Dreaming and Historical Consciousness in Island Greece

Dreaming and Historical Consciousness in Island Greece
By Charles Stewart
Harvard University Press – £48.95

Living not too far from Lourdes in the Pyrenees, as well as being something of a history buff, I was rather interested to read the following in Chapter Three (‘Dreaming of Buried Icons in the Kingdom of Greece’) of this relentlessly engaging book: ‘’Catholic European visions and pilgrimages of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries show a pattern of contagious influence. At Lourdes, many thought that Bernadette envisioned the Virgin as she was depicted on a medallion executed according to the vision seen by Catherine Laboure in Paris in 1830 […]. The events in Marpingen (German Saarland) in 1876 looked back at Lourdes, and people immediately spoke about it as a ‘’German Lourdes’’ at the time […]. Lourdes itself drew increasing numbers of pilgrims north across the Pyrenees from Spain following the fiftieth anniversary of the proclamation of the Immaculate Conception and the visions of Bernadette (1904 and 1908 respectively). This heightened level of devotional consciousness formed the context for the witnessing of a moving cross in the town of Limpias in Cantabria, northern Spain […].’’

So it continues until the historical thread of devotional spirituality, invariably reaches the Greek Island of Tinos – a few hours’ boat journey north of Naxos. Here, as well as throughout the book’s entire ten chapters, the depth of further profound analysis is proclaimed in such a way as to startle even the most stoic of stubborn, imaginary stasis.

To be sure, Dreaming and Historical Consciousness in Island Greece is something of a literary, centrifugal prism, through which the faculties of dreaming and theology, history and philosophy, most curiously collide. And in so doing, author Charles Stewart – who is Reader in Anthropology at University College, London – pinpoints where the (ever changing) boundaries between each lie. Not to mention morph into one another.

This alone, constitutes the book’s validity within the realm of socio-aesthetics, while simultaneously introducing and clarifying new modes of thought within each contextual area.

It is indeed, just as Laurie Kain Hart of Haverford College (and author of Time, Religion and Social Experience in Rural Greece) writes: ‘’This is a magisterial study. As a contribution to philosophy of history and an exploration of the meaning of dreams and the faculty of imagination it is a serious and profound book. It is a worthy successor to Stewart’s earlier study of Greek religious cosmology.’’

I have to say I haven’t (yet) read Stewart’s earlier book, but this one is uber compelling. Like the Series Editors have stated in the Forward: ‘’[…] Stewart’s analysis approaches dreams not as repositories of the individual unconscious but rather as dynamic embodiments and agencies of communal historical consciousness, interlinking all possible levels of temporality: past, present, and future.’’

David Marx

All Together Now – The abc of the Beatles’ songs and albums

All Together Now
The abc of the Beatles’ songs and albums
By David Rowley
Matador – £9.99

Having been a lifelong fan of The Beatles, I have to confess there aren’t many books I haven’t read on the band, because whenever a new publication comes on the market, I’ll always endeavour to investigate. Hence, this new Matador release All Together Now – the ABC of the Beatles’ songs and albums by David Rowley.

A book, like that of most other Beatles books, I admittedly ploughed through in next to no time.

The initial aspect of the book that is most apparent, is the songs are considered alphabetically rather than chronologically. Thus making for an altogether different approach, simply due to the mindset having to very quickly adjust from one Beatles era to another – without warning, or any other reason than the first letter of the song dictating as such. So while ‘Please Please Me’ was one of the band’s earliest recordings, it doesn’t appear until page 147 (of a total of 216).

The other thing that leaps out of the pages to the extent of being a little jarring, is, that while the author is clearly a huge Beatles fan, he has a tendency to shy away from some of the band’s veiled use of sexual imagery throughout their career. This in itself is okay if not a little prudish – especially in this day and glaringly blatant age of full-on sexuality being the norm amid such bikini-clad, ghastly singers as Cheryl Cole, Rihanna et al – but it’s Rowley’s relentless use of the word ‘smut’ throughout, that, for want of a finer word or description (literally), becomes horribly irksome after a while. With regards ‘Penny Lane,’ he writes: ‘’The verses contain several pieces of smut – a finger pie and the rhyming of ‘Queen’ with an analogy for a penis (’clean machine’),’’ while, returning to ‘Please Please Me,’ he begins with: ‘’The presence of this piece of smut so early in the Beatles’ career is so shocking to most it has been largely ignored […]. Such smut survived owing to the lack of open discussion of sex in this era and the low likelihood of anyone drawing attention to it’’ (my italics).

I cannot help but wonder if the author is American?

Other than the repetition of the above word, All Together Now makes for an enjoyable and pleasurable read.

As with most books on The Lads, there’s always something new to learn, and I have to say, the same applies herein – although nowhere near to the same extent as Ian Macdonald’s unsurpassable Revolution In The Head.

David Marx

On Ashover Hill

On Ashover Hill
By Anthony Scott
Matador – £9.99

On Ashover Hill follows the story of William McTeer, who, in 1934 Naples, falls in love with a young Italian woman. The war invariably forces them apart, but as in many a love story, destiny intervenes, and somehow alerts fate into reuniting the star-crossed lovers to live happily ever after.

Well kind of.
Let it be said that throughout the 373 pages of this novel, we rather surprisingly get far more that might often be the case. For not only do we get the wartime romance, we proceed to follow the eventual offspring of William and Francesca, but also the offspring of the offspring!

