A WEEK IN BOOKS : Reading and Watching Joseph Mitchell

Ever since I bought a copy of the Vintage paperback of Up In The Old Hotel in the U.S. years ago I have been a devotee of the work of Joseph Mitchell. I have read all of his books and my current digital subscription to The New Yorker allows me to read everything he ever wrote for that magazine. I am also constantly trying to source as many articles I can on the great man to add to my slowly thickening file in between catching repeated snippets of Joe Gould's Secret on youtube (more in a moment). This week I have been reading an old Oxford American feature on him by Sam Stephenson - http://www.jazzloftproject.org/files/file/MITCHELL.pdf – which focuses on Mitchell's obsession with collecting seemingly mundane artifacts from the past – in New York but also in his home state of North Carolina – a pursuit that presumably filled up his time when he stopped publishing anything in The New Yorker after the mid-60s despite remaining on the magazine's staff for thirty years thereafter. There is also a visually stunning companion piece in Granta 88 by Paul Maliszewski which I recommend as well. But I suppose the exciting news for all Mitchell fans is the forthcoming biography Man In Profile : Joseph Mitchell of The New Yorker by Thomas Kunkel to be published at the end of April by Random House. Kunkel is the author of an excellent biography of Harold Ross – founder of The New Yorker and Mitchell's first editor there - and has also edited a volume of Ross' entertaining correspondence. So expectations for the Mitchell book are very high. Is he able to throw any more light on the mystery of why The New Yorker never published anything by Mitchell after Joe Gould's Secret in 1964? Mitchell certainly didn't stop writing, and The New Yorker has in recent years been publishing tantalising extracts from an unfinished biogrpahy, so what was he thinking? I suspect that as the 60s wrought its seismic cultural changes and his old, more genteel New York started to disappear, Mitchell became a man out of time, more and more disillusioned with what was going on around him and unwilling or unable to summon the enthusiasm to document his vanshing world anymore. The astounding thing is that his legacy and influence are still so strong today. Joe Gould's Secret is probably his most famous work. It's a wonderful book and a masterclass for all budding biographers, but it's also a great film as well. Stanley Tucci (currently the star of the TV series Fortitude and an actor growing in prominence) gives a subtle and engaging performance as Joseph Mitchell as well as directing the film, and the great Ian Holm plays the hobo/con-artist/intellectual/chronichler-of-our-times Joe Gould brilliantly. Susan Sarandon and Hope Davis also appear. It's never been released here on DVD, which is a crime, and with Thomas Kunkel's book about to project Mitchell and his work back into the spotlight, now, it would seem, is the time.

The Fly Trap by Fredrik Sjöberg (Particular Books)

The astounding success of Helen Macdonald's H Is For Hawk has undoubtedly moved the literary spotlight onto an elusive genre of books that has so far managed to remain pleasingly unclassifiable but richly rewarding. They are supremely erudite books, but also clear-headed, thoughtful and sometimes brutally honest. They cover, in various combinations, travel writing, nature, literature, science, history and personal memoir and they have been written by some of my favourite authors. W.G.Sebald and Jonathan Raban come to mind immediately and for me, anyway, have set the standard for this kind of multi-disciplined writing. In recent years Robert Macfarlane and now Helen Macdonald have been rightly lauded and it seems that Katharine Norbury with The Fish Ladder is about to join their exalted company. There are doubtless others I haven't heard of or read yet and for as long as the public's interest is piqued there will surely soon be, if there aren't already, a seemingly endless succession of inferior imitators who will be enthusiastically promoted, flatter to deceive and muddy the waters so to speak. Before that clamour though I'd like to wave my flag for this little gem of a book which has already been enthusiastically reviewed, notably in the Guardian - http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/jun/14/fredrik-sjoberg-hoverflies-the-fly-trap and by Malachy Tallack, founder of the excellent Island Review at Caught By The River – http://www.caughtbytheriver.net/2014/09/the-fly-trap-fredrick-sjoberg/. Apparently a 'best-seller' in its native Sweden, The Fly Trap is a wry, amusing and wholly delightful meditation on islands, solitude, travelling in the wilds of Burma, hoverflies, and the life and exploits of an obscure and possibly mad Swedish naturalist named Reneé Malaise who designed the fly trap of the title and which Fredrik Sjöberg uses to catch his beloved hoverflies. Sjöberg is an expert on Swedish hoverflies and has identified over two hundred different species on his small island of Runmarö alone and in part this book is about obsession and the virtues and pitfalls of blocking out the rest of the world to pursue one's own, often lonely, specialist path. But of course it is a lot more than than just that. A philosophy for a saner way of life underpins Sjöberg's dry, humourous prose and his self-effacing honesty is endearing and captivating. I started reading it on a train journey from London which, for once, wasn't nearly long enough. Mr.Sjöberg has joined my, albeit limited, gallery of Swedish heroes along with Kurt Wallander and Freddie Ljungberg.

