A Railroad Man

Mark Oliver Everett - Things the Grandchildren Should Know (2008)
Autobiography – 240 pages – my copy (2008; paperback) from Waterstones for £7.99 in September 2009
- 3 nods out of 5 -

Feel like an old railroad man
Ridin’ out on the bluemont line
Hummin’ along old dominion blues
Not much to see and not much left to lose
(Railroad Man, Eels, 2005)

Mark Oliver Everett is popularly known as ‘E’, the man behind the alternative and influential rock outfit Eels. Songs such as Susan’s House, Novacaine for the Soul and a whole spate oddly released on Shrek movie soundtracks have enlightened many a music enthuasiastcs night. But what lies behind the genius of such tracks?

A much confused family, for starters. This family comprises of a noted and intelligent father who died when Everett was in his late teens; a sister who killed herself after many failed attempts at suicide; while his mum, the last of his immediate family, shortly followed with cancer. Such events, and the over-riding loneliness of his life have been shown in many of his albums and its songs; most notably Electro-Shock Blues, about breakdown of the late 1990s of his family, and his 2005 album, Blinking Lights.

Things the Grandchildren Should Know, then, follows in this vein but in word format. He describes his childhood – the strongest section of the book – as a young and confused kid, lurching from one thing to the next. When feeling at a complete loss he decides to go with the only thing he has, his talent, and move to LA to find a music career to harness his uniqueness: ‘…that was a mission I was on. To keep whittling away until whatever it was that I had that was uniquely mine really started to shine’ (p.82). Bit by bit, he claims his place alongside the rock Gods, a long way off from his wannabe days when washing cars across from the large building of Polygram Records: ‘I would stand there with the hose in my man and look up at the building with reverence, like it was a monument’ (p.82).

However, the rock aspects of his life take a secondary importance to his domestic concerns, which as briefed upon, were devastating. His sister, whom he deeply loved, succumbed to drugs; whilst his mother succumbed to cancer. ‘I held her hand and talked to her, unsure if there was any use in it. I told her that we were all there for her and how much we loved her. Eventually her breathing began to slow down until it was very, very slow. And then there was one last, slow exhale with no inhale after it.’ (p.157).

It is this human, emotional aspect which makes Things the Grandchildren Should Know such a fulfilling read. Throughout all, Everett is under little pretence: he lays it bare, as awkward as that might be. Most of his life he has spent alone, and it is this loneliness that affects the reader deeply: ‘I’d go back to my sweltering apartment and lie on the mattress on the floor listening to Bob Dylan, the man with the secret sense of destiny, singing ‘Sign on the Window’ on the boom box while I cried and thought of giving up an dying’ (p.83).

Despite such openness, the autobiography is ultimately stunted in Everett’s lack of authorial control. A great attempt at his first stab of writing a book, yet the structure of the book suffers, with words and anecdotes being splattered upon the page, denigrating its coherent whole. Whilst the recent years get little of a look in as does his childhood. A further, more biting accusation, would be Everett’s fascination with death, bringing to our attention every funeral he is encountered, being stretched too far for dramatics, such as his ‘hot, blonde cousin’ who died in the 9/11 attacks on America (p.3).

Everett is undoubtedly a man of many talents. The written word may join the many others he occupies. It is the Worm’s sincere hope that he will follow this book up with later instalments, recounting to the world what has been an eventful, emotional and enlightening life.

World On Fire

Niall Ferguson - The War of the World (2006)
History – 700 pages – my copy (paperback; 2007) bought from Waterstones for £12.99 in August 2009
- 4 nods out of 5 -

I hear you ask the question immediately: ‘Why the need for another book on the wars of the first half of the twentieth century?’ And ordinarily, I would agree with you; the Kaiser and the Fuhrer have both been comprehensively studied by scholars and laymen alike for many decades. Another addition to an already bloated shelf brings with it accusations of a lazy, unimaginative historian; a writer keen for quick riches in a popular historical market. However, let the record make it strictly clear: Niall Ferguson is not cut of such cloth.

