Monthly Archives: May 2022

Book review

“They burned down the market the day Vivek Oji died.” So begins the tragedy of Vivek Oji, a young man living a double life in modern-day Nigeria. Born on the day of his grandmother’s death, Vivek is seen by some of his family members as her incarnation, marked out by the same starfish-shaped scar.

Vivek’s death marks both the beginning and the end of the novel. It tells the story of his short life, using memories from family and friends alongside his own narration. The fragmented narrative and complex time structure slowly builds into a picture of a life that is brimming with potential but is also, as the reader knows throughout, doomed to be cut tragically short. The main figures in his life are his over-protective mother and his cousin, Osita. It’s hard to pinpoint the precise moment that Vivek’s life begins to unravel, but perhaps it is when he allows his hair to grow down beyond his shoulders. This is a breach of convention in his traditionalist home and community. It troubles his family and his neighbours. Vivek’s aunt becomes convinced that a demon is possessing him, and he is traumatised by a violent attempt at exorcism at her church. The unspoken fear of his parents is that it is an outward sign of femininity and that he is gay, which is taboo in Nigerian society. The context here is vital. Homosexuality is not just taboo in Nigeria, it is illegal. The Same-Sex Marriage (Prohibition) Bill passed in 2014 in response to the legalisation of gay marriage in the West, prohibits marriage between persons of the same sex, forbids any cohabitation between same-sex sexual partners and bans any “public show of same sex amorous relationship.” It imposes a 10-year prison sentence on anyone who “registers, operates or participates in gay clubs, societies and organization” or “supports” the activities of such organizations. Even having long hair is sufficient to spark suspicion, and suspicion is all that is needed.

Much of the novel is told through the eyes of Vivek’s mother, Kavita. Her grief drives her to relentlessly try to find out how her son died. At the novel’s climax she succeeds in this quest and finds some sort of peace knowing that he lived at least part of his life happily and on his own terms.

My initial reaction to this novel was that it was an example of the ‘bury your gays’ trope. But I was wrong, and it might be worth explaining why. My understanding of this trope was that gay people in literature, film, television etc are often denied happy relationships, and frequently die just at the point that a fulfilling relationship or personal happiness is in sight. This article discusses the trope in a lot more detail. While the trope originated as a means to allow gay relationships to be portrayed without overstepping social taboos, it developed over time and now more simply represents the expendability of gay characters, particularly in film and on television. At first it looks as if Vivek’s death might fall into this category. But there are a number of reasons why it doesn’t apply here. First, the author doesn’t explicitly describe Vivek as gay. He has sex with other men, but he also wears women’s clothing and make-up, and adopts a female gender identify at times. It is in these moments that Vivek seems happiest and most fulfilled. He doesn’t adopt a specific gender identity (or perhaps to be more precise, the author doesn’t mention one). This may be because he doesn’t have time to explore this aspect of his identity fully, but also because conservative Nigerian society doesn’t allow him the space to do so. For much of the novel the reader is led to believe that Vivek is murdered by a rioting mob because he is ‘caught’ in public wearing female clothes and make-up. The final revelation about his much more mundane death serves to undercut these expectations – what we think we know about people is wrong, and making judgments based upon those assumptions is equally wrong.

This was a thought provoking if somewhat sad novel about the challenges facing gay, non-binary and trans people in modern-day Nigeria. It’s great that authors such as Emezi are now finding their voices and publishers to promote their work.

The Death of Vivek Oji, by Akwaeke Emezi, 2020

Aside
Book review

I reviewed The Essex Serpent back in 2019, and in a passing comment said “I am … convinced that this would make a hugely popular television series in the right hands.”

Well I am glad to say someone agreed, because the novel is now being televised on Apple TV with the first two episodes being released yesterday. The leads – Claire Danes and Tom Hiddleston – look perfectly cast, and the production wisely filmed extensively in Essex itself.

I’m not on any commission from Apple TV – I don’t even have a subscription – but it is nice to see a novel that demanded to be filmed finally making it to the screen. I think a television adaptation (as opposed to a film) is a much more sensible way of telling this atmospheric story, giving the characters time to develop rather than rushing everything to an end in 90 minutes. I hope it does it justice.

The Essex Serpent by Sarah Perry (again)

Aside
Book review

Diary of an MP’s Wife: Inside and Outside Power, by Sasha Swire 2020

Diary of an MP’s Wife is a deliciously indiscrete and gossipy insider’s account of British politics spanning the second decade of this century. It opens with the election of the Cameron/Clegg coalition in 2010, followed by the Tory’s unexpected election win in 2015, the the unfolding tragedy that was the Brexit referendum, ending in the election of December 2019.