ROCK SCULLY - Living with The Dead

I never met Rock Scully. One Saturday afternoon early in September 1974 I turned up at a large house on the King's Road to interview the Grateful Dead's Phil Lesh - one of the more memorable chats I had in my short career as editor of Zigzag. The house apparently belonged to a character named Tom Salter - "a middle-aged Cockney suffering from cocaine dementia' - according to Scully in his supremely entertaining but, I would hope and guess, unreliable memoir Living With The Dead. Various people drifted in and out of the room as Lesh and I discussed the details of dissonant counterpoint but regrettably I don't remember Rock Scully being one of them. And now, at the age of 73, Scully has passed away, nearly twenty years after Jerry Garcia whose own demise in a drug-addled mess some hold Scully partly responsible for. And reading Living With The Dead it would be easy to draw that conclusion. A trustworthy history of the Grateful Dead it is not, but as an account of the gigantic and startling amount of drug use that went on, primarily involving Garcia, and the logistical mayhem it caused, it is in turns eye-watering, miserable, and very amusing. It contains the most evocative description of the Acid Tests that I've read anywhere and is particularly revealing about the band's relationship with LSD supremo Owsley Stanley. In the obituary in the New York Times Douglas Martin states that in recent years Scully, drug and alcohol-free, had settled in Carmel to look after his mother, paint houses and involve himself in civic issues. That he lived as long as he did is probably some sort of miracle given the horrendous volume of mind-boggling chemicals that passed through his body but I for one will sing along to Uncle John's Band today in his memory.

My Books Of The Year

In no particular order the ten best books I've read this year are :

Pereira Maintains by Antonio Tabucchi
Burial Rites by Hannah Kent
The five Patrick Melrose novels by Edward St.Aubyn (I count these as one book as I read them all back to back in one week)
Harvest by Jim Crace
H Is For Hawk by Helen MacDonald (for once all the acclaim is completely justified)
Quiet by Susan Cain
The Book of Strange New Things by Michel Faber
Godfrey's Ghost by Nicolas Ridley (thank you Andrew Weatherell for the recommendation)
Travels With Epicurus by Daniel Klein
Water & Sky by Neil Sentance

As usual, I wish I'd had time to read more and write this blog more regularly. The pile of unread books continues to grow but I've decided there's nothing I can do about that except sleep less.

A WEEK IN BOOKS

A lot of my time last week was, happily, dominated by things bookish and literary. The now annual Taunton Literary Festival, miraculously organised almost single-handedly by Lionel Ward, proprietor of our local independent book shop Brendon Books, began last week and I went along to one of the first events – an appearance by David Mitchell (not the comedian) at the Castle Hotel on Tuesday morning. Succumbing to the relentless twitter campaign prior to its publication I read The Bone Clocks and thoroughly enjoyed most of it. It has several intriguing storylines and characters, is well-paced and easy to read and promised, if not a profound conclusion, then at least a memorable twist or unexpected outcome. But around three-quarters of the way through the book the supernatural, time-travelling, fantasy element of the story that was always lurking in the background suddenly kicked in with a vengeance and I was immediately and completely lost. Lost and uninterested I'm afraid. So much so that I really didn't much care how it all ended. Reviews of The Bone Clocks have been predictably favourable but the only notice that rang true for me was Kate Saunders' in The Literary Review and I quote : 

 “The publisher's blurb describes 'The Bone Clocks' as a 'metaphysical thriller' and I don't know what this means, unless it's 'Harry Potter for grown-ups'. Sorry if this sounds unkind, but grown-up novels that deal in supernatural jiggery-pokery are hard to take seriously as works of art, so it's best to just lighten up. 'Cloud Atlas' missed the Booker in 2004 but it did win the Richard and Judy Best Read of the Year and it was made into a film – which only goes to show how brilliantly entertaining David Mitchell's writing can be. 'The Bone Clocks' is the kind of delicious, intricate nonsense that cries out to be read at leisure beside a fire”.  

So I was interested to find out whether Mr.Mitchell would be able to elucidate on the more fanciful aspects of his book and explain what it's all about. Unfortunately though he just read a passage from the book (which wouldn't have had any meaning if you didn't vaguely know the plot) and then answered questions from the ever-so-slightly fawning audience. Mr.Mitchell was terribly polite, humble and well, very nice. But it also all seemed a little lightweight and insubstantial. I was hoping I might come away with the intention of re-reading The Bone Clocks to discover what I might have missed first time around but with all the other books I just have to read I don't think there's time.

