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Books of the year 2017, part one: chosen by Andrew Marr, George Osborne, Rose Tremain and others

The New Statesman's friends and contributors recommend their top reads from the last 12 months.

Elif Shafak

One of the year’s most exciting discoveries was Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine (HarperCollins) by Gail Honeyman. The enormous distance between the modern world and the inner world of the central character, Eleanor, is beautifully and vividly told. Honeyman’s voice is funny but heartbreaking, intelligent but compassionate, sharp and sweet. Only a very talented and courageous author could reach out to readers across the world by writing about a seemingly ordinary woman’s loneliness. Honeyman is that writer and I salute her.

Another marvel was East West Street by Philippe Sands (Weidenfeld & Nicolson), published in paperback this year. In an age in which the truth has become more elusive than ever, this is a brave, passionate book that makes its readers witnesses of a search for it. While the book focuses on a family’s trajectory through history, the questions it raises regarding memory, human rights and justice are universal and timely. One of the best examples of analytical thinking and research combined with fine storytelling.

Robert Macfarlane

Two remarkable books by two extraordinary North American writers appeared in the past few months. Anne Michaels, the author of one of the most important modern novels, Fugitive Pieces (1996), published her first volume of non-fiction, Infinite Gradation (House Sparrow Press). It is a meditation on death, love and the limits of utterance that extends Michaels’s lifelong preoccupation with the ethics of art.

Rebecca Solnit’s The Mother of All Questions (Granta) is a brilliantly sharp-edged, quick-tongued set of essays about feminism and the conspiracies of silence that enable harassment and abuse, which has proved eerily premonitory of the Harvey Weinstein scandal (and all the other scandals). Solnit is both a stylist and a fighter, distinguished by her rare combination of grit and grace.

Rose Tremain

Not enough attention was paid this year to Neel Mukherjee’s harsh and vibrant third novel, A State of Freedom (Chatto & Windus). Mukherjee’s deep knowledge of India and the West, allied to his never-failing curiosity about the ties that both bind us and separate us, makes him an outstanding chronicler of Bengali life, seen from within and without. His evocation of the world of servants, trapped in slave-like submission to the whims of the rich, is particularly moving. Nothing here – not even the heartbreaking struggles of a dancing bear and his destitute master – feels contrived or strained. In an age when so many fiction writers flimflam around in a cloud of unknowing, Mukherjee has an eagle’s eye for the truth.

John Gray

I’ve been gripped by a topical book of 20th-century history. Fresh, vivid and revealing, Sean McMeekin’s The Russian Revolution: A New History (Profile Books) records how Rasputin, hearing that Russian troops were being mobilised to enter the First World War, telegraphed the tsar warning that it meant “the end of Russia and yourselves”. What followed – the Red Terror and White atrocities, large-scale peasant rebellions and the Volga famine – cost the lives of 25 million people, 18 times as many as Russian casualties in the world war. In the two months following an assassination attempt on Lenin in August 1918, the Bolshevik secret police executed nearly 15,000 people, more than twice the total number of prisoners of all kinds executed during the last century of tsarist rule. As McMeekin shows, an ignorant peasant-mystic proved a better guide to events than anyone – Marxist or liberal – mesmerised by grand theories of history.

I’ve also enjoyed the thrillers of the Swiss author Friedrich Dürrenmatt, republished by Pushkin Press, especially The Judge and His Hangman, in which a dying detective defies conventional ideas of proof, responsibility and justice.

David Hare

Women born in the mid-20th century are now producing fascinating accounts of how the rise of feminism affected their lives. In the past couple of years, there were great memoirs by Carly Simon and Tracy Tynan. This year, in A Life of My Own (Viking), Claire Tomalin writes as feelingly about herself as she has always written about every­one else. Beautiful.

For pure fun, I recommend Dent’s Modern Tribes (John Murray) by Susie Dent, a lexicography of groups and professions. I loved surfers’ slang best, especially their word for colleagues who hang out in shallow water. I’ve known a few paddle-pusses myself.