Widely noted as one of the eminent British historians of current times, Ferguson has all the hallmarks of a successful writer of enquiry and fact, mixed in with a novelist’s touch for drama. Involved at both Harvard and Oxford, he has made the successful transition to television documentary; his face fitting for today’s multi-media, being snapped on the inside book cover in his confident Del-Monte suit. His writing style is always competent and comprehensive, and at times simply stunning (such as his detailing of Stalin, ‘the most paranoid, untrusting’ individual in modern times trusting Hitler, ‘the most unscrupulous liar in history’ (p.428)). The War of the World is his interpretation on the slaughter and carnage of the two world wars, in which he covers old ground (for example, the attacks on the appeaser and failure that was Neville Chamberlain) whilst amassing a wide range of sources – including many new ones previously untapped. Indeed, the footnotes are so numerous that Ferguson apologises for not being able to actually include them in the book’s edition, instead publishing them on his website.

Ferguson argues that the twentieth century was the bloodiest period in human history – adding an interesting appendix to back up this claim. Throughout all – using a dramatist’s touch – he shocks the reader; even those already familiar with the atrocities of the time. Such an example is of a Polish man shot by Ukrainians during the Second World War, a family friend watching the following gruesome fate of his family:

‘First, they raped his wife. Then, they proceeded to execute her by tying her up to a nearby tree and cutting off her breasts. As she hung there bleeding to death, they began to hurl her two-year-old son against the house wall repeatedly until his spirit left his body. Finally, they shot her two daughters. When their bloody deeds were done and all had perished, they threw the bodies into a deep well in front of the house. Then, they set the house ablaze’ (p.456)

Shocking it is, yet that is not its only function in Ferguson’s narrative. As stated, this was the death of a Pole by Ukrainian hands – not that of popularised Nazi on democrat, or Nazi on Jew. Ferguson argues that when society breaks down, as in the case of war, all hell is let loose – the underlying antagonisms (those between culture, religion and race) are unleashed, and sometimes with horrific results. The reason why the first half of the twentieth century was the bloodiest was not one of technology and more potent bombs – if that were so then we would today be nuclear toast – rather, it was due to a world-wide social breakdown.

It is in the book’s conclusion when Ferguson attempts to summarise this understanding, citing Freud’s observations on war and peace. Man, he noted, was made of ‘well known opposites, Love and Hate’. Man has ability to create wonders, but also has the capacity to destroy (what Freud labels the ‘death instinct’). And fatalistically, says we cannot ‘suppress humanity’s aggressive tendencies’.

‘Why do we, you and I and many another, protest so vehemently against war, instead of just accepting it as another of life’s odious importunities? For it seems a natural enough thing, biologically sound and practically unavoidable’ (p.634).

The urges to rape, murder and destroy are suppressed in a civilised, ordered society. When chaos is unleashed, the existing frictions between us provide the spark to propel the explosive. ‘We remain,’ concludes Ferguson, ‘our own worst enemies’ (p.646).

Yet if that is all hot, what is not? That accusations could be made about the covering of old ground has already been mentioned; more exact would be Ferguson’s ultimate inability to successfully tie all the pieces of the story into a co-ordinated knot, such as welding the Japanese war with those in Europe. Of course, this is itself perhaps an impossible task, due to the distances of geography and philosophy. Though it must be stated that many interesting comparisons are drawn up, including that between Hitler’s and Roosevelt’s accession in 1933 (p.223), and that between Britain and Japan’s imperial ambitions (p.285-286). Furthermore, like many historians, Ferguson commits the crime of concentrating too heavily on the Nazis; whilst always falling back on his comfortable economic upbringing, stressing the monetary ties between nations (stressing the pre-1914 globalisation and the Great Crash of 1929). The author takes an accountant’s delight in listing facts and figures, many times dulling the reader, when a sufficient amount would have enlightened.

Simply put, Ferguson has attempted to bite too much of the apple, trying to comment on Britain’s decline, America’s ascent, the fascist regimes, the communist regimes, Third World wars whilst all the time noting racial violence. A book of under a thousand pages could never possibly complete such a task. Therefore, as a combined and continuous "War of the World", it doesn’t stand the weight of scrutiny.

Ferguson’s War of the World is a must read for anyone interested in the wars and horrors of the twentieth century; and more crucially, for those who want an attempt in answering the thought-provoking questions Ferguson never endingly poses to his readers.

