The Tempest, Birmingham Royal Ballet, Sadler's Wells, Friday 14th October 2016

Pre-show talk:

The audience at the Birmingham Royal Ballet’s penultimate performance of The Tempest in London this season were treated to a pre-show talk with Kit Holder, Lachlan Monaghan, and Sally Beamish. Holder introduced the evening, speaking of the Company’s focus on Shakespeare in this anniversary year. The only production that hasn’t been related to Shakespeare this year has been The Nutcracker - its sheer popularity making it nigh on impossible to cut. The Tempest is the final production in this year long celebration and they invested in it fully, commissioning a new score and set.

Sally Beamish spoke of her pleasure at being commissioned to compose a ballet, a first for her, and something she has desired for some time. She talked of the creative process – that David Bintley (Choreographer and Director of BRB) sent her a storyboard which included how long each dance would be and who was in it, but not what emotions were being expressed. This was supplemented by Skype sessions before she started work on a new scene in which they would discuss issues of character and emotion, to make sure they were both focusing on the same ideas. It took her eighteen months to compose and unusually she wrote it as an orchestral score and then had to create a piano version for rehearsals (composers would ordinarily do the reverse).

Beamish and Monaghan went on to speak of how the dancers responded to the music and how different it was to have in mind the dancers’ needs when creating. The emphasis on clear beats, albeit not so far as to make it monotonous for the audience to listen to, was a new challenge for Beamish and Bintley rejected some sections as too lyrical, meaning the dancers would have struggled to know where they were in it. The cast themselves didn’t hear the full score until two nights before opening night and had some moments of difficulty trying to pick out beats that had been obvious from the piano but once they were woven into the percussion suddenly became more difficult to discern.

Monaghan spoke briefly of the pleasure of having a piece created on him. Neptune was created for him, and although he is Caliban in the second cast he was still witness to a lot of the creative process. Neptune is not a character from Shakespeare’s The Tempest and so was an entirely new character, there were no previous examples for him to look to. For Caliban there have been various versions to draw from, and he watched this version being created for Tyrone. He spoke of the need to make a role yours, whether it be one that has been performed many times by many performers or a brand new role. He spoke of Bintley’s skill at bringing out individual strengths. Having delighted the audience for half an hour, the dancers had to rush backstage to prepare for the evening’s performance.

The show:

The stage is set as a watery expanse, gold glimmering in the centre. Ariel (Max Maslen) floats to the gold, swimming through the ‘water’ elegantly. Before we know it there are waves crashing across the stage, a skillful use of billowing silk, strobe lighting adds to the drama, and it is a spectacular start. The staging throughout must be commended, Rae Smith (of War Horse fame) having done a first class job transporting us to a magical, ethereal world. The costume is also a delightful mix of the Elizabethan and the magical, and yet the choreography does not quite hold up to the impressiveness of the aesthetics. When I think back to the performance I barely remember any sequences of dance, what remains is the staging.

The dancers are not to be criticized, they showed their skill, of which they have plenty, yet there was something missing. The complexity of the characters was not developed and although the narrative was carefully followed it lacked the power of the play. There was humour with Trinculo and Stephano, their drunkenness and circus-esque performances added a light tone to the evening but Prospero, despite his impressive standing does not have opportunity to show his struggles. The divertissements of Act Two, although perfectly pretty, are too lengthy, reminiscent of the Royal Ballet’s The Sleeping Beauty where you are left wondering if it is really necessary to give so much time to extraneous characters.

There are moments of stillness with almost the whole Company on stage which were quite stunning but the movements themselves did not encourage the audience to engage with the narrative. Beamish’s score adds atmosphere to the proceedings, and is a pleasant change with the prominence of percussion. Overall, a visually and aurally enjoyable evening that could be great with a little more attention to the choreography.  

Michel Faber in conversation with Stephanie Merritt

Continuing London Literature Festival, Michel Faber and Stephanie Merritt sat down in front of an enthusiastic audience in London’s Southbank Centre to discuss Faber’s two latest books – The Book of Strange New Things and his first published collection of poetry, Undying. Both of these books came from an incredibly difficult time in his life – the novel was written during the period his wife Eva was battling with incurable cancer, and the poems were written in response to her illness and death, and the grieving process that followed.