Andrew Marr

For me, it’s been a year of poetry immersion because I chaired the Forward Prizes. Maria Apichella didn’t win, but her Psalmody (Eyewear Publishing) is a collection I’ve been rereading with increasing delight. These are poems set in Wales about the relationship between an atheist ex-soldier and a Christian girl, and they feel both timeless and bang up to the minute: they read with the page-turning urgency of a thriller.

I can’t not mention Sinéad Morrissey, who did win with On Balance (Carcanet) – a wide-ranging, capacious, brilliant and entirely satisfying collection of poems that will be read many decades hence. For prose, try Andrew O’Hagan’s The Secret Life (Faber & Faber) on the wilder shores and darker characters of the internet. It’s funny, neatly written and deeply thought-provoking.

Kathleen Jamie

The most extraordinary human being I encountered in print this year was the naturalist Sooyong Park, who has devoted his life to the Siberian tiger. He spends six months of the year living in a coffin-like hide, observing tigers and seeing the disasters caused by poaching and the wastage of their habitat. Perhaps because Park is not European, his attitude is different to what we are accustomed to. Science combines with the near-shamanic knowledge of the hunter-gatherer. The Great Soul of Siberia (William Collins), in Jamie Chang’s deft translation, is a book of intensity, grief and wonder. Observation and intensity also mark Alice Oswald’s Falling Awake (Jonathan Cape). It’s a good title for what she does best: make us aware. Oswald manages to make fully formed, cool but passionate poems from the micro-moments that the rest of us either ignore or don’t know what to do with – the reflections of a cloud in a puddle, for example. With work free-formed, seductive and strange, Oswald is a terrific poet.

William Boyd

Matthew Francis’s brilliant reworking of The Mabinogi (Faber & Faber), the Welsh national epic, made scales fall from my eyes. Ted Hughes meets Game of Thrones meets Gerard Manley Hopkins – you get my drift. It has a wonderful precision of language that has made me seek out Francis’s other volumes. I found Megan Marshall’s new biography Elizabeth Bishop (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt) fascinating as well as astute, and deeply understanding of Bishop’s highly complex persona. We cannot learn too much about this wonderful poet.

William Dalrymple

My favourite novel was Exit West (Hamish Hamilton) by Mohsin Hamid. A profoundly contemporary story about civil wars, unstable countries and refugees pouring to the cities of the West, it is also beautifully written, with the ghost of Camus hovering at the edge of the frame, as he did in The Reluctant Fundamentalist. Two books on south Asia also gave me great pleasure. Both are by talented journalists who have done long stints in the region. Isambard Wilkinson’s Travels in a Dervish Cloak (Eland) is a funny, moving portrait of Pakistan, one of the most complex of countries, but here rendered in bright chiaroscuro and with obvious affection. River of Life, River of Death (Oxford University Press), Victor Mallet’s book on the pollution apocalypse of the Ganges, here turned into a metaphor for modern India, is also a wonderful achievement but more political, analytical and serious in tone.

Roy Hattersley

Though anchored in the world of espionage, A Legacy of Spies (Viking) is – like all of John le Carré’s MI5 novels – far more than a conventional story of deception, defection and death. It is ingeniously constructed around a departmental inquiry into the perceived failures of the operation that formed the plot of The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. The necessary violence is described in retrospect and the casual heroism of the agents stands out in contrast to the formality of the civil servants who judge them. The result is an examination of basic emotions – love, fear, loyalty and despair. All that and the pleasure of a reunion with George Smiley.

Claire Tomalin

Two biographies have delighted me this autumn. In Jenny Uglow’s Mr Lear (Faber & Faber), the shy writer of nonsense verse and hard-working painter, befriended by the powerful yet unfulfilled in love, living among vividly described expatriate British communities, is brought to life with exquisite sympathy in what must be the most handsomely produced book of the year.

Hilary Spurling’s Anthony Powell (Hamish Hamilton) also offers an often surprising and always brilliant picture of English upper-middle-class intellectual life in the mid-20th century: drunkards, journalists, musicians, aristocrats, hangers-on and the odd genius. I couldn’t put it down.

