from politics. You need skills as a leader, and I don’t think he’s got them, but I was prepared to stick it out to see what happened. It has been a great, gradual disappointment, and Brexit has brought it all to the fore.

Frankly, I was surprised that he announced he was a Remainer, because I know that his natural sympathies have lain with a small cadre within Labour – an old-fashioned cadre that holds that any form of trade bloc among relatively wealthy nations is an abhorrence. It’s not: it’s the way forward. Yet there are people who believe that, and I know he has always been sympathetic to them.

But by signing up and then doing nothing, you sell the pass. Labour was uniquely qualified to confront the deliberate falsehoods trumpeted about the NHS – the absurd claims of massive financial dividends to offset the loss of doctors
and nurses already packing their bags – and it failed. Throughout that campaign, the Labour leadership was invisible, or worse.

At present, there is a huge vacuum on the centre left, represented in substantial part by an angry 48 per cent of the electorate who rejected Brexit and the lies on which it was based. Politics, like nature, abhors a vacuum. There is no sign from Labour that the issue is even to be addressed, let alone actively campaigned on. The Labour leadership has signed up to Brexit and, in doing so, rejected the principles of international co-operation that Europe has fostered for half a century. That is not a place I want to be.

The failure to work with, or even acknowledge, other political parties is doctrinaire lunacy. And it will end very badly, I think. The centre left has an obligation to coalesce, and to renege on that obligation is reneging on responsibility. Not to sit on the same platform as other parties during the Brexit debate is an absurd statement of political purity, which has no place at all in modern politics.

The Liberal Democrats have grasped the political challenges of the 21st century as surely as their predecessors in the Liberal Party failed to comprehend those that faced the world a century ago. For that reason, I will sign up and do my best to lend support in my political dotage. After nearly 50 years as a Labour man, I do so with a heavy heart – but at least with some radical hope for my grandchildren.

Bob Marshall-Andrews was the Labour MP for Medway from 1997 to 2010.

As told to Anoosh Chakelian.

This article first appeared in the 27 April 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Cool Britannia 20 Years On

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