An Uninteresting Murder

Jed Rubenfeld - The Interpretation of Murder (2006)
Novel – 530 pages – my copy (paperback; 2007) borrowed
- 2 nods out of 5 -

The Interpretation of Murder is a fictional-fact novel – yes, one of those which have come into great fashion in recent years – set in the New York of 1909. A murder happens which leads to Younger, the chief protagonist, using his psychiatry skills in helping catch the killer. Helping him in this pursuit is Sigmund Freud - prominently noted in the book’s blurb -who counsels Younger to clarity and giving him the strength of his convictions.

All of which sounds quite splendid; however, that is not quite the case. Simply put, there are too many characters, too many murders (and attempted murders) and too many plots being discussed in the book’s 500 pages (again, far too many). For instance, the reader is pitted with two characters in the hero role, various love interests, and various villains. As the saying goes, ‘Too many cooks spoil the broth.’ The impression the Worm took away from this novel was that of two stories meshed into one, as if Younger’s story (written in first perspective) wasn’t juicy enough for Rubenfeld’s publishers, thus prompting him to include a few grizzly murders and dead females stuffed in baskets (written, complexingly, in third perspective). Due to this, the book fails in its chief concerns: to continually build suspense. Rather, it ebbs and flows, beyond the author’s control.

This is not to say the author’s intrusion is not found; it fills every page and is inescapable. Rubenfeld’s background holds the key: a student of law, with the result being a prose as stifled and stilted as that found in parliamentary acts. Furthermore, all of his previous study – in the fields of Freud and Shakespeare – are dumped into the novel (for instance, Shakespeare’s Hamlet is continuously, unconvincingly and monotonously debated, much to the Worm’s chagrin).

And what of the sentences themselves? His description leaves much to be desired: ‘Jimmy Littlemore wasn’t bad-looking, but he wasn’t quite good-looking either’ (p.34). Whilst there is the constant authorial interference, breaking up the story as a drunk would in a pub conversation: ‘Among the various sounds one can hear indoors in the nighttime, some are instantly recognizable. There is, for example, the unmistakable pattering of a small animal…’ (p.177). What is Rubenfeld trying to accomplish here, exactly? Surely the story itself should do all the talking for him.

The book’s redeeming feature is the inclusion of Freud, whilst his attempt to collate fiction and fact are admirable, even if never wholly successful. A more adventurous and capable writer would have involved Freud to a greater extent. As it stands, The Interpretation of Murder remains a book with many flaws, yet a novel for the psychologist enthusiast.

The Land that Time Forgot

Robin Lane Fox - The Classical World – An epic history of Greece & Rome (2005)
History – 600 pages - my copy (paperback; 2006) purchased from Waterstones for £9.99 in 2008
- 3 nods out of 5 -

In spanning the classical world – a period from the fall of Troy to Hadrian’s reign of the Roman Empire – Robin Lane Fox has attempted to cram over one thousand years of history into one book. More than that, he not only concentrates on one society, but several; chiefly those of ancient Greece and the Roman Republic and Empire.

The book comments on a whole multitude: the Archaic Greek world; the Persian wars, the rivalling city states of Sparta and Athens; Alexander the Great; the rise of the Roman Republic and its eventual transformation into Empire. A weighty list indeed to contain in a book, yet Lane Fox does an admirable job of detailing all humanly possible. The Greeks and their Macedonian cousins consume half the author’s attention, whilst the Romans have the last 300 pages devoted to them. It is to the Romans in which Lane Fox comes closest to capturing the reader’s attention, notably the tumultuous time in which Caesar conquered Rome and became dictator, the effects of which changed the political landscape of the Western world forever.

In his introduction, the author speaks grandly of employing contemporary thinking – from advances in medicine, social sciences and literary studies – in an attempt to put fresh questions to the evidence before him. However, the results are not all spectacular as would be supposed. Despite listing an array of historical characters, and devoting whole chapters to some of the principal names (such as Socrates, Alexander the Great and Cicero) at no point does the reader feel as if they are being treated to the fresh insight initially promised.

