December 2017 book review

REPORTER by Trevor Fishlock
Our Trev (yes, I know him. He is one of the few people who has made the transition from patient to friend) has spent his entire life in journalism, from humble beginnings in his local rag to roving correspondent, first for the Telegraph and latterly with The Times. Hence he is one of those people who, on hearing of trouble flaring in any given location around the world, does not, like most of us, cross it off their list of holiday destinations, but rather gets on the next plane there. Kosovo, Afghanistan, Haiti, he has been there on the front line as great and terrible events are taking place, sometimes putting his life in danger to do so.

“My goodness, Mr Fishlock, you have led an interesting life!” Is the sort of thing he must hear all the time, and it’s true. This book, however, is not as well written as one might hope. We find ourselves constantly shifting locale, paragraph by paragraph, as he takes us on a sometimes bewildering ride around the world’s hotspots over the last 40 years. The result is a very uneven piece of writing, fascinating in parts but frustrating in others. I have read several books by Trevor, and they are usually a lot more coherent than this. Pity.

PALIMPSEST, by Gore Vidal
Being the life and times of one of America’s most urbane, sophisticated and insightful political observers. Born into privilege and modest wealth, cousin to Jackie Bouvier and hence on the inside of the Kennedy Camelot (though Bobby, apparently, hated him), Gore has been well placed to comment on the American political scene since his early years. Finding success through writing in his early 20s, he has written a number of highly respected novels and pieces of nonfiction, he has never made a secret of his sexuality, mainly gay with a touch of bi-. He likes anonymous sex, though has had a long standing partner, with whom he does not have sex; indeed he attributes his success in this relationship to the fact that it is a non-sexual union.

This book is a beautiful piece of writing, always articulate and elegant and not infrequently vitriolic when it comes to describing people he doesn’t like, such as Truman Capote, with whom he has enjoyed a long-running feud. It is here we find that deep down he has only been in love once, with a school-mate who died in the fighting on Iwo Jima in 1945. And how nothing and no one has been able to equal the joy he felt being with ‘Jimmy’ for just a few months in his teens. Moving and enlightening.

MIDNIGHT’S CHILDREN, by Salman Rushdie
An Indian man happens to be born at the exact same moment the new Indian state comes into being: Midnight, August 15th, 1947. He then discovers he has a psychic link with the 500 or so other children born within an hour of him, and learns they, like him, seem to have special powers of their own. Meanwhile, the newly free nation of India grows up with him, both undergoing sometimes agonising growing pains in the process.

When this book came out in 1981 it proved a sensation. Winning the Booker Prize, and later winning the ‘Booker of Bookers’ prize as the best of the prize winners over a 25 year period, people were enchanted by its surreal mix of history, autobiography and black comedy, all written in a kind of ‘post magic-realist’ style which is in fact unique. I’ve certainly never read anything like it before. With its extraordinary cast of characters and compelling, if sometimes confusing plot line, this is a book well worth anyone’s time. Intoxicating stuff.