Craig Raine

It isn’t that I don’t read anything. I read all the time. I have the bedsores to prove it. But when it comes to books of the year, it feels as if I’ve spent the year OD-ing on box sets. I have to ask my friends. They can’t remember turning a page either. The Giacometti show at Tate Modern was disastrously laid out but the catalogue, edited by Lena Fritsch and Frances Morris (Tate Publishing), is a Giacometti A-Z under many headings by many hands: Matisse, Henri; Politics; Kiki de Montparnasse, and so on. A great innovation. Jed Perl’s Calder: The Conquest of Time 1898-1940 (Yale University Press) is a mine of detail. Calder’s pliers were by William Bernard, who sold his design to the William Schollhorn Company in New Haven, Connecticut. I never knew that.

Tom Stoppard

One of my books of the year is Laurent Binet’s novel The 7th Function of Language (Harvill Secker), a kind of hoot about French lit crit. I’m also in the middle of a very nice edition of Keats’s Selected Letters, edited by John Barnard (Penguin Classics), who is a wonderful guide through the correspondence.

Neel Mukherjee

The American poet Brian Blanchfield’s first collection of essays, Proxies (Picador), filled me with wonder, admiration and elation. Subtitled “A Memoir in Twenty-Four Attempts”, this outrageously intelligent book, written in a style that fuses head and heart alchemically, advances the game on both the life-writing and the essay fronts.

Chief Engineer, Erica Wagner’s biography of Washington Roebling – the man who built the Brooklyn Bridge, one of the iconic constructions that define the most iconic of cities – is a masterful work of research, revelation and gripping narrative. It brings to pulsating life 19th-century New York and New Jersey and manages to be moving, too. 

Jason Cowley

Two books about grief moved me greatly. First, the Man Booker Prize judges got it right in choosing George Saunders’s Lincoln in the Bardo (Bloomsbury) as their winner. It’s a wondrous novel set on the night a grieving Abraham Lincoln, at the height of the Civil War, visits his dead 11-year-old son Willie in his crypt in Georgetown. The novel, which in form resembles a play or a script, is a polyphonic masterpiece, by turns hilarious and deeply poignant.

Richard Beard’s memoir, The Day That Went Missing (Harvill Secker), tells the story of a tragedy – the drowning of the author’s nine-year-old brother Nicky while on a family holiday in Cornwall in the 1970s – and of how the family reacted to its loss by behaving as if Nicky had never lived. Until, that is, the now middle-aged Beard reawakened long-repressed traumatic memories.

Deborah Levy

No doubt about it, I will read the genius poet Emily Berry’s second collection, Stranger, Baby (Faber & Faber), for many years to come. She begins with a Freud quotation: “The loss of a mother must be something very strange.” Her subject is indeed the death of a mother. These poems continue this conversation with Freud, forging a strange, tough language to give value to the absurdity and chaos of grief. She manages to be witty, too: “Now all my poems are about death I feel as though I’m really living.”

I thoroughly enjoyed Punk Is Dead: Modernity Killed Every Night (Zero Books). Edited by Richard Cabut and Andrew Gallix, this anthology of essays, interviews and personal recollections reflects on the ways in which punk was lived and experienced at the time. Gallix flips his finger at those who see nostalgia as an affliction and rightly attempts to promote the fragmented and contested legend of punk to “a summation of all the avant-garde movements of the 20th century… a revolution for everyday life”.

George Osborne

In the centenary year of the Russian Revolution, I reread Mikhail Sholokhov’s wonderful, unsparing epic And Quiet Flows the Don, reissued by Penguin Classics. It starts as an elegy to the hard, sometimes suffocating communal life of a Cossack village on the banks of the River Don in Russia and turns into a work of brutal realism as the community is denuded by the First World War, then destroyed by civil war and revolution. As a teenager, I saw only a grand tale of soldiers and revolutionaries; now I read an intimate human story of loss and love. Any book that won both the Stalin Prize and the Nobel Prize in Literature has to be worth a look.

