It is hard to believe that Rachel Cooke has gone. I am not the only New Statesman reader who told themselves they turned first to the current affairs pages, but who really always made a beeline for Rachel’s delicious, hilarious TV column. She must have organised the viewing habits of thousands of people, but, of course, the programme review was only ever a means for her to unleash her intelligence, wit, insight and disdain for pretension. Her writing was never simply about TV, but about gender, culture, society and the often absurd state of things. I loved it.
The best writers create in readers the feeling of enjoying a private conversation. Many people admired Rachel’s work, but I secretly believed she and I would instantly be friends were we ever to meet. Reading her columns was like having a weekly lunch on a park bench with the only other sane person in the office. Her death is like arriving at that bench one day to find that life-affirming, guffaw-inducing person gone. I will continue to seek out her companionship via her books and other columns; thank goodness she was so prolific.
Alex Hall, senior lecturer, University of York
Rachel Cooke, virtuoso
It was with great sadness that I learned of the death of Rachel Cooke, one of my favourite writers and a beacon of light. I always looked forward with eager anticipation to turning the pages of the latest edition of the New Statesman to her review. Rachel’s writing was always so engaging, laugh-out-loud, perceptive and sharp; she was a virtuoso at her craft.
I noticed her absence keenly and hoped to see her return. Sadly not. So sadly not.
Peter Kobryn, Nottingham
I was shocked and deeply, deeply sorry to learn of the death of Rachel Cooke, the New Statesman TV critic. I have subscribed to the New Statesman for about 20 years and always found her television reviews to be right on the button. She was accurate, very often praising, sometimes scathing, but never personally insulting. Plus, she had a warmth and a great sense of wit. Her reviews revealed her love of the medium and her passion for “good” television. I so enjoyed Rachel’s writing that her column became the first page I turned to every week. What a loss. She will be sadly missed.
Keith Strachan, East Molesey, Greater London
Keir no evil, speak no evil
Ailbhe Rea describes the growing contempt within his own party for Keir Starmer’s administration (Cover Story, 14 November). In the early months following Labour’s landslide victory, I was convinced that communication was the problem, and that over time Starmer’s performance would improve; that the faltering delivery of a best man’s speech at a wedding would give way to a more confident, meaningful presentation. Now I feel that it is not so much that the comms are to blame, but that, essentially, he has nothing to communicate.
Felicity McGowan, Cardigan, Wales
It is true that Keir Starmer doesn’t do politics, and his managerial and delegation-based style often leaves him out of touch with and isolated by events. Perhaps we all came to expect too much with that seismic electoral win, but what we didn’t want were so many unforced errors and scandals of the sort that became synonymous with the last government. I am not at all surprised by the utter despair felt by back-bench MPs. As the phrase goes, “There are none so deaf who will not hear,” but the time is fast approaching when that dire strategy will hit the political skids completely.
Judith A Daniels, Great Yarmouth, Norfolk
Flying the cuckoo’s nest
I welcome your choice to expand the Correspondence section and allow for the occasional comment or rejoinder. In the 5 November edition, Matthew Kilcoyne is absolutely correct: the institutional value of the British monarchy shouldn’t suffer from individual alleged criminality – to the same extent that republican institutions are not, in theory, undermined by parliamentary scandals, judicial misconduct and individual presidential corruption. The difference is that we can sanction the latter when necessary, while with the former we have to rely on gracious self-censorship.
On the same page Moira Sykes warns her allegiance will switch to the Green Party unless she sees real change (for example, reform of the civil service and the House of Lords). That’s far too generous of you, Moira! Barring a collective political self-immolation of the entire front bench, my vote has flown the Labour nest, and no emotional blackmail about letting Reform in will bring it back!
Giovanni Vitulli, Welwyn Garden City
Negotiating Nato
Reading Masha Alyokhina’s wishes for the protection of Ukraine and democracy and her fears that the “left-liberal” politicians have a “short memory” and should “read history” (Interview, 14 November), raises the question: who are these “left liberal politicians”? Do Zack Polanski, Jeremy Corbyn and Zarah Sultana consider themselves to be “left-liberal politicians”? They are certainly being feted by the left.
Ukraine wants to join the EU and Nato continues to support Ukraine against Russian invasion. Alyokhina, one of many courageous activists against totalitarian regimes, believes Europe should “send armed forces to attack Russia… but somehow there aren’t left-liberal politicians saying this”. Corbyn’s support for Britain staying in the EU was tepid. Polanski wants to leave Nato and Sultana refers to Nato
as this “imperialist war machine”.
Meanwhile, Henry Marsh says that “it is absurd to argue that Putin’s invasion was provoked by the expansion of Nato” (Diary, 14 November). When arguing it is better to leave Nato, we really should “read the history”.
Helena Constable, Bruton
The test of time
With so many distractions – the BBC, Trump, Gaza, the Budget – it’s easy to forget Ukraine. Henry Marsh’s Diary (14 November) is an inspiring reminder of what true friendship and expertise during horrific adversity means.
Intrigued, I discovered that Marsh’s parents helped found Amnesty, along with his success as an author and that he’d been a distinguished neurosurgeon working at the Atkinson Morley wing of St George’s Hospital, south London.
I was particularly familiar with Atkinson Morley in the early 1960s before it moved from Wimbledon to Tooting. Playing school rugby nearby, anyone with suspected concussion was taken there to be “checked out”. As you sat with one leg crossed over the other so that the upper foot dangled clear of the floor, a medic tapped just below your knee. If your foot kicked out you were passed OK and possibly returned to the match. Nowadays as a test for concussion, it’s frowned upon.
David Murray, Wallington, Surrey
Open source, open season
Murtaza Hussain’s review, “How we lost the internet” (The New Society, 14 November), presupposes that we ever had “control” of the internet in the first place. Firstly, the open-source nature of the World Wide Web was based on a completely over-optimistic view of human nature. The history and development of modes of human communication from humanity’s earliest days is inextricably linked to violence, pornography and crime. Not long after, when I first connected to the internet more than 20 years ago, my email inbox was inundated with unwanted pornography, only stopped by anti-virus programmes. Today, my email spam folder is full of scam-based rubbish. The sad thing is, all this was entirely predictable. We could have started from an entirely different position, perhaps based on a regulated environment along the lines of the French Minitel system of the 1980s. Instead we gave US tech free rein and, well, here we are, trapped in AI fakery and all its related nightmares.
Peter Boon, London E11
Pint of porter pozhaluysta
Thank you, Finn McRedmond (Silver Spoon, 14 November), for prompting a ten-minute Google expedition to locate an Irish pub I visited in Moscow, circa winter 1997 (Sally O’Brien’s, as it turns out). Somewhere near the Moskva River and the then building site of the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, I left the frozen streets. The doors opened and once the ubiquitous steam cleared, I was confronted by an impossibly familiar and therefore welcome sight: the Irish pub. Several hours of conversation in halting Russian and mostly English with my new friends passed before I stumbled (there was some Guinness too!) back into the wintry night to find the metro. Aged just 22, I pondered how it could it be that these two seemingly opposing forces could coexist: one of warmth, smiles and cushioned stools, and the other of stooped babushkas shuffling quickly through the snow, headscarf upon headscarf making them unknowable in the frigid, bleak and unlit streets.
Rebecca White, Norwich
Write to letters@newstatesman.co.uk
We reserve the right to edit letters
[Further reading: Meet the bond market vigilantes]
Content from our partners
Related
This article appears in the 20 Nov 2025 issue of the New Statesman, Meet the bond vigilantes