Perhaps this has more to do with Lane Fox’s preference to debate on archaeological findings; his chapter on the last days of Pompeii is one of his strongest. But the more concrete reason is behind the author’s lack of strong prose and colourful characterisation. Towards the book’s end, when emperor after emperor is rattled off, it becomes weighty to reading eyes, like a large stone being dragged to a the finish point.

Six hundred pages simply doesn’t do this vast time period justice; and more cuttingly, six hundred pages simply is beyond the author’s ability. However, as an introductory guide into these times, the people and the issues, Robin Lane Fox’s book suffices as a worthy addition to the book shelf.

A Rapist in the White House

Christopher Hitchens – No One Left to Lie To (1999)
Politics – 150 pages - my copy a borrowed paperback
- 4 nods out of 5 -

Talk of your political, pen-welding assassinations: Hitchens’ portrait of the Bill Clinton administration ranks high in any list of those in modern times. No One Left to Lie To is an eye-opening critique of the supposed reformer and great pretender to the claim of leader of the free world; of the man who infamously declared to the world: ‘I did not have sexual relations with that woman.’

Combining an incisive writing style with honed journalistic instincts, Hitchens puts his all into the cause of undermining the former U.S. President. Written in the late 1990s, at the height of anti-Clinton feeling, the former leader’s character is mercilessly ripped into: he is a liar, a draft dodger, a fake and a phoney, a pretend peace loving hippy, the wolf in lamb’s clothing.

Hitchens’ attacks are unrelenting; making a greater impact on the reader is his denouncing of Clinton’s supposed avoidance of proper welfare reform, the lining of his own pockets, supposed ‘war crimes’, before the climax of asking the question: ‘Is there a rapist in the Oval office?’ This last statement refers to Clinton’s numerous sexual liaisons with females in his past: Lewinsky was not the only bed companion.

Hitchens does a comprehensive job of pointing out to the reader Clinton’s sexual aggressiveness, clearing the females themselves of the White House’s claim that they are simply in it for a piece of gold and a slice of the spotlight (one of which declared her desperation to remain unnamed due to the shame it would bring on her middle-class, respectable suburban family). Further condemning is the waste of time the whole of his sexual escapades put on Presidential time and money – the claimed ‘cock-tax’; as well as the White House’s eagerness to cover foreign failures– such as bombs dropping in the Middle East – with the adultery crisis (Clinton’s ‘weapons of mass distraction’).

Equally effective is the chapter that concentrates on the woman ‘in the shadow of the conman’, the First Lady, Hiliary Clinton. These statements are a small sample: ‘She is a tyrant and a bully when she can dare to be, and an ingratiating populist when that will serve…and has never found that any of her numerous misfortunes or embarrassments are her own fault, because the fault invariably lies with others…[and] like him, she is not just a liar but a lie; a phoney construct of shreds and patches and hysterical, self-pitying, demagogic improvisations.’ Hard-hitting stuff, indeed. Firing in the humour, Hitchens devotes two pages to Hiliary’s supposed verbal cock-ups and publicity gaffs, of which include:

‘On a visit to New Zealand, she claimed to have been named for Sir Edmund Hillary’s ascent of Everest; a triumph that occurred some years after her birth and christening. I insert this true story partly for comic relief, as showing an especially fantastic sense of self-reinvention as well as a desperate, musterous willingness to pander for the Kiwi vote.’

Yet it is not all so light hearted. For the main part, Hitchens concentrates on how Hiliary made a name of using underhand tactics of urging investigative journalists to dig up dirt on fellow politicians and of Clinton’s former love partners.

Ultimately, this short read comprises one of the most effective pieces of political and character assassinations of recent times. Throughout all, Hitchens has assumed the mantle of truth-bearer for the masses, un-tiring and un-ending in his tirades and welding of the pen (or is it, rather, the axe?). At the book’s end, the Worm was left with the impression that William Clinton was not one of the trumpeted chief reformers of recent times, instead believing in the statement that he is rather ‘a scoundrel and a perjurer and disgrace to the office he has held.’ No One Left to Lie To is an explosive read for anyone interested in American politics.