If you want a complete antidote, read Tina Brown’s The Vanity Fair Diaries (Weidenfeld & Nicolson), the party-by-party, cover-by-cover story of how a Brit conquered New York publishing. As a novice editor, I can tell you it is packed with priceless advice from one of the greatest of them all.

Antonia Fraser

Hilary Spurling’s Anthony Powell: Dancing to the Music of Time (Hamish Hamilton) is a remarkable match between subject and biographer. (Spurling knew Powell over many years, an advantage she uses with admirable delicacy.) The result is an exciting story, from its unhappy beginnings to its triumphant ending with Powell as a leading 20th-century novelist. You can’t read this without your fingers itching to get at his Dance novels, whether for the first or the 15th time.

The Collected Novellas of Stefan Zweig (Pushkin Press), which I had never read despite a long and ardent admiration of Zweig, includes Burning Secret, about a boy and childish passion, which wrings the heart.

This article first appeared in the 16 November 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The plot to stop Brexit

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Europe after the storm: how Emmanuel Macron plans to transform the EU

The French president has a vision to lead the deadlocked EU out of crisis and towards greater integration. But can he carry the rest of the bloc with him, especially the troubled Germans?

Sometimes it takes a Frenchman. The 19th century writer and politician Alexis de Tocqueville is remembered today for explaining the merits of American democracy to the world. In the mid-20th century, two other Frenchmen (well, one French, and one a Lorrainer with ties to Luxembourg), political economist and diplomat Jean Monnet and foreign minister Robert Schuman, were pivotal in establishing a limited European Community of Coal and Steel; today they are remembered for creating the intellectual basis for its transformation into the European Union. Now, the French president, Emmanuel Macron, is showing the deadlocked EU a way out of the crisis. What he is proposing on Europe is so major and so much more important than any other pressing current issue, including Brexit, that it is a wonder it is not being more widely and constantly discussed across the continent.

In a series of books, articles and speeches over the past 18 months Macron has brutally exposed the weaknesses of the European Union. The problem, he shows, is that the member states are too weak on their own to enjoy effective sovereignty in the fields of finance, economy, the environment, immigration, foreign policy and defence. Worse, the EU, in its current form, is unable to remedy these deficiencies. The euro is not based on a common parliament and economic policy, and is thus condemned to perpetual instability. The taxation regimes of the member states are not co-ordinated, leading to a downward competition between EU countries that puts the foundations of Europe’s welfare regimes at stake.

While the EU sets ambitious targets to tackle climate change, its member states fail to live up to their independent promises. The continent lacks a single jointly funded army commanded by a shared government and so its defence provision is inadequate; it is actually defended by a military alliance in Nato where most of the war-fighting capacity is provided from across the Atlantic Ocean and the English Channel. Most of Europe has a common travel area – Schengen – but no common border defence or established migration policy, with predictable results in the Balkans and Mediterranean.

The Europeans are in effect, though Macron does not quite put it this way, leaseholders on their own continent.

President Macron proposes to return “sovereignty” to the populations of the member states – by which he means genuine democratic participation – through the creation of a larger “European sovereignty”. His concrete suggestions for EU reform are anchored in elements such as the establishment of a European military intervention force that would have a single European doctrine and budget; and of a European border police and a European asylum office that would uphold simultaneously the integrity of its outer border and a common asylum regime. The list could go on, but even more fundamental than the policy and instrument changes suggested are the proposals on how these would be governed, funded and legitimised.

The extent of the policies suggested and their European nature leads Macron to conclude that they require a common budget overseen by a European finance minister and tightly controlled by a European parliament. Given the policy areas that the proposals cover and the mechanisms suggested to enable them, they amount to reshaping the EU in such a way as to form a European state in all but name, rather than the European confederation we have today.

But this is not all there is to it. The president’s vision effectively abandons the framework within which changes to the EU’s structure have been made up until today, namely as the sovereign decisions of the governments of its member states. Instead he suggests that Europeans reclaim – our words not his – the freehold they forfeited, with good reason, in the mid-20th century.

