It's a wonderful town: the New York skyline. Photo: Getty
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Life is a love affair of places – but as you get older, you find your co-ordinates change

Ed Smith’s Left Field column. 

Experience is as much about receptivity as what actually happened. How good is a novel? It depends on when you read it. Read The Great Gatsby or Brideshead Revisited in early adulthood, before you can see the tricks, and you’re more likely to get swept along by the wrought glamour.

As with books, also places. How great is a city? How old were you when you arrived, how hungry for experience, how open to risk? How precisely did you register social distinctions? A city is only the sum of your memories of it. And memory is uneven; there are phases when events lodge more luminously.

“A writer can spin on about his adventures after 30, after 40, after 50,” F Scott Fitzgerald wrote in an essay, “but the criteria by which those adventures are weighed and valued are irrevocably settled at the age of 25.” Autobiographies, John Betjeman said, should end at the authors’ late twenties. By then you’ve been through all the interesting bits. While I hope Fitzgerald and Betjeman were wrong, I suspect they were on to something.

For me, those adventures were divided between summers playing cricket in England and winters in Lower Manhattan. For a five-year spell in my early twenties, I lived in New York for three or four months a year. Partly I wanted to escape my very English life; partly, after seven months of county cricket each summer, I was so tired of living in a contained, limited environment that I needed an injection of city life; and partly it was that I had made new friends in New York and missed them.

It sounds both sloppy and grandiose to say, “I fell in love with New York.” But places can exert a hold on us at certain moments, just like people. “Dear Chicago”, Ryan Adams’s wonderful confessional song, deliberately blurs the distinction. Is he writing about a place, a person or both? It’s not clear.

We usually explain away infatuation with places apologetically, as though it shouldn’t matter. “Life is an affair of people and not of places,” wrote Wallace Stevens in Adagia, “but for me life is an affair of places and that is just the trouble.” There isn’t even a common word for “cityphilia”. Urbanity, too tied up with manners, doesn’t quite catch it.

Last month, 15 years after my first visit, I went back to New York. I walked everywhere, as I always used to, following no particular plan beyond the staging posts of superior coffee houses. Imagining I was observing how New York had changed, I was in reality following a different journey. Cities change, but not as fast as you do.

The first shock is the most obvious. Falling in love with a city, you are being seduced by it. The particulars, however real they feel, are incidental. You realise that, experienced more objectively, the shops are just shops and the restaurants are much like other restaurants; even the parks don’t look as remarkable as you remembered them. Those things, however nice, did not define the experience. They provided the canvas. The picture was the feeling of observing while being mostly unobserved, walking and seeing, part of something and yet removed from it, absence in presence.

When you are in your early twenties, still working out who you are, the city is rich not just with entertainment but also with influences. When career, temperament and sensibility are all in flux, the range and scale of what is relevant and interesting are almost infinite. Later – when you are, perhaps, clearer and certainly busier – so much is subconsciously filtered out. The downside is diminished instinctive receptivity.

In his perceptive essay “Here Is New York”, E B White distinguished between three versions of the city: first, that of the native New Yorker, for whom its turbulence and scale are facts of life; second, that of the commuter; and third, the New York of the person who comes “in quest of something”. “Of these three trembling cities,” White concluded, “the greatest is the last . . . the city that is a goal. It is this third city that
accounts for New York’s high-strung disposition, its poetical deportment.”

I lived mostly on St Mark’s Place, in what is now called the East Village, a few doors from where W H Auden spent his winters for 20 years. A friend of mine – a resident of St Mark’s since 1963, when he was an improbably handsome young man – remembers Auden, not surprisingly, as an especially attentive neighbour.

Once I could have bored anyone who might listen on the apparently vast differences between the West Village (ex-bohem­ia-turned-über-gentrified-boutique) and its younger and – then – poorer hipster brother, the East Village.

Now? I found myself thinking, equally often in both areas, “You’re not getting a pram easily out of that doorway.” Preoccupations change.

And yet somehow experience, like the city itself, does remain more concentrated in Manhattan. Cities rely on proximity to generate their sense of serendipity and nowhere else squeezes so much life into a small space. The collisions and contrasts take on their own energy.

