Relationships with pictures: an oblique autobiography by Peter Lord

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Peter Lord is probably generally described as a “Welsh art critic” or “Welsh art historian”, and while the majority of his professional life has been spent in Wales working with a particular focus on “art” produced in Wales he is in fact English (in origin at least), and there is a sense in which it is only as an outsider that he could see the depth of artistic endeavour within Wales.

We all know Wales is the “Land of Song” which Crowns (and Chairs) its Poets – and the counter point of this narrative is that Wales is a nation without a visual culture – a land of words not pictures. In this interesting book Peter Lord sounds a loud challenge to this (mis)conception.

Key to this challenge is a general challenge to the Art Establishment and any framework of ideas that attempts to police the boundary between “Art” and “not-Art”. This is a boundary that the Pop Artists of the 1960s kicked against – although I think the Art Establishment was phenomenally successful in neutralising that challenge. When Andy Warhol painted soup tins rather than seeing the Art in the ordinary the Establishment focused only on the status of a piece being a “Warhol” - content became irrelevant. (Although perhaps Warhol is a bad example, as clearly the greatest work of Art he ever produced was the persona “Andy Warhol”).

There is almost a quality of the detective novel about this, as from the starting point that there was no Welsh Art, Lord begins to discover more and more artists, stumbling across them, with a glimpse or a rumour, and then working to put their story together, to find their art. Maybe it is the equivalent of the BBC “Who do you think you are?” for a whole nation, a whole culture. While the BBC's celebrities come to terms with the drunks, adulterers, and war heroes among their forebears, the Welsh need to get to know their inheritance of artists.

It is also a tale of how the Welsh have in certain ways gilded their own prison bars – there is a psychological collusion, we may love Wales but deep down we don't really expect too much from her? There is today a story on the BBC news website headlined “Wales economy adds least value in UK” - but if you read the story it also states that Wales “showed the biggest growth”. So why was the headline not “Wales fastest growing economy in UK”? We might blame it on the London centric Beeb, but are the leaders in Wales actually aspirational enough to challenge the rhetoric – for you can bet if in the same position Alec Salmon would have raised a storm, a storm that would have more than likely broken to the advantage of the people of Scotland.

The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham

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This is a classic “sci-fi” with more than one adaptation and I think these monster plants lurk behind many of our fears of Genetic Modification. It is often difficult to encounter the text of such classics free from the cumulated associations, to read with fresh eyes.

I will assume that the concept of “spoilers” does not really apply in this case however if you have escaped knowledge of the plot, and want to retain that status – at least for the time being, it might be best to stop here.

As well as the fear of the monster plants the plot also plays on the fear of the dark, as in the opening sequence the majority of the human race are left blind. The dark is a very deep seated fear, and the reaction of those left blind is extreme – OK there is chaos, but how quickly it seems that hope is lost and many of the blind decide to end their lives is, for me, a questionable aspect of the plot.

This is part of a need, in common with many post-apocalypitc narratives, to provide for a rapid depopulation in order to move on what is essentially a utopian (or in some cases dystopian) rebuilding phase. There is no desire to dwell on the suffering caused by the apocalypse and so millions are written off, written out, in the blink of an eye to make room on the canvass of the author's prime interest, whatever it is that will come next. I can recognise this as a necessary literary device but it certainly make me uncomfortable.

In this case the “next” is in fact a winding back of the clock to a “simpler” agrarian society and a reconnection of people with the land, and it turns out that the central hope for the continuation of civilisation lies on a move to the Isle of Wight (which depending on you point of view might be a stretch of the imagination...).

Overall the story is, I think, a critique of a society that has become enthralled to technology with a loss of connection not only to the land but also between human beings – how much more might we feel this critique can be applied today as it was when Wyndham was writing near 70 years ago.

Although it is interesting that it was first published at the very start of the 1950s, an era that I think we look back on as very optimistic. Many of the themes explored seems to fit more readily with periods of discontent, such as the late 1970s. These days we are told the 1950s was a time when people really believed that the future would all be jet-packs and sliver suits (although I know that my mum recalls a different story where the future was only filled with mushroom clouds).

But there is a tension, the turning back of the clock does not come without costs, not only the comforts and amusements of modern life but also in terms of health and security, existence in the new society is clearly fragile. The choice the author presents is to decide where the priority should lie, where is human dignity most likely to be found?

The Little Prince by Antoine De Saint-Exupéry

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One is somewhat hesitant when approaching such a classic as The Little Prince, how can one be so bold as to think you have anything worth saying about such a master piece.

I find two disparate connections come to mind, the first is to C S Lewis' “Cosmic” trilogy, which you will find considered elsewhere on this blog, the writing of that trilogy spans the time in which The Little Prince was created. Both are about space travellers, but somehow to label them sci-fi feels a little misplaced. In common, both use other worlds as a mirror to explore the earth and the state of society.

The other connection is to the Clangers, this is in part due to the illustrations, the Little Prince's home planet, particularly its small size, looks a lot like the Clangers home. There is also a quality in the Prince's encounter with the others he meets which seems to echo (or should I perhaps say foreshadow given the Prince was written decades before) the Clangers. Do we do it a disservice if we call it “childlike”?

If I was to take a so-called “Ignatian” approach to reading the Little Prince, then I think the character with whom I would identify most would be the Rose. The temperamental Rose, who maintains both a pretence at invulnerability and yet a needy dependence on others, a self-defence mechanism with only mixed results.

One of the great lessons of the story is the Prince's discovery that the Rose is unique, not in an inherent way as he first thought, but in relationship with others. Our value comes from relationship. This is a Christian “truth”, the human is precious because of not characteristic born of themselves, but only because they are loved by God. The failing of some of those the Prince meets, such as the King, is that they have tried to establish a status for themselves independent of any relationship, if you have no subjects you are left with a very hollow kind of kingship.