For in President Macron’s vision a common road map for how to develop the new Europe would be put to discussion among the populations of countries willing to engage in the process, and ready to take those discussions into consideration when voting for the next European parliament in 2019. Ultimately, this vision suggests that where some member states aren’t willing to partake in the process they would not have to join in the new union, but remain part of a slower-speed rump made up of the remains of the EU of today.

Here are Macron’s own words in his book Revolution: “We have confused sovereignty and nationalism. I say that those who truly believe in sovereignty are pro-Europeans: Europe is our chance to recover full sovereignty... Sovereignty means a population freely exercising its collective choices, on its territory. And having sovereignty means being able to act effectively. Faced with the current serious challenges, it would simply be an illusion, and a mistake, to propose to rebuild everything at the national level. Faced with an influx of migrants, the international terrorist threat, climate change, the digital transition, as well as the economic supremacy of the Americans and the Chinese, Europe is the most appropriate level at which to take action.”

The underlying conception of “sovereignty” here appears complex, but is in fact clear and revolutionary; it is no accident that his manifesto book was titled Revolution. Macron is not simply “pooling” the sovereignty of the member states; he is vesting it at a higher level. Nor is the president taking sovereignty away from these states, because in today’s world they don’t have any to begin with. The peoples of mainland Europe will have a European sovereignty or they will have no sovereignty.


To understand where that leaves the nation state, one needs to grasp the distinction that French political thinking makes between the nation and the state. While most European nation states take their raison d’être from a shared territory or bloodlines, France’s identity is supplemented by another, that of the Republic. The Republic’s foundational myth is that of a defender of republican and universal values such as essential human and citizens’ rights. So far, these are recognised as distinct yet overlapping, as can be witnessed by important formal addresses of French presidents always ending in the call: “Vive la République, et vive la France.”

With Macron aiming to preserve the first, the French nation, he suggests transferring the other, the French Republic with its commitment to the defence of human rights and universal values, to the European level. The French nation will remain, just as the other nations will remain, but it will no longer be sovereign. The French Fifth Republic will come to a formal end – it is in practice already redundant – and will be replaced by the Sixth Republic, which will simultaneously be the first European Republic.

The Macron plan is thus, unsurprisingly, very “French”, as one might expect from a man who received his education from two of France’s elite universities, Sciences Po Paris and the École Nationale d’Administration, and who admires Napoleon. This is also reflected in some of his policy concerns, such as his recent call for the EU to develop a new Mediterranean strategy, which is reminiscent of Sarkozy’s failed Union for the Mediterranean, or the suggestion to establish European corporations that would be champions in one field of economic activity. That said, he and his plans are also very Anglo-Saxon (though he may not thank us for saying so). Macron makes frequent and willing use of his fluent English and has worked as a banker at Rothschild. He has praised the economic models that other countries have adopted and believes firmly in a digital start-up revolution.

Similarly, his foundational ideas for the reform of Europe are – directly or indirectly – inspired by successful developments from elsewhere. Just as the independent colonies that formed the United States realised that they were too weak to face the challenges of the age on their own, Macron emphasises that true sovereignty for Europe’s peoples can only exist through the creation of a single de facto state responsible for policies to deal with Europe’s greatest challenges. Yet, just as England, Scotland, Wales and part of Ireland remain as nations within a larger sovereign political union within the United Kingdom, so Macron sees France and the other nations retaining their distinct identity under the new “European sovereignty”. And he wants it not to be attained gradually and by stealth, but quickly through consultation and consent. He outlines a process of constitutional conventions followed by democratic procedures such as referenda, with a clear path to a European sovereignty by 2024 – the date of European parliament elections – agreed within a couple of years. Those unwilling to participate would not be able to block the progress envisioned by the others.


There are formidable obstacles to Macron’s vision, domestic, European and global. His plan is a fundamental challenge to French nationalism of both the right and the left. So far, outside the political extremes, the response has been muted, with the exception of a few symbolic battles such as over whether the European flag should be displayed in the French parliament. Serious opposition has tended to focus on his economic plans at home. Once people wake up to the core of these ideas, there will be furious controversy. The Fifth Republic will not go gentle into the European dawn.