This compels me to write that On Ashover Hill could quite easily have been something of an epic. In and of themselves, the storylines really are most interesting, but as a whole, the book is far too condensed. A prime example being the fact that many of the characters are given such a short time on the page, they’re not fully digested by the reader. Many of the twists and turns appear to be rushed, simply in order to be acquainted with the next character. And then yet another character we have yet to meet.

Moreover, the best, if not the strongest character, is obviously William’s son, Robert McTeer – a cutthroat, scumbag businessman of sorts, who will stop at absolutely nothing to seal his next deal. My only gripe being that the author Anthony Scott must have mentioned how annoyingly wealthy Robert became, at least three thousand, seven-hundred and ninety eight times and counting.

In Chapter 12 alone (‘A Visit Home’), we are reminded of Robert’s wealth, over and over: ‘’In less than 7 short years Robert had transformed Jones Ltd. The company, the brainchild of Ronald Jones, had become a business making profits of tens of millions of pounds and in turn made Ronald and Robert very wealthy men […]. ‘I’m just so busy,’ went on Robert, effortlessly ignoring his father, ‘with work being such a great success. Do you know Dad, I just can’t seem to stop making so much money!’ […[. Therefore at the age of only 25 and nine months, Robert was already a millionaire three times over and living the life of a young man without responsibility and with every possibility seeming achievable. He kept two apartments, one in his beloved Sheffield city centre, and one down in highbrow Chelsea for his many London trips. He had two sports cars, the Porsche 911 Carrera, this being the highflying executive car of choice, and a classic 1958 Bugatti Road Car. It was a life he had dreamed of and a life that his father could not understand. Indeed William viewed the 1980’s as a decade of indecent excess that, he said, would have repercussions for decades to come.’’

Talking of the eighties, not only is it a strange coincidence that I should be reading about this enterprising (twat) child so shortly after Margaret Thatcher’s death, the last book I reviewed was Graham Stewart’s Bang! A History of Britain In The Eighties.

Without wanting to give too much of the game away, let’s just say Robert McTeer is a truly despicable individual – even if his character does just appear to fizzle out. Perhaps wrongly so, I was waiting for the big, cathartic explosion towards the close of the book. As is, it merely morphs into a seemingly vague conclusion, replete with a rather strange, three-page final chapter that arrives from nowhere.

On Ashover Hill could have had all the makings to become a big holiday bestseller. It’s certainly got the scope; even if it does come off as being a little rushed and obvious.

David Marx

Stepping On The Cracks

Stepping On The Cracks
By Christopher L Carter
Matador/Troubador – £8.99

Stepping On The Cracks is Christopher L Carter’s first novel, and in a way, it reads like a first novel. That’s not to say it’s bad, but given its magnificently magnetic subject matter – the questionable charm of Sarf London during the Seventies aligned with Bowie and assorted boot-boys – it really ought to have been so much better.

But writing, just like the imagination and the degree to which repetition can sometimes work (although more often than not, fall flat on its literary face), is highly subjective.

As such, it was from the premise of subjectivity alone that I continued to read these 459 pages; admittedly armed with just a little trepidation, hesitation and pangs of disappointment. Whilst kicking off admirably enough outside of Ziggy Stardust’s infamous Farewell Show at London’s Hammersmith Odeon in 1973 (July 3rd), if the word ‘Dave’ is mentioned once during the first eleven pages of Chapter One, then by the end of chapter three, it subliminally sounds as if Dave has been mentioned eight-hundred and fifty-two-thousand, nine-hundred and forty-seven times too many.

In other words, I (may have) have already lost interest, because not only is ‘Dave’ alluded to far too often – which is surprisingly annoying to say the least – he’s made out to be some sort of holy cross between Elvis Presley and strawberry jam; Julie Burchill, oral sex and wit personified. Now there’s a thought of unimaginable catharsis – although our ‘Dave,’ really is none of these.

So just what is it, that tempts or convinces one to continue reading?

Well I kept with it, purely as a result of some of the author’s admirable frankness and dare I say it, conviction; even when weighted down by some of his semi-protagonist Dave’s deeply entrenched insularity. A perfect example of which is made painstakingly clear as early as page twenty-one: ‘’It was those things that messed Dave up, the not knowing. Trying desperately to swim against the tide of natural instincts that swelled inside, instincts that made him want to impress, to make his dad proud, instead of trying to make him think that he didn’t give a toss for his approval or admiration, and in the end he would achieve neither. Left treading water, stranded in a sea of uncertainty.’’

The line ‘’stranded in a sea of uncertainty’’ is just one of many throughout Stepping On The Cracks, that is wholeheartedly capable of catapulting the reader right back to their own adolescence – wherever and whenever that may be. Although in this particular instance, the seventies make for a fantastic start. And not in a (n entirely) cheesy way might I add.

If nothing else: Carter comes across as meaning what he writes and writing what he means, of which the following are a fine representation: ‘’[…] so the conversation had flitted about like confetti, until it had landed safely upon the shoulders of football,’’ ‘’illegible headstones that jutted haphazardly from the ground like rows of decaying teeth,’’ ‘’the sound of Christmas trampled to death beneath the stampede of growing hostility,’’ ‘’stilted bouts of conversation, as the splintered light from the streetlight outside cascaded over us like stinging shards of humiliation.’’

Both promising and occasionally poignant, Stepping on The Cracks has ensured I’ll keep a lookout for the follow-up.

David Marx