From one virgin birth to another

Fifteen years later I finished A Prayer for Owen Meany; fifteen years ago it was the last remaining novel. I’d read the others, starting with the big hitters; The World According to Garp and The Hotel New Hampshire were followed by four more, with Owen purposely held back, saving the best (by reputation) to last.

John Irving has gone on to write several more since then, he was hardly going to wait for me, and since it’s been so long I’d be hard pressed to say which of his earlier work I thought best. I still have fond memories of The Water Method Man, but in those days my cynicism came from fashion rather than experience. A Prayer for Owen Meany is a great book and I’m ashamed of my earlier lack of understanding, my intolerance toward the narrator John Wheelwright; a character more interesting for the past than the present. I’d thought I was better than that. I’d thought the book would be better if his life in Toronto were excised altogether. I was wrong. Not only does it provide contrast, it is an honest portrayal of a damaged life; and if some parts are more appealing than others - that ought to seem familiar.

Old favourites

I watched a couple of favourites on the weekend in The Godfather and Gattaca. Francis Ford Coppola’s mafia classic of such renown now, it’s difficult to imagine the trouble involved in making the film, from assembling the cast - for example, the studio didn’t want Marlon Brando - or even hiring a director; Coppola wasn’t first choice and was constantly on the verge of being fired. I’ve read that when asked he at first refused for fear of glamorising organised crime, but was won over when he thought of making it a metaphor for capitalism; funny because whilst I’ve never noted the metaphor, I’m aware of the criticism. I’d always assumed this was the reason for a change in tone between it and the sequel which followed a couple of years later; both films end with a settling of scores, but the latter contains no sense of triumphalism.

These two films (a third was made 16 years later) have been treated dreadfully on television. I remember on one occasion they were spliced up (part two contains story lines set before and after the events in part one) and shown in chronological order as a mini-series; worse and somewhat bizarrely, it was dubbed to remove the language that so offends, whilst maintaining the violence. Nowadays I notice the frayed edges; the blood isn’t the colour of blood, and there’s a noticeably phony fight scene between Sonny and his brother-in-law, Carlo; but these are minor details, even if you do see Brando as hamming it up, the story wins through. It’s always the story.

Gattaca suffers from this same nit-picking. Science fiction (if it can be labelled as such) often will; this time I found the the romantic subplot ropey, and the murder more MacGuffin than of any interest. In the past, when asked I would always list three films; Un Coeur en Hiver, The Elephant Man and Gattaca. And despite any faults, Gattaca would remain as its feel, particularly for the future - with an increasing ability to alter our DNA and ever insistent demands for a database - is truer today than when I first saw it all those years ago. I wonder, when it happens, if we’ll still have the self-awareness to realise what we’ve done - and whether it would be better if we didn’t?

The Zadie Smith school of economics

That the grotesque losses of the private sector are to be nationalised, cut from our schools and our libraries, our social services and our healthcare, represents a policy so shameful I doubt that this government will ever live it down. Perhaps it is because they know what the history books will make of them that our politicians are so cavalier with our libraries; from their point of view, the fewer places you can find a history book these days, the better.
-- Zadie Smith on Radio 4.

That’s twice this week I’ve been left gobsmacked at some frontier gibberish. Let’s deal with the trite conclusion first. If I know anything, it’s that (winners aside) history is written by the academics; an obvious comment perhaps, but important in the context of understanding the filter through which such accounts are already written. When a Labour council closes a library it is the fault of the Conservative-led government; if the Conservatives turned water into wine, history would conclude that Labour could have done better.

What really grates though is the dubious grasp on economics. I’ll tell you Ms Smith who’s really paying for ‘the grotesque losses of the private sector’; it’s the rest of the private sector - they’re the only ones who pay for anything. I’ve seen company pension contributions stopped and most of my colleagues made redundant, others have taken pay cuts or enforced shorter hours; do let me know when you’ve caught up. During good times and bad, it is the private sector that pays (directly or indirectly) for ‘our schools, libraries, our social services and our healthcare’, all that has changed is the amount of money available; and incidentally, since spending on the NHS is increasing, perhaps you could explain how this constitutes a cut, or did you feel duty-bound to throw in that old chestnut?