The Macron plan is also fundamentally at odds with the current reality and temper of the EU and its member states. As one former eurozone prime minister told us when asked about Macron’s vision, the EU “is a confederation of states with a federal overlay. It is not a state and will not become one. It is a legal order and a habit of mind, a habit of consultation”.

The idea of a multi-speed Europe is also alarming in parts of eastern Europe, where given the current deficiencies in the state of liberal democracy it would be logical to assume that they would be left in the slow lane for integration. Moreover, the Macron plan has the capacity to throw a spanner in the works of establishing a mutual settlement between the EU and the UK over crucial Brexit issues such as the Irish border and the single market.

Above all, the president’s solution puts Germany in a quandary. Though it reflexively supports anything that smacks of a restarting of the “Franco-German motor” of European integration, or the “Franco-German couple” as the French would have it, Berlin understands “more Europe” in an incremental, not a final sense.

Germany has also been much less keen to shunt the eastern Europeans into a siding. For geopolitical reasons it has preferred to slow down the train in order to allow the slower states to keep up and to enable everybody to reach the same destination together, if they ever arrive.

Besides, there is a lot of sympathy among German conservatives, especially the Christian Social Union, for the very Hungarian and Polish conservatives that Macron would like to exclude or neutralise. At the beginning of January Hungary’s prime minister Viktor Orbán was a guest of honour at the party’s annual New Year’s retreat. Most importantly of all, the German public and most politicians alike oppose the merging of sovereign debts which Macron knows is required to stabilise the euro.

Macron’s concept of European sovereignty faces an uncertain fate in the world at large. The support of the essential freeholders of Europe’s security, the United States and, to a certain extent, the United Kingdom, cannot be taken for granted. For the first time since the end of the Second World War, an American administration cannot be automatically relied upon to defend Europe.


Yet, at the same time Macron seems to be the only major European politician who has at least begun to build a working relationship with President Trump. So far it looks as if Macron has also understood that Britain shouldn’t be left to its own devices. Despite some growling over Brexit, he is not a plausible Britain-hater, and he has shown a keen interest in continuing defence co-operation. Also, if he has any sense, the president will realise that Brexit and the unification of mainland Europe need to be negotiated in tandem, because the two processes – just think of the border between Northern Ireland and the Irish Republic – are intertwined.

Then there are the spoilers in Europe’s neighbourhood and beyond. Russia, Turkey, and China keep Europe’s governments busy and all have the capacity to cause serious trouble. European countries are divided as to how to respond to issues such as Russia’s disregard for international boundaries or the integrity of democratic processes elsewhere.

Does President Macron have the capacity to see his ambitious plan through to completion? So far, everything in his personal and political life suggests that Macron is a man of extraordinary quality, who is unbound by convention and completely free of any path-dependency. He has never done things, at least none of the really big things, the easy way. 

Macron has a clear strategy for the creation of his European republic. Last year he began with the reform of the French economy, partly for its own sake, but mainly to impress Berlin. Failure to do so would have left him open to the standard German “ordo-liberal” charge that other countries are not to be trusted with a European budget or common debt. This is why his book and the Sorbonne speech of September 2017 gestured towards the former German finance minister Wolfgang Schäuble by speaking of “upholding common rules”, rather than just holding out a begging bowl.

So far, Macron has been extraordinarily successful, far more so than many of his detractors expected, and his supporters dared to hope.  After his remarkable, but essentially flukey election victory he created a political party, La République en Marche, from scratch and romped to victory in the subsequent parliamentary elections. He has so far overseen the domestic reform process without being derailed by France’s once almighty unions, nor has he been affected by a major political scandal involving members of his hastily created and initially heterogeneous political movement.

And Macron is no longer a mere one-man band. His outlook has inspired other seasoned politicians from different parts of France’s former political system to join him. To name but a few among the more senior political ranks, the French economy minister Bruno Le Maire speaks fluent German, is often on German TV and appears credible on both sides of the Rhine. Meanwhile, foreign and European affairs are similarly handled by experienced politicians and diplomats.

While one should not overestimate the importance of French MPs, the new class of politicians elected to parliament by Macron’s victory is very different from its predecessors. They are particularly diverse and excited about doing politics differently.