The whiff of entitlement coming of the pages of this text can at times be overpowering. The author is the daughter of John Nott, one of Thatcher’s Cabinet Ministers, and her MP husband is an old Etonian. She frequently expresses frustration at this paradox – being an Old Etonian was seemingly a disadvantage in securing a position in the coalition cabinet when the Old Etonian Prime Minister was looking to appoint a more diverse top team. The summary of the Cameron years 2010-2016 contains few surprises – it was always fairly obvious even at the time that this was a clique of close friends with a largely shared, broadly progressive but still old-school Conservative view of the world. The account of the times spent drinking and plotting with the Cameron set seems entirely authentic:

They are all here, the ones that eat, drink, party together, they are all intimately interlocked, some from university days, some from the research unit, some later, such as with us through the selection procedure. We all holiday together, stay in each other’s grace-and-favour homes, our children play together, we text each other bypassing the civil servants. There are old rows, forgiven betrayals and historic rivalries. This is a very particular, narrow tribe of Britain and their hangers-on. It’s enough to repulse the ordinary man, already angered by the continuing hold of the British class system.

It’s hardly surprising therefore that when the political system begins to take its toll, the personal relationships and friendships under-pinning the Government are also put under pressure. Friendships fray and are broken.

I can’t avoid the suspicion that even the frankest of political diaries have the tendency to edit out the more egregious mistakes and highlight comments that seem in hindsight perceptive. There is plenty of that going on here – at one stage Swire says:

“2020 may be a dim, far-off date in the diary (my note – the reference to 2020 is because at the time this was written, shortly after the election in 2015, it was assumed that the next general would be 2020 – in fact we were to have two elections before then!) but whichever side will win there’s going to be plenty of internecine warfare in the meantime. In fact, and manner of things could happen (watch Keir Starmer rise and rise)” (pg201)

All manner of things indeed.

Another thing you often see in political diaries is a loathing for the constituency activists that the MPs depend upon for funding raising and re-selection, but who can be shall we say ‘difficult’ characters. Swire writes of her husband’s East Devon Conservative Association activists:

“They hate, in equal measure, foreigners, Europe, defence cuts, gay marriage, Liberals, the BBC, Germans, the Japanese, the coalition, and garlic.” (140)

There is some suggestion that Swire had publication of these diaries in mind all along – some particularly scathing criticisms of fellow Tories is softened with an unconvincing concluding sentence or paragraph commenting on the general good intentions of them all. Swire seems not to have wanted to burn all her bridges with the Conservatives, but I don’t think the publication of these diaries will have done her much good. When extracts from the book appeared in the media it was reported that the author was upset by their presentation, suggesting that they had in some way been way been distorted. Is anyone really that naive? It’s easy to see how Tory feathers would have been ruffled – at one point Swire claims David Cameron said to her: “The scent you are wearing is affecting my pheromones. It makes me want to grab you and push you into the bushes and give you one.”

The troubling figure of Boris Johnson slowly emerges from these pages as the years pass. Initially he is a fairly distant, slightly comic figure, but his rise to the top of the Conservative Party is charted with precision. Swire is clearly attracted to his energy and his charisma, but has no illusions about his trustworthiness. His pivoting on Brexit as a political manoeuvre rather than on a point of principle is a matter of record, but it is still interesting to see reactions recorded at the time. David Cameron is recorded as saying that:

“Boris…had always been a supporter of Europe, free movement and migration…this whole episode was to do with his leadership ambitions, nothing else”. (242)

Well no shit Sherlock.

I’m not sure this book actually tells us much we didn’t already know. Hugo Swire was a relatively minor figure in the Cameron Governments, and his wife’s best stories are his, repackaged at second-hand. They may have socialised with the key figures but weren’t in the room when key decisions were made. It’s an interesting perspective from a minority grouping within the Tories – self-identifying as ‘Cameroons’ when the label no longer has any meaning, remaining loyal to the Tories largely over the issue of Brexit when so many others have long since parted ways. Hugo Swire stood down from Parliament in 2019 to spend more time with his money, but it is really hard to see him having any part to play in Boris Johnson’s Brexit Party-lite Conservatives.

Diary of an MP’s Wife: Inside and Outside Power, by Sasha Swire 2020

Aside
Book review

Keneally was inspired to write the remarkable story of Thomas Schindler after a chance meeting with Poldek Pfefferberg, a Holocaust survivor. In some ways this novel is as much Pfefferberg’s as it is Kenneally’s – his persistence is trying to ensure Schindler’s story had a wider audience was remarkable. He was an advisor to Kenneally during the novel’s development and accompanied him to Poland during his research. Keneally dedicated Schindler’s Ark to Pfefferberg: “who by zeal and persistence caused this book to be written.” He was then also involved in persuading Steven Spielberg make the film of the novel.