Into the Melting Pot

Martin Amis – The Moronic Inferno (and other visits to America) (1986)
Essay collection – 210 pages – my copy (1987; paperback) bought for £2.99 from the fantastic Oxfam bookshop in Chiswick, London, in early 2009.
- 3 nods out of 5 -

When asked to pen a travelogue of the U.S. of A., Martin Amis initially bulked at the challenge: ‘America is more like a world than a country’. Yet after reflection, he realised he had already, in effect, written such a book; it being amassed from his collection of essays on American life, printed during the late 1970s and 1980s in such prestigious titles as The Observer, the New Statesman and Vanity Fair. A little editing and pruning and viola: The Moronic Inferno is available on all good book shelves.

However, do not be alarmed at the seemingly opportunist nature of the book (after all, a collection of typed up essays doesn’t sound like a classic in the making, perhaps more akin to a quick profit for both publisher and author); The Moronic Inferno has enough within the pages to make the reader gasp in wonder at the land of America.

The essays are primarily centred on public figures of American life in this period, charting Elvis Presley, Hugh Hefner, and Steven Spielberg; whilst in conversation with some of the great heavyweights of twentieth century literature such as Truman Capote, Joseph Heller and Kurt Vonnegut. American life is studied, from the deeds of multi-talented and multi-complex Gore Vidal, to Ronald Reagan, to the New Evangelical Right to the psychotic killings that took place in Atlanta (one of the book's strongest essays).

Of course, due to the nature of the book there is no coherent narrative; however, it can be satisfactorily taken up in any place and read with amusement. The reader is given a great snapshot of the time of 1980s Reaganite America: before the fall of Communism, before the new millennium, before 9/11, before the pain of Bush and before the optimism of Obama. Perhaps much of Amis’ insightful comments can be placed in his being primarily an outsider (though with an American wife and in American residence); but the chief reason why the book is such a joy is because of the author’s intelligent, witty writing style. Though chiefly an author of fiction, Amis has mastered the form of the essay. The reason why the Worm can go no further than 3 nods is due to the book’s ultimate flaw: it’s stunted conception as a band of previously penned words. The Worm calls on Amis to take to the road – Jack Kerouac style – and write a true travel book on this fascinating ‘world’.

A Summit of Lacklustre Proportions

David J Bercuson & Holger H Herwig - One Christmas in Washington (2005)
History – 280 pages – my copy (2006; paperback) bought from the Works in Plymouth for £2.99
- 2 nods out of 5 -

History books on the Second World War will never go out of fashion. It seems that popping off a few hundred words on the Nazi menace or Allied fight-back is a certain way to bolster the CV, get your name on the shelves of shops, and maybe even line the pockets. Due to the ample amount of events to cover in the years from 1939 to 1945, the reader rarely fails to be mesmerised and informed. However, Bercuson and Herwig, authors of this book, do not succeed wholly on either front.

One Christmas in Washington primarily concerns the events from November 1941 to January 1942, a time in which the USA was dragged into the war after the cowardly bombing of Pearl Harbour. On hearing the news – at which Churchill expressed a somewhat perverted delight – the British PM hightailed it to Washington to meet with the President to forge an alliance to deal with the Japanese and Hitler and his henchmen.

Such a synopsis offers some mouth-watering prospects of insight and conflict. Yet rarely does the book come to life, which is perplexing when one considers the two staring figures, Winston Churchill and Franklin D Roosevelt: the British Bulldog and the only President to have won four elections. Both are gigantic figures in 20th century political history and both have had many inspiring and worthy biographies written upon them. But neither Bercuson and Herwig are of the right metal to chart this summit of epic proportions.

Throughout all the book’s 280 pages the writing style is flat and lacklustre. There are many other characters detailed, including the leaders, yet the reader is given standard short biographies of them, as one would find on any Wikipedia page. The range of sources appear stunted – primarily of a secondary nature – and this is one of the book’s chief failings. Nowhere is new ground trotted upon: no new analysis, no new insight.

It is left then to the anecdotes of Churchill to enliven the pages, of which include his conversations with White House staff (‘No member of the White House staff had ever seen the likes of Winston Churchill. Nor would any of them ever forget him’ (p.129)), his smoking and drinking and general winding up of the top brass in the American government. The most notable one details Roosevelt rushing into Churchill’s room with important news, only to find the rotund PM naked after enjoying a bath. Roosevelt made way to promptly exit before Churchill told him: ‘Think nothing of it. The Prime Minister of Great Britain has nothing to conceal from the President of the United States’ (p.217). Despite Churchill later insisting the story was ‘nonsense’, it has stuck to his fame for decades since.