Having watched the New York Jets charge into the Chicago Bears on Monday night, on Tuesday I attended the opening gala of the New York City Ballet. On the pavement outside Lincoln Centre, I bumped into an old friend.

Over an impromptu dinner, joined by friends from richly contrasting professional spheres, I realised how such chance events, which I always associate with New York life, have influenced my way of thinking. If the city seems less dazzling than it once did, that’s partly because it is so bound up with who you are. 

Ed Smith’s latest book is “Luck: a Fresh Look at Fortune” (Bloomsbury, £8.99)

Ed Smith is a journalist and author, most recently of Luck. He is a former professional cricketer and played for both Middlesex and England.

This article first appeared in the 15 October 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Isis can be beaten

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Theresa May’s Brexit speech is Angela Merkel’s victory – here’s why

The Germans coined the word “merkeln to describe their Chancellor’s approach to negotiations. 

It is a measure of Britain’s weak position that Theresa May accepts Angela Merkel’s ultimatum even before the Brexit negotiations have formally started

The British Prime Minister blinked first when she presented her plan for Brexit Tuesday morning. After months of repeating the tautological mantra that “Brexit means Brexit”, she finally specified her position when she essentially proposed that Britain should leave the internal market for goods, services and people, which had been so championed by Margaret Thatcher in the 1980s. 

By accepting that the “UK will be outside” and that there can be “no half-way house”, Theresa May has essentially caved in before the negotiations have begun.

At her meeting with May in July last year, the German Chancellor stated her ultimatum that there could be no “Rosinenpickerei” – the German equivalent of cherry picking. Merkel stated that Britain was not free to choose. That is still her position.

Back then, May was still battling for access to the internal market. It is a measure of how much her position has weakened that the Prime Minister has been forced to accept that Britain will have to leave the single market.

For those who have followed Merkel in her eleven years as German Kanzlerin there is sense of déjà vu about all this.  In negotiations over the Greek debt in 2011 and in 2015, as well as in her negotiations with German banks, in the wake of the global clash in 2008, Merkel played a waiting game; she let others reveal their hands first. The Germans even coined the word "merkeln", to describe the Chancellor’s favoured approach to negotiations.

Unlike other politicians, Frau Merkel is known for her careful analysis, behind-the-scene diplomacy and her determination to pursue German interests. All these are evident in the Brexit negotiations even before they have started.

Much has been made of US President-Elect Donald Trump’s offer to do a trade deal with Britain “very quickly” (as well as bad-mouthing Merkel). In the greater scheme of things, such a deal – should it come – will amount to very little. The UK’s exports to the EU were valued at £223.3bn in 2015 – roughly five times as much as our exports to the United States. 

But more importantly, Britain’s main export is services. It constitutes 79 per cent of the economy, according to the Office of National Statistics. Without access to the single market for services, and without free movement of skilled workers, the financial sector will have a strong incentive to move to the European mainland.

This is Germany’s gain. There is a general consensus that many banks are ready to move if Britain quits the single market, and Frankfurt is an obvious destination.

In an election year, this is welcome news for Merkel. That the British Prime Minister voluntarily gives up the access to the internal market is a boon for the German Chancellor and solves several of her problems. 

May’s acceptance that Britain will not be in the single market shows that no country is able to secure a better deal outside the EU. This will deter other countries from following the UK’s example. 

Moreover, securing a deal that will make Frankfurt the financial centre in Europe will give Merkel a political boost, and will take focus away from other issues such as immigration.

Despite the rise of the far-right Alternative für Deutschland party, the largely proportional electoral system in Germany will all but guarantee that the current coalition government continues after the elections to the Bundestag in September.

Before the referendum in June last year, Brexiteers published a poster with the mildly xenophobic message "Halt ze German advance". By essentially caving in to Merkel’s demands before these have been expressly stated, Mrs May will strengthen Germany at Britain’s expense. 

Perhaps, the German word schadenfreude comes to mind?

Matthew Qvortrup is author of the book Angela Merkel: Europe’s Most Influential Leader published by Duckworth, and professor of applied political science at Coventry University.