Francis Spufford – Golden Hill
Book Reviews / September 21, 2016

In which your Blogger sets forth his Views on a most admirable Book Golden Hill Francis Spufford, Faber, June 2016 World history can count a number of archetypal cities, each inheriting the mantle from the former: Babylon, Rome, Constantinople, Paris, London. Since the early 20th century the title has gone to New York, with a skyline so symbolic that it was targeted in the attacks of September 11th 2001. It is difficult to imagine New York City any other way, as if its skyscrapers have stood like monuments since the dawn of time. New York in the 1740s, when Francis Spufford’s marvellous novel Golden Hill is set, was a very different place: venture up the “Broad Way” only a few hundred yards, and the traveller is in the countryside, more likely to see sheep than showmen. Its population of 7,000 was a hundred times smaller than London’s. But although the 18th century saw the birth of a distinctive, American identity, it was also a time of growing global interconnectedness. The mayor of New York, sitting in his office 3,000 miles away from London, could quite reasonably describe himself as British. It is easy to forget sometimes that the 1700s ever…

Julian Barnes – The noise of time
Book Reviews / February 3, 2016

A coward’s life The noise of time Julian Barnes, Jonathan Cape, January 2016 Concluding a recent talk about life-writing, Julian Barnes wryly asked for a disclaimer to be placed into any future biographies of him: “This is not how I was; this is what I am like when I’m being biographed”. Of course, it is difficult enough capturing the ‘truth’ about a subject in a straight biography; Barnes’s fictional account of Shostakovich’s life asks us to believe, at least for a short while, that we are reading is the true, internal monologue of Dmitri Dmitrievich Shostakovich. In this it succeeds marvellously. The novel’s structure is simple: a prologue and three chapters, each recounting an episode of the subject’s life. In the first Shostakovich believes he is about to be purged for his newly unpopular music; in the second he is returning from a propaganda tour of the US; the third seems him settling into respectable old age, plagued by the many moral compromises he has had to make. Throughout all this, Shostakovich—who in spite of his many failings is essentially a likeable character—maintains an attitude of innocent bafflement at his relationship with the state, bemoaning for example that he “had…