First Chapter: Conspiracy theorists, a novel about a crumbling building and a (not) self-help book
This week there’s a collection of essays about music written by various contributors, there’s a fascinating – and scary - book about conspiracy theorists, there’s a novel about a crumbling building (well, it’s about a lot of crumbling things) and there’s a book that could be called a diary of madness, from a now sober alcoholic.
You Spin Me Round, Various, PVA Books €15.00
In the introduction to his marvellous collection of essays about art called Keeping an Eye Open, Julian Barnes observed: “Flaubert believed that it was impossible to explain one art form in terms of another.” In Flaubert’s opinion, great art should stun a person into silence. But we’re a chatty bunch, we homo sapiens, and an opinionated bunch, too. So reading the opinions of others regarding some forms of music I dislike was both hilarious and infuriating. I’m especially thinking of the description of all-night sean nós session. A fate surely worse than death. I don’t like country music, either, but was shocked to discover who does like it. That’s the delight of this anthology, we’re taken from the three chords of Glen Campbell to the tormented genius of Shostakovich (about whom, coincidentally, Julian Barnes wrote a novel), and from the ‘quality’ of a fleadh (yeah, right) to an extended rhapsody on…Beethoven? Nope. Iggy Pop. The thread holding these essays together is the quality of the writing. That said, there seems to be no actual musician contributor here. A book of essays about music, written by non-musicians is, I think, odd.
Among the Trolls, Marianna Spring, Atlantic €18.99
Ranging from Elon Musk to Gemma O’Doherty (both referenced at length in this book) the award-winning BBC Disinformation Reporter Marianna Spring has really done her homework on conspiracy theorists and has produced a balanced work not just about the main players, but one that drills down to their fans and followers. She makes a genuine effort to connect with and understand this swell of people who most of dismiss as mere headbangers. Dismissing them, she concludes, is not the answer. She spoke to quite a few of them and social exclusion in all its forms seems to be the root of the problem. One could argue that social exclusion has always existed and that’s true, but the internet hasn’t always existed. It is the primary and, in most cases, only weapon this slice of society has. The lack of moderators on social media platforms allows anyone to say literally anything, and there will always be a fool out there – or a few million – who will tag along.
Covid, of course, is the obvious example but there are others. Anti-vaxxers are also thought to be behind the alarming rise in measles in recent weeks. And the role social media is playing in the rising tide of fascism here and abroad is profoundly disquieting. Is there a cure? Well, it’s a complex problem so the cure is also complex. But, Spring surmises, as long western democracies continue to strive for the wealthy few, while ignoring the disenfranchised many, there’s no real chance of any progress.
Habitat, Catriona Shine, Lilliput, €18.00
Catriona Shine is an Irish architect living in Norway and so it’s probably fitting that Oslo is where she sets her debut novel. The story follows a week in the lives of a group of apartment dwellers, where their apartment block rapidly disintegrates before their eyes. But they’re all so caught up in their busy-busy lives that they can’t see the wood for the trees. Literally. Until it’s too late. An odd premise for a novel, you’d think, but her characters and the relationships between these disparate neighbours makes it highly original. Is it an allegorical story about climate change? I believe so, yes, but it’s about lots of other things. The ugliness of racism, for instance, and the fact that familial love sometimes doesn’t extend into the community. It’s about old age and its inherent loneliness, and about how that loneliness can embitter and infect. It’s about incompetence among so-called leaders, about passing the buck, about our treatment of animals and wildlife. Mostly it’s about how the human race won’t look – can’t seem to look – at the mess we’re in, even as we’re falling off the precipice. But it’s not a doomsday book, or at least it’s not just that. It’s far too well-written and engaging to be depressing. But it is a tiny bit terrifying.
This is Not a Self-Help Book, Mark Mehigan, Gill, €18.99
This really isn’t a self-help book , but I imagine Mehigan’s chronicle of disasters might help many a young man and woman (and older ones too) have a look at their use or abuse of alcohol. Although Mehigan is an artist in his own right, a podcaster, comedian and scriptwriter, he’s by now best known for being Doireann Garrihy’s fiancé, which is probably unfair but them’s the breaks. Written in the spirit of Barry Humphries’ excellent More Please, and more recently Tadhg Hickey’s Portrait of the Piss Artist as a Young Man, Mehegan takes us behind the scenes of a life that seems on the outside to be trundling along quite nicely, while falling to absolute bits on the inside.
And he offers no advice either, but rather he delivers a message of what’s called in recovery circles his ‘experience, strength and hope’. Which is far more valuable to someone struggling with addiction than a well-meaning sermon. In his intro, he states that although he has an addictive personality, he’s not addicted to everything: ‘I’ve never been addicted to getting up early or doing the washing-up’. This book isn’t a plummeting litany of woes, either, it’s well-structured, extremely well-written and frequently bawl-out-loud funny. Whether or not you’re grappling with drink or any other substance, this very human and humane memoir will appeal, I believe, across the board. Because all of us appreciate and are attracted to that most rare of human virtues; honesty. Inspiring stuff.