I have read so many reviews of The Hungry Years by William Leith that i feel no need whatsoever to read it. Although, if I hadn't read the reviews, I would still feel no need to read it. I think it's probably being ubiquitously reviewed because the author knows the right people.
So, what is it about? It seems that a young man from a comfortably-off background and a good education spends his Twenties, Thirties over-indulging in food, illegal drugs and alcohol, and then he grows up. Perhpas it is brilliantly well-written and funny. I used to read some of his columns in the Observer - or was it the IoS - years ago, maybe when I lived in Streatham. They were mildly entertaining, but, because they did not actually say anything or provoke any thoughts they were instantly forgettable.
About three weeks ago I was flicking through the Observer and I decided that the silly season had started. There seemed to be an underlying theme to too many of the articles - people from comfortable backgrounds, good education, and well-paid jobs angsting about problems that were so trivial as to be contemptible, of their own making, or a direct result of arrogant self-indulgence.
I find it all dreadfully boring and wearisome. We all have problems, some of our own making and some forced by circumstances. We deal with them, well or badly. In a world where there is free speech, we are perfectly entitled to write about them in any forum we so wish, in any way we so want. Hey, I blog.
But when a shallow newspaper columnist writes a book that then gets pimped round by other newspaper commenters it begins to take on a whole new dimension. Newspapers have Editors, supposedly to lend a note of authority - an Observer book review is not merely a random jotting on the www, but it is expected by the readership to carry the weight of hundreds of years of the Observer's reputation. I'm just left wondering who really cares. But I also know that the pimping of the book will extend to prominent placing in bookshops and well-known high-street/railway station/airport stationers and the browser, looking for an impulse buy, will think "Oh that looks interesting, triumph over adversity blah-de-blah." Maybe it is interesting, but I can't help feeling that it's probably more noise than sound
Meanwhile a survey found that only one in six respondents could correctly identify Kofi Annan as the secretary general of the United Nations, whereas 77 per cent knew that Justin Timberlake was not going out with Drew Barrymore.
Perhaps it really does not matter; on the other hand I had a conversation with a thirty-something chap the other week, who did not know that he was entitled to a 25% discount on his Council Tax until his Dad told him; conversation moved on to some matter of someone's confusion over tax credits, housing benefits and rent arrears; his comment was "she didn't know"; on further probing he admitted she knew every plot twist and character in Eastenders.
Of books reviewed, I suspect that Maggie Gee's My Cleaner will have much more perceptive comments on the human condition.
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