As a political thinker, Ian Mcewan is a twerp
Novelists are very good at inventing imaginary worlds – what is a novel but a tale well told? – but less good at interpreting events in the world of flesh and blood. It hardly needs saying, but it must be when one sees the events in Chemnitz in Germany, where Right-wing mobs have taken to the streets to avenge the murders of Germans, allegedly by refugees, by attacking other refugees.
It’s a grim story, and so grimly predictable. If you adopt a “come one, come all” policy, as Angela Merkel did three years ago, you shouldn’t be surprised if people looking for a better life take you at your word. Hundreds of thousands of Syrians did, and others from the Middle East, and, ever since, Frau Merkel has been reaping the whirlwind. This is a disaster of her own making.
Ian Mcewan no doubt takes a different view. Last month he praised the German chancellor as a politician “who tries to keep alive the dreams of a tolerant, inclusive, open society”. Open, certainly; tolerant, not so much. There can never be tolerance unless people are prepared to tolerate decisions taken in their name for reasons they can understand. Many Germans, not all of whom are racists or bigots, cannot understand why their chancellor permitted so many people with no experience of Western life into a well-ordered country.
As for “inclusive”, it is one of those weasel words favoured by people who like to polish their halos. Inclusion in this case has led to exclusion – particularly in places like Chemnitz, though the social problems are also evident in richer German cities like Munich and Hamburg. It is the difference, once again, between abstract notions that sound delightful and the muck and nettles of life as it is lived by most people. Mcewan has written some fine books. As a political thinker, he is a twerp – or “engaged”, as they like to say in Hampstead.
“Laura is the face in the misty light…” Johnny Mercer’s great song might not have been uppermost in the minds of those thirsty medics as they argued the merits of Laura Kuenssberg over a gallon of pop, but that was the gist of the debate. Put her head “in a paper bag” indeed! No, let us see her on the screen. The lady is a star.
Political journalism feeds some pretty monstrous egos. Michael Crick likes to hunt his quarry on foot, bellowing questions and rarely listening to the answers. It’s his gimmick, and sometimes it works. Nick Robinson, the I-specialist, likes to put himself at the centre of the story. Even on the radio it isn’t hard to see his sharp elbows at work. And there’s a floppyhaired chap on ITV with vowels wider than the Humber Bridge and an air of carefully rehearsed informality that can’t conceal the fact that he isn’t always on top of his subject.
Although Kuenssberg is quirky – that lop-sided smile only adds to her appeal – she is not a “character”. The demands on her time are extraordinary. There isn’t a minute when she is not writing or presenting, yet she carries it off with grace and the expertise of the true pro. Her job is to explain what is going on at Westminster, without fear or favour, and without preening. As for Robert Peston… where is that paper bag?
Elsewhere at the BBC there is room for improvement. One wishes Kirsty Young well, as she withdraws from Desert Island Discs to get better, but is she really, as some have suggested, a giant of broadcasting? The programme she presents has gone downhill in recent years, partly as a result of her inability to elicit the most basic biographical detail from her guests.
The person stepping into the breach, one Lauren Laverne, comes from the self-obsessed pop world. “It’s a huge honour”, she says, “to be asked to cover my favourite programme on behalf of one of my heroes.” Look at me, everybody. It’s all to do with me. Already one hears the sound of broken crockery across the households of Britain.
Perhaps listeners should give thanks that the Beeb chose not to offer the job to others from the well-stocked stable of presenters who have risen without obvious talent: Ball Z, Cox S, Winkleman C. Worst of all is Clare Teal, whose gormless wittering on Radio 2’s big band programme belongs at the end of a pier. Another job there for the admirable Ms Kuenssberg, if she can spare an hour every Sunday night.
‘Inclusive’ is one of those weasel words favoured by people who like to polish their halos
Driving through Ripponden, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, it was bracing to discover that a wellknown pub has been turned into a “Social House”. Cap S, cap H, to make it sound grand. But what does it mean? Pubs, if properly kept, have always been social houses. They depend upon the custom of drinkers who will, if treated decently, return time and again; hence the term “regulars”.
Ah well. Just round the corner from this new-fangled house, which no doubt serves those ghastly craft ales to earnest young men in beards, there is one of England’s finest pubs, built on a stream, which has been satisfying rather more discerning drinkers since 1307. And it remains unapologetically a pub, serving the best beer in the kingdom, brewed up the road at Keighley. The Bridge, for a real pub experience? Or that Social House, for a simulacrum of an inn? Drinkers of Yorkshire, it is entirely a matter for you.