From The Abundance of the Heart by Stephen Cottrell and Table Manners by Simon Reynolds

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I read these two books during week away in Gran Canaria and there is a certain overlap between them which makes it seem sensible to consider them together.

Reyonds provides a sub-title “Liturgical Leadership for the Mission of the Church”. This seems to give a clear missional focus, a kin to that of Cottrell, however other than the general point that good liturgy can be a spring board to mission, and bad liturgy a stumbling block I did not feel that Reynolds really made the link to mission.

For example, he argues for particular hand gestures during the Eucharist, and while I agree that movement and gesture should be intentional I struggle to buy the case for such a narrow range of gestures being acceptable or effective. As is so often is the case, I could not help but feels that we were being lumbered with grand arguments to support nothing more than personal preference.

Overall it has the feel of a PhD thesis that has made a less than successful transition into a general publication although there is no indication in the acknowledgements etc that it did in fact have such an origin.

Which brings us round to Cottrell's offering, which is in a different mode from many of his gem like reflections or meditative writings, it is a more practical styled “how to” guide.

Reading it I felt that much of it was simple common sense, and at times even that it was verging on becoming a manual about the sucking of eggs. But on second thoughts I realised if this sense was actually common within the Church then the Church would be a rather different place from that which it is.

It seems that by turns Cottrell countered the narrowness of Reynolds – at the very heart of Cottrell's message is a standard that what matters is the “how” rather than the “what” of a Church's life. It is a challenge to those at the “high” and/or “catholic” end of the Church of England to pull their fingers out and get on with Mission. To often there is a cope out among this sort of Christian that Mission and Evangelism are things for the “happy-clappies” down the road and not for the likes of us. This is, to a certain extent, why Roman Catholics tend to opt for the clunky phrase of “Evangelisation” rather than “Evangelism” in an attempt to side step the some of the theological, and cultural, baggage of the later term.

One of the successes of this book is that Cottrell presents a way forward that can be taken in bite sized chunks. And so he brings the vision of transforming into a missionary community within the realm of the possible, you will be able to see your own Church working through the process (however inward looking and set in its ways it might be!). Offering that kind of hope to the many Christians who frustratedly life and worship within Churches which they know to be poor reflections of the potential they are called to be is one of the greatest services that can be offered to the wider Church.

Not tonight Neil by Ian Gregson

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This is a powerful coming of age story, and the account of the struggles of being an ordinary teenage boy are well pitched.

The bulk of the novel is effectively told by the teenage Dennis, and these part works really well.

However there is an additional layer in which the 42 year old Dennis, who has found fame as a cartoonist by publishing a “graphic novel” of his teenage life, is seeking some kind of closure on that chapter of his life.

This layer is far from successful.

Firstly, I guess the idea that anyone would find “fame” via this route is a stretch. And the contrast between the dramatic but deeply plausible tale about teenage Dennis and this clunky middle-aged narrative is uncomfortable.

Second, another contrast, the teenage tale is essentially claustrophobic, and that is its power, while the middle-aged tale is expansive and in being so is ultimately flat.

The frustration is that the middle-aged layer is not required – the teenage tale stands alone – and I feel Gregson would have benefited from Editor who would have cut this and left the novel stronger as a result.

The Legal History of Wales by Thomas Glyn Watkin

Alan saw this and commented “that looks like an insanely dull book” and I would admit taking account of the title alone this reaction if not totally unreasonable, however...

The scope of the book, packing over 2000 years of history in to a little over 200 pages, is not the dry and straight laced functioning of legal process but the dynamics of power and identity.

This is a book about much more than “the Law”. There are some fascinating insights, for example any enhanced status of women within the Welsh Laws relative to their Anglo-Saxon neighbours was not due to any links to some Celtic Earth Mother (as at times some will suggest) but in fact due to the Welsh seeking to preserve their “civilised” identity as Roman Citizens and continuing significant aspects of Roman Law. While are certain times “Welsh” legal provisions and structures, often arrived at accidentally, set the pattern for future reform in England.

I also learn a lot about the evolution of the legal system in England, which from the time of the Norman conquest onwards has had growing influence in Wales. This speaks about the source of power and authority, such as the ways in which the Crown and, in particular, the Church wrestled with one another as alternate sources of authority.

For so long there has been a single entity “England and Wales” it is important to understand the origins of that status, and the time before when there was “England” and “Wales” (if in fact such a time existed as both England and Wales were slow to form as separate unified entities), if we are to thinking purposefully about the extent of devolution, the potential for independence. While we can go beyond the confines of history as we make the future, we are foolish if we do so without regard for the past.

When we think of “nationhood” we can not avoid Benedict Anderson's “Imagined Communities” - all concepts of “nation” are fictions, that crossing a line drawn on a map you become a foreigner is in essence a nonsense. But some fictions speak truths, while others are clanging bells. The search for the Welsh is to find a fiction, to find a truth, that speaks of a common identity that is more that is more that a negative definition (ie the people who aren't English).

Some Hope by Edward St Aubyn

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As with his first book, Never Mind, we find that Patrick Melrose (aka St Aubyn) is once again a marginal character – it displays a certain kind of mental attitude when you fail to cast yourself in a leading role in your own autobiography, although I am not sure exactly what that attitude is...

All the reviews seem to suggest that St Aubyn's work offers us great insights and revaluations. I found this latest instalment, even more than the early two, to be populated by a cast of pathetic, and generally detestable, individuals self-absorbed in the pity angst of their lives. I am not sure if that is the insight I am mean to be getting?

The next part, Mother's Milk, is the one that got short-listed for the Booker Prize and so I feel maybe having come this far I should get that one but I can't say I am in anyway looking forward to it.