Naturally then, conversation turned to Eva frequently throughout the evening. He spoke of her determination that he should complete his novel and desire to be involved in the editing process as she had been with his previous works. The poems that came to him during the final months of her illness are very frank, almost brutal – a style that is rare in poetry on this topic. His intention had not been to publish them, he spoke of feeling that it would be perverse not to write them down. It was only when he read some at events that he realised they were affecting people, that it was not just him offloading.

He spoke heartbreakingly honestly about his failing memory, and the fact he is already losing parts of their early marriage. It was something they were both aware of and had to come to terms with. He is writing her biography for the family so he will have that when the memories fade but most poignantly he keeps her memory alive in the way he behaves – not reverting to how he was before they met. He also commented that this loss of memories means he does not have the same tools that many authors draw on – mining their youth for inspiration for their novels.

Faber spoke often of his wife but what also became clear was his passion for effecting change in the world. He sees his novels as always having multiple layers, that they always have a political or social angle. He spoke of his anger and feelings of helplessness in major political decisions such as the Iraq wars. He was so disillusioned by what he referred to as ‘humans and their incurable stupidity’ that he stopped writing for a while and then thought of writing a novel purely about aliens, with no human characters. Although this idea proved impossible it did feed into The Book of Strange New Things. In contrast to the norm for human characters in sci-fi he made his almost supernaturally tolerant, as he believes they would need to be in such situations.

The conversation then turned to deeper topics still – questioning if we need the bad in life to have the good, if being a bit messed up is an essential part of what it means to be human. He also tackled the question of religion. Both himself and Eva were brought up in religious homes but lost their faith. He makes it quite clear however that he would not make fun of religion, that the faith involved is something he wishes he could have. He spoke of the terror of living in a world where there is nobody to look after us. The ideas of loss and how to deal with it are themes in The Book of Strange New Things.

The talk wasn’t relentlessly heavy however, he also touched on his writing habits – not particularly rigid as some writers claim to maintain, he writes until there is no more, and perhaps unusually for an author, only rarely reads fiction. He also mentioned that he has no intention of writing another adult novel, partly because he likes to write in different genres to make it interesting for his readers, and has used them all now (except crime). For those feeling bereft at the idea of no new Faber prose to devour – he aims to turn his attention to Young Adult writing and produce something utterly magical.

We may have only had an hour but Faber was fearlessly honest about his views on the world and his personal tragedies. It was fascinating to hear how he approaches his writing and admirable how present he is in the real world, how deeply he clearly cares.

The Time Machine, Southbank Centre London

Opening London Literature Festival 2016 audiences were treated to a very special reading of a much beloved tale – Christopher Eccleston performing H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine. On entering the Royal Festival Hall we were greeted with the music of James McVinnie, his mastery of his impressive instrument clear. The stage was bare but for three chairs and accompanying microphones, the huge organ standing proud above. Three figures walked on, all in black with top hats on (which thankfully didn't remain), the lights went down and the transformation began.

Eccleston made a humourous, somewhat eccentric Time Traveller who was not without his integrity. There were clearly many fans of his other famous time traveller role, spatters of laughter emerged at every mention of the phrase ‘time travel’. Nikki Amuka-Bird and Emma Hamilton made the perfect companions, easily slipping between roles and narrating when the Time Traveller had moved beyond the realms of other humans. The occasional moment of panic flickered across Eccleston’s face when one assumes he’s lost his place, but no cues were missed, and the three brought the story to life wonderfully. The lighting and music added atmosphere, the swirling lights of the time travel induced sympathy for the nausea induced by the experience for our pioneering protagonist.

I had forgotten quite how wonderful a wordsmith Wells was, and it was extremely pleasant to have his prose performed by such actors, able to bring the text to life as their voices resounded around the Hall. His famous story is said to have laid the foundations for many a time travel tale that have come since and his thinly veiled allusions to the prominent fin-de-siècle themes of his day are not irrelevant to modern audiences. The helpless Eloi and violent Morlock are characters who form the basis for many futuristic visions created today.

This incredibly influential book, adapted into an hour and a half of intense performance, continues to enthrall. We may have entered the Hall on London’s South bank but we were transported across the centuries by this thoughtful adaptation. An