And on the subject of book acquisitions, the last couple of weeks have been particularly fruitful especially as some of them were birthday presents. Here's my haul :

Legend Of A Suicide by David Vann (£2.49 Phoenix Books, Crewkerne)

The Disappearance by Derek Marlow (£1.25 Phoenix Books, Crewkerne)

Hard Travellin' by Kenneth Allsop (£1.25 Phoenix Books, Crewkerne)

Empires of The Dead by David Crane

Walking The Woods and the Water by Nick Hunt

A Spy Among Friends by Ben MacIntyre

Modernity Britain : A Shake of The Dice 1959-62 by David Kynaston

Ulverton by Adam Thorpe

Travels With Epicurus by Daniel Klein

The Galapagos by Henry Nicholls

Christmas 1914 by John Hudson

Whoops! By John Lanchester

The week ended with a real highlight – a talk by Nicolas Ridley, son of Arnold Ridley (Godfrey from Dad's Army) about Arnold's life with special emphasis on his experiences as a soldier in the First World War. It took place at the Museum of Somerset in Taunton as part of their season of events to commemorate the beginning of the Great War. Nicolas Ridley has written a wonderful book – Godfrey's Ghost : From Father To Son, which is really an extended letter to Nicolas' son Christopher that is intended to ensure that he appreciates the full life and character of the grandfather he didn't know. Doddery old Godfrey was but a small, if not insignificant, episode in Arnold Ridley's life and Nicolas has done a marvellous job in expanding our knowledge and appreciation of this colourful man's rich, and turbulent, life. Bizarrely enough I first heard of the book when DJ Andrew Weatherall recommended it in an interview he gave. I sought it out, read it and was entranced, both by the book's content and its style. Nicolas Ridley was a thoroughly charming, amusing speaker who talked affectionately about his father and, refreshingly, quite critically about the ways in which the horrors of the Great War were being 'celebrated' in some quarters. Definitely one of the best volumes of biography/memoir that I've read for a while. Perhaps a future Slightly Foxed edition?

NICK DRAKE - Remembered For A While

I am fortunate enough to be in possession of a copy of this superb-looking book on Nick Drake, published today by John Murray. I'm reviewing it for Caught By The River and have yet to finish reading it, but such is its sumptuous design and lay-out that I can't help periodically flicking through the pages, looking at the photos, scrapbook press cuttings and copious illustrations. One segment in particular though caught my attention. Extracts from Rodney Drake's diaries dated March 1972 to November 1974 are reprinted, and as a loving and concerned father seeing his son in such torment, they are unbearably poignant to read. What stopped me in my tracks though was the entry for Wed 26 June 1974 where Rodney relates how Nick gave him a copy of Zigzag magazine "which had a long and interesting article about himself". Rodney read the article to his wife Molly and later they both had what Rodney describes as "quite an animated talk" with Nick. "It seemed clear that the article had given him a boost and we talked about how he could get over his difficulty in talking to people". Also printed on the same page is the cover image of that copy of Zigzag - the first, and probably best, edition of that magazine that I edited. The article in question - In Search Of Nick Drake - was written by Connor McKinight, my predecessor at Zigzag and a fellow who didn't write as much as he should have. What he did write though was always worth reading. But the thought that, at the time, our humble mag helped brighten Nick Drake's day up is strangely heart-warming.

ROBERT WYATT : Different Every Time

This week a long overdue authorised biography of one of music's most revered musicians is published by Serpents Tail. Different Every Time tells the story of Robert Wyatt, from his liberatingly bohemian childhood and youth through his groups - the Wilde Flowers, Soft Machine, Matching Mole, to his unique and substantial body of solo work and the many fruitful associations that pepper his career. There is of course tragedy and drama along the way with enough high and low points to ensure that Robert's story reads every bit as enthrallingly as that of the most feted rock star, but in essence it's a sympathetically-told tale of a very gifted man, his special music, his political beliefs and his relationship with his wife Alfie, herself a distinguished artist of some reknown.

It has been my privilege to have known and worked with both Robert and Alfie over the years, first at Rough Trade and then again a few years later when I signed Robert to Rykodisc where, dare I say it, we helped rejuvenate his career by releasing Shleep, Cuckooland and re-releasing most of his back catalogue. I can vividly remember the excitement in the office as I played the initial tracks from Shleep that Alfie brought in one day. Our press officer, Pat Naylor, who did such a marvellous job promoting the albums, and my co-conspirator Alison Wilshaw were particularly enthralled and after we'd managed to persuade our U.S. parent company (who were really only interested in an artist if their past sales figures looked good) that we just HAD to sign Robert (thanks to Joe Boyd who insisted that Robert's records be released on his Hannibal imprint) we embarked on an extended relationship that I still regard as the most satisfying and enjoyable that I had in my long music biz career. Our beloved Rykodisc eventually fell into the hands of a hedge-fund shark who made a lot of money on it when he sold it to the hapless Warner Music who, despite promises to the contrary, decimated it. I could go on. But I won't. Happily, when the axe fell I was able to ensure that Robert and his music found a good home at Domino Records where Laurence Bell and Jonny Bradshaw in particular have continued to give Robert and Alfie the support and freedom to continue making music on their own terms.

Musician (one half of Grasscut) and writer Marcus Odair has performed an exemplary job in writing this book so sensitively and passionately. His research was obviously diligent and far-reaching and his assessment and knowledge of Robert's music have given the book a dimension that so many lesser music biographies lack. I can't recommend it highly enough. Also, around the same time, Domino are releasing a double CD compilation with the same title which I helped compile. One disc will feature a selection of tracks covering Robert's early years and solo work and the other disc contains a diverse and revealing set of collaborations between Robert and artists ranging from John Cage to Bjork. It's the perfect accompaniment to this very fine book.