Many MPs are now considerably younger than their average constituents, while others are remarkable in their own right. To name but a few, the French parliament now includes Cédric Villani, a winner of the equivalent of the Nobel Prize in mathematics, the Fields Medal, and a staunch European federalist; while the new head of its European affairs committee, Sabine Thillaye, held a German passport for the greater part of her life before also gaining French nationality. Even if the diversity of his MPs leads to political fractures, Macron’s majority in the lower house is sufficiently large to render this inconsequential.  However, in Europe, the president had an unexpectedly slow start because of the inconclusive outcome of the German federal elections in September. Macron had hoped to start 2018 discussing the future of Europe with Chancellor Merkel; but his scheme to draft a whole new Franco-German treaty for the 55th anniversary of the historic Élysée Treaty in 1963 has had to be put on hold.

Nonetheless, there are signs that the German debate is slowly going Macron’s way. First, the German election result, which damaged Angela Merkel, and the initial deadlock over coalition talks in the country have, for the first time in more than a decade, shifted Europe’s balance of power back towards Paris. Second, the coalition agreement struck between Merkel’s Christian Democrats, its Bavarian allies and the Social Democratic Party (SPD), strikes a distinctively pro-European chord as this was a core demand by the latter party. Third, and perhaps most importantly, by securing the key finance and foreign ministries, the SPD will have considerable leverage over European affairs in the new government.

One way or the other, between them, Macron and pro-European voices in the SPD have destroyed two tenacious recent narratives: that all is well with the EU, despite a few rocky patches, and that there can be no question of further far-reaching and fast-paced European political integration any time soon.

In the future, it will thus simply no longer be good enough for Merkel’s chief of staff, Peter Altmaier, to trot out as he did in December the old Berlin mantra that “the discussion about whether Europe should be a federal state, confederation or a United States is one for academics and journalists, not for German foreign policy”. There is also a new Franco-German spirit in place and for once it is linked to the beginnings of a visionary and yet realistic plan. It found expression in a joint Franco-German parliamentary resolution last month in support of European reform, a pis aller for the stalled treaty. Perhaps other eurozone parliaments will follow suit with similar temporary yet symbolic measures.


In his New Year address, Macron spoke directly to the European people. “I will need you in this year,” he said, “to rediscover our European ambition, a more sovereign and united Europe, and one that is more democratic and good for our people [sic].” He directly appealed to the much vaunted European public sphere, in effect over the heads of member state governments. It was undoubtedly the right decision, but nobody can be sure that it will work. The messages from the great European public are mixed.

To be sure, there has been a substantial recent outpouring of support for the European ideal, epitomised by the “Pulse of Europe” movement. But when one gets down to details, and especially any concerted plan to save the union, that consensus evaporates. Just before Christmas, a poll by the respected Körber Foundation showed Germans to be strongly supportive of the European Union but, by a small majority, opposed to Macron’s plan to save it.

For all the rhetoric, when it really matters, the European sense of shared destiny is still weak and common ideas are often lost in translation. Of course, public opinion can change, if credible leaders make the case to the public at large. To do this Macron will need a “Europe en Marche”, or to extend the La République en Marche across the continent: a project for the democratic unification of Europe.

Together with active citizens and other leaders he will have to craft a new common narrative that rings true in Paris, Athens and Tallinn alike. He will have to lead the nation une et indivisible out of its hexagonal comfort zone to act as a new Grande Nation in Europe. The French cannot be armed missionaries – that never worked – but they must be the animating spirit of the union. To succeed, President Macron will have to frighten and inspire Europeans in equal measure. The movement will need to give us a “project fear” and a “project hope”. 

Brendan Simms is professor in the history of international relations in the department of politics and international studies at the University of Cambridge, and chairman of pro-European think tank the Project for Democratic Union. He is a New Statesman contributing writer

Daniel Schade is a researcher and lecturer in European studies at the University of Magdeburg in Germany. He serves as deputy chairman of the PDU

This article first appeared in the 16 November 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The plot to stop Brexit