The Christmas conferences were ultimately vital in establishing the alliance that would eventually win the war – the world’s greatest and most vital – in 1945. It is a great pity that the authors were unable to capture this importance, missing a real slice of history. As such, One Christmas in Washington remains a standard read, only a book on the wish-list of Second World War buffs, and to Churchill’s fans in particular.

Ich Bin Ein Berliner

William Shirer - Berlin Diary (1941)
Historical Diary – 600 pages

my copy an 1987 edition hardback borrowed from Pete
- 5 nods out of 5 -

Hitler and Nazism have had countless books penned in interest over the past seventy years. They continue to engulf the public imagination, with many notable academic figures commenting on them down the years. Yet it is one of the earliest accounts of Nazism that continues to be a shining star, a heavyweight amongst a mass of mediocrity – William Shirer was one of the first, and he’ll certainly be in contention as one of the last words of this tumultuous time.

It is Shirer’s subsequent, more comprehensive history on Nazism – The Rise & Fall of Nazi Germany - that is the better known; however, Berlin Diary combines both the comprehensive analysis of the later work, whilst adding adrenaline like quality that propel the book to position of a page-turner thriller.

Beginning in January 1934, it details seven years in Shirer’s life as a foreign correspondent, initially for the newspapers and later more successfully in the budding radio medium. He is there when Hitler takes full power; when he rearms; when he takes Austria, then Czechoslovakia; when war is declared from the allies, and there when the bombs fall on Berlin all around him. The reader is placed in the heart of the action; something other histories lack due to the gap between the events that actually happened to the time when they are described. He is commenting whilst the world stands on that fine wedge between war and peace. And yet for a man who has not the benefit of hindsight, Shirer does a remarkable job at his perceptive analysis on just what the Nazis are plotting and Europe’s dark fate.

Just why are the pages dazzling aware and insightful? Perhaps it is due to his position as an outsider, his nationally being American. Whilst liberalism died in Europe and fascism reigned, the reader is given an impression of Shirer as Orwell’s Winston Smith, The Last Man in Europe (furthermore, there are countless similarities with Orwell’s Nineteen Eighteen-Four – the rationing, the propaganda… the Worm is convinced that Orwell must have owned a copy of the Diary).

There are a couple of interesting points on Shirer’s old fashioned stereotypical view of the German believing he is right, that the rest of the world is wrong. As the days pass he becomes all the more anti-German, telling of the German “blank stare” they give him when he brings up the reasons behind their decision to go to war. But, as always, Shirer raises the questions as to the Nazi pulling the wool over their eyes: ‘What happens to the inner fabric of a people when they are fed lies…daily?’ (p.331). It is a question historians have been asking ever since.

A diary entry dated 23 February 1940 has Shirer lamenting: ‘My birthday. Thought of being 36 now and nothing accomplished, and how fast the middle years fly’ (p.260). Nothing accomplished? No, Mr Shirer, you were very much mistaken. This book is an essential must for anyone interested specifically in the Second World War, and more generally on the traits of the human character.

Hey, what's the Big Idea?

Paul Strathern, Oppenheimer & The Bomb (1998)
Science biography – 90 pages - 2 nods -

Paul Strathern, Einstein & Relativity (1997)
Science biography – 90 pages - 2 nods -

Paul Strathern, Hawking & Black Holes (1997)
Science biography – 90 pages - 2 nods

(all taken out from Plymouth Uni library, courtesy of Jay)

The Big Idea series is Paul Strathern’s attempt at detailing the lives of the past’s most eminent scientists, all within an accessible number of pages (always under one hundred). The Worm has entered this series with gusto, looking at the lives of Robert Oppenheimer, Albert Einstein and Stephen Hawking. Let the scientific pondering begin.

First to Oppenheimer. The detonation of the world’s very first atomic bomb provoked these words from its chief creator: ‘I am become Death, The Destroyer of worlds’. The words are a translation from the Sanskrit text Bhagavad-Gita; the tongue belonged to the scientist in question.