Made for television

Whenever anyone said anything that was a lot of bullshit to him, Owen Meany used to say, ”YOU KNOW WHAT THAT IS? THAT’S MADE FOR TELEVISION – THAT’S WHAT THAT IS.”
-- A Prayer for Owen Meany

A prayer for John Wheelwright

In the summer of 1996 I packed a few books for holiday, including one that I was perhaps half way through reading; A Prayer for Owen Meany. I remember finishing The Remains of The Day, a book as disturbing as it was sad, even more so than the film. I know I read a few others, perhaps another John Irving, but I can’t remember why I stopped Owen Meany as it was terrific, perhaps I thought it too good to waste on the sun? Whatever the reason, the book remained in the suitcase and wasn’t removed until I returned home – where it was placed on a bookshelf to gather dust.

Last week I decided to pick up where I left off 15 years ago. Actually, since it was that long ago I decided to recap from the beginning and I’m glad that I did. I found myself laughing at the same places as before; Owen’s part in the nativity play had me in tears, and how many books have managed that? More surprising was my reaction to John Wheelwright, the narrator of a story told in extended flashback. As is usual for this style, we are more interested in the story than the ‘present day’ interludes but this time around I am struck by another thought; the older John Wheelwright is so tiresome!

The narrator’s target is Reagan, but since there’s been quite a few since then I can’t help wondering; is there a Republican president that the Democrats haven’t wanted to impeach? This is possibly a little unfair because the Republicans are more than capable of dishing it out; from laughable suggestions that Obama is a communist to impeaching Clinton, who to be fair did lie under oath, but I guess it wasn’t a big lie or it was the kind of lie that’s OK.

But I digress, I’m curious that it should bother me more now, when my own political views are, shall we say, less strident than before. Was it because in ’96 there had been 17 years of a Conservative government, and one felt obliged to listen to an alternative voice? Or was it because I was still in my twenties (just), where I could relate to an earnest attitude, albeit one in danger of tipping over into boorish behaviour. Or am I just as tiresome?

I think I am still reeling from Ed Miliband’s nonsense on the weekend, and as a result perhaps a little less predisposed towards our storyteller. And it’s a good story, I’ve almost caught up to the part where Owen helps John avoid the draft, it will be all new from there on in. Of course it’s Owen I really want to hear about, but I wonder about John too. What calamity waits, what event transpires allowing me to bridge this gap? I suppose that means I care, and I hope we can be friends; what greater achievement than to make a friend with whom you disagree.

Labour has risen from the grave

We come in the tradition of those who marched before us; the suffragettes who fought for votes for women and won, the civil rights movement in America who fought for equality and won, the anti-apartheid movement who fought the horror of that system and won. Our cause may be different but we come together today to realise our voice and we stand on their shoulders. We stand on the shoulders of those who have marched and struggled in the past.

I can only hope that the unfortunate timing of Ed Miliband's speech at the anti-cuts 'march for the alternative' rally, which coincided with the moment some idiots started to smash up London, won't distract from his staggering lack of perspective. Indeed, given that before the election the then Labour chancellor Alastair Darling was warning of cuts from his own party that would be "deeper and tougher" than the 1980's, there's the faintest whiff of hypocrisy.

When holy books become wholly metaphor

Lots of reports today on a study of census data taken from nine countries; which has extrapolated religious extinction. It’s an interesting conclusion because, Voltaire’s comment aside - “if god did not exist it would be necessary to invent him”, I had always assumed this end. However, I have history in blurring the boundaries; my experience of religion, when religious, was generally of the positive. To me, even when I did belong the Bible was more metaphor than fact. I can’t remember whether I stopped believing before or after I began to see the ‘will of God’ as more important than the figure, since foremost had always been the message; Love.