Schindler’s Ark is in many ways more a history text than a novel. Kenneally has justified the designation of the text as a non-fiction novel (which I know is a recognised literary genre but still feels like a contradiction in terms) due to the inclusion of reconstructed conversations between participants. I take his point, but these are clearly an imaginative way of presenting some aspects of the narrative, and in no way undermine the exhaustive and detailed research that underpins the text. Further there is always a risk that presenting the text as fiction allows sceptical readers to distance themselves from the appalling brutality the novel exposes.

As I am sure almost all readers of this blog will know, Schindler’s Ark is the story of Oskar Schindler, a businessman and entrepreneur who during the Second World War helped save the lives of thousands of Polish Jewish men, women and children. They worked in his factories, and he protected them by insisting that their labour was essential in keeping his factories open, and that in turn the factories were vital to the German war effort.

As the war progressed that was a fiction that was increasingly hard to maintain. His workers were moved first into the Krakow ghetto, and subsequently into brutal labour camps. Those were the ‘lucky’ ones of course – many others were taken directly to the concentration camps. Schindler’s factories produced goods that had a very marginal impact on the war – usually just domestic goods – and any weaponry was very low grade. In any event the Nazi’s blood-lust was such that they were prepared to destroy any Jewish people they could find, irrespective of whether they worked in industries critical to the war. So how was Schindler able to protect his workers when millions of others were being taken to the death-camps? His approach was simple – bribery. He spent lavishly on all sorts of expensive and hard-to-find goods to buy influence and favours, and keep the local Nazis pre-occupied and distracted while all around millions of Jewish people were being slaughtered.

Schindler was clearly a flawed human being – a member of the Nazi party, a drinker, womaniser and a war profiteer – and Kenneally’s portrait is unsparing about Schindler’s weaknesses; he makes no attempt to disguise these aspects of Schindler’s personality. It is possible that it was his very unsaintliness that allowed him to make the difficult decisions he had to make every day to preserve the people under his protection.

Unlike any other novel, film or programme I have seen or read, Schindler’s Ark chillingly portrays the brutality of the Holocaust. You think you know what happened, and perhaps want to avoid some of the details. While Schindler’s Ark is unsparing in its descriptions of Nazi brutality it is the mundane aspect of the regime, its businesslike approach to the industrialisation of murder that is so terrifying. The novel also brought me closer than ever before to an understanding of why Jewish people felt and feel the need for an Independent Jewish state, where all aspects of society – the Government, the police, the media and so on – are under the control of Jewish people. Because during the Holocaust Jewish people felt and were powerless in the face of the German state and were unable to look to anyone – other than the rare exceptions such as Schindler himself – for help or protection. I know I am in deep water here and I in no way want to provide blanket justification for the actions of the Israeli state and its sometimes brutal treatment of Palestinian people, but understanding the mindset which leads to condoning that behaviour is for me a new way of looking at the Palestinian conflict.

Kenneally’s determination to do justice to Schindler’s story makes Schindler’s Ark a dense, and at times distressing read. There is a vast amount of detail to be absorbed, dozens of characters who appear briefly and move on, and minute analysis of minor details of the operation of the factory. These details are probably important when weighing the negative aspects of Schindler’s life against the more obvious positives, but a more ruthless editor might have made this an easier read. Not all novels need to be easy to read, of course, but I wonder how many readers will have given up at some point and watched the film instead? The novel’s retitling for its American publication and the subsequent film, List instead of Ark, is interesting. It’s reductive – it’s so much easier to write a list than build and protect an ark. Escaping the Holocaust wasn’t only a matter of whether you were on a list or not. The film’s title, if not the film itself, reduces Schindler’s heroism to a single act rather than the arduous and lengthy process of fighting every day to preserve the lives of the Jewish people under his protection.

Schindler’s Ark deservedly won the 1982 Booker Prize against a varied and interesting shortlist. The chair of the 1982 judging panel John Carey said “This book has behind it a powerful organising and speculative mind, exercising great tact and restraint in the presentation of its terrible story“. This quite in itself restrained compliment is interesting – the powerful organising mind of the author was an important factor in doing justice to the story, even if it does sacrifice some of the narrative drama for a more exhaustive detailed account of events. But the restraint and tact are equally important – it would have been easy to have presented this as an adventure/escape story, which would have been tasteless and disrespectful to those who didn’t survive. In the end it is a portrait of an almost unimaginable horror and a brief glimmer of hope.

Schindler’s Ark, by Thomas Kenneally, 1982

Aside