Hailed as “the father of the bomb”, Oppenheimer was involved in the atomic tests in the New Arizona desert in the early 1940s amidst the greater world conflict that engulfed the United States at the time. Called ‘Oppie’ by his friends, the reader is taken on a brief tour of his life: young academic, schizophrenic and suicidal, to the man who moulded great minds. He details some of his political ideology: his move to the left (loves of his life, as well as his brother, were communist) and his eventual falling out with the authorities. An out-right genius himself (learning languages as people eat hot dinners), his task during the Second World War was to gather a collection of other geniuses to get ahead in the arms race against the Germans. Of course, the rest is history: the Nazis surrendered and two atomic bombs were dropped on Japan.

And onto our second genius, one of Oppie’s contemporaries and perhaps the biggest brain of them all: Albert Einstein. The reader is treated to the usual stand-out points of Einstein’s life, the most notable feature being the relative late blossoming (being in his mid-twenties when first expounding some of the greatest theories of the twentieth century). Likened to Newton, Strathern rightly notes:

‘But Newton didn’t have to go to work every day, and didn’t live in a small apartment with a wife and baby. Einstein’s intellectual feat appears to be unparalleled in the history of the human mind.’ (p.47).

Einstein was not seen as a genius straight away by the seniors, but recognised by the more dynamic younger generation. When passed over for the post of professor at the University of Zurich, Adler – who was appointed – resigned, commenting: ‘If it is possible to obtain a man like Einstein for the university, it is absurd to appoint me.’ (p.64). Indeed, how was it possible to neglect a man on whom at moments in his life had access to ‘God’s thoughts’ (p.50)?

The life of Stephen Hawking completes this trilogy of twentieth century geniuses: perhaps a life more compelling than the previous two. Here was a young man of upcoming talent, alive in the swinging 60s, who was diagnosed with the condition of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (AML) – better known as motor neurone disease. It caused him to walk around with the use of stick in his early twenties; led him to needing a wheelchair, for his speech to become slurred, and to fail in the use of his hands. Whilst in the mid-1980s, a complication in breathing led to the vital decision taken by his wife for an emergency operation, the result of which lost the use of his voice, leading to the now famous computer-machine talker, wildly imitated around the world.

Yet this brain survived such adversity to triumph (and of the three mentioned, Hawking has the extra kudos of appearing in an episode of The Simpsons). Tight spots and tricky situations is a familiar theme with all three scientific amigos: Oppenheimer was hounded towards the end of his life for supposed Communist sympathies (the 1950s being the era of the McCarthyism witch-trials), whilst Einstein was unable to complete his Unified Field Theory – equating the micro and macro worlds (on the bedside at his death in 1955 lay a page of unfinished calculations). Such was the energy exerted on this never reached or broached theory, many commentators believe Einstein – one of the greatest of human minds – wasted much of his later life on a fruitless task.

Throughout each of the reads, multi-tasking author Paul Strathern (lecturer of philosophy and mathematics as well as writer of novels) has taken it upon himself to digest and expound lives of these men and their (sometimes) baffling theories into a book of fewer than 100 pages. This itself is quite an impressive feat; however, much of the pages are a pedestrian read. At no point did the text jump out and grab the Worm by the lapels; the only exception being the anecdotes, many of which have been recited time and again.

Strathern feels less comfortable when relating the theory of the bomb, when speaking of the theory of relativity, and even of black holes and string theory. Yet the books ultimate stunted nature lies deeper than this: it is the lack of connection between author and subject. This is something seen with greater clarity when reading the pages of Hawking’s life; a more enjoyable read, due primarily – I believe – to Strathern’s actual meeting Hawking (something obviously impossible to have achieved with either Oppenheimer or Einstein). Take this ending passage on Hawking, for example, detailing a group of students discussing equations:

‘The central figure of this group sits in a wheelchair wearing a bib. His cup is held by a nurse, who rests one hand on his forehead, lowering his head so that he can drink. His spectacles slip forward down his nose, and his slack lips slurp at the tea, as the young voices debate earnestly around him….. One of the group passes a typical bad-taste student comment, and the figure in the wheelchair beams his famous broad grin. He is in his element: the centre of his own mathematical universe, already the stuff of legend’ (p.84-85).

Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything has led to a rash of comedic-science-history books. Strathern’s attempts pre-date this spate, yet fails in enlightening and entertaining the reader to heights of delirium (as achieved by Bryson). Such great figures deserve words of greater quality. But as a self-professed introduction, Strathern’s Big Idea series suffices and earns their place on any curious reader’s bookshelf.

Satirical Born Killers?

Ben Elton, Popcorn
Novel – 300 pages – 1996 / hardback borrowed from Em
- 1 nod out of 5 -

Popcorn is the story of how a psychopathic murdering couple take hostage an Oscar winning Hollywood director who has made his fame and fortune detailing psychotic, murdering people taking people hostage. Under pressure from the authorities and in the hope of saving their own hides, the murdering couple – Wayne and Scout - hope to get the director - Bruce Delamtri – to take the wrap for the murders due to the influence of his movies on society.

Sounds like a passable storyline. However, throughout all is Elton’s continuing efforts to frustrate the reader. There are many pitfalls within these pages: from wooden, pointless characters (with the depth of a playing card) to the carbon-copy likeness to Tarantino dialogue and films of the same period. Yet it is Elton’s writing style itself which is the biggest culprit: the grammar may be good, but the quality is far from satisfactory. Elton has the annoying knack of turning away from the story to lecture the reader, an example of which:

‘Contrary to popular mythology, American police officers do not spend all day every day scraping corpses off walls and floors… Death is not uncommon in this job but it is not the norm either, and the two State Troopers weren’t so familiar with murder as to be indifferent to it’ (p.64).

Blah, blah; bore, bore. I found myself repeatedly throwing insults at the book’s pages and to Mr Elton’s smug photograph in particular. Firstly, it adds unnecessary words to an already bloated story; it is almost criminal that no sharp edit of the book was performed. And secondly, comes the vision the reader builds of the bespectacled Elton typing away the words, pompous grin on face, pausing every couple of minutes to sip at his own self-satisfying coffee. It may be the Worm’s own personal preference, but an author of fiction should take a back-seat and allow his words to do the talking for him.

Popcorn is hailed as a work of satire. Yet this is not satire in its known and enjoyed forms. Throughout the novel Elton seems to have the wit of a fourteen year old boy – devoid of a terse and mordant style - infected and enthused by a trip to a cinema, or illicit copy of a mid-1990s Tarantino film. Think Reservoir Dogs, think Pulp Fiction, and primarily, Natural Born Killers, of which, Tarantino wrote the original screenplay. And this, in essence, is what Popcorn is: a rehash of violence and supposed sharp dialogue. The much trumpeted so-called satire comes from its describing of the baseness of a Hollywood up its own arse, a Hollywood which takes no account of blame. Rarely does Elton succinctly get this message across, yet two notable exceptions include the book’s epilogue (in which the survivors of the final shooting rampage take to suing one another), and Bruce Delamtri’s comment on society:

‘Nothing is anybody’s fault. We don’t do wrong, we have problems. We’re victims, alcoholics, sexaholics. Do you know you can be a shopaholic? That’s right. People aren’t greedy any more, oh no. They’re shopoholics, victims of commercialism. Victims! People don’t fail any more. They experience negative success. We are building a culture of gutless, spineless, self-righteous, whining cry-babies who have an excuse for everything and take responsibility for nothing…’ (P.83)

Yet it is a shame that these highlights remain buried amongst an avalanche of dull words and clichéd statements. Yet what is most shocking is an endorsement on the book’s back cover by Douglas Adams: ‘One of the most brilliantly sustained and focussed pieces of satire I’ve ever read.’ It is even compared with Joseph Heller's Catch 22. The only logical explanation must be that Douglas Adams was in mocking jest when typing such a statement (or was trying to give a fellow novelist friend a helping hand). Now, Catch 22 was an piece of satire; a true 5 nodder!. Popcorn - a tiring read of 300 pages - is not.

What it is remains a motley assortment of dull plot and forgettable characters. Therefore, it is the Worm’s duty – according to the code of Bookish Honour – to place a prominent warning sign upon this novel and classify it with the miserly 1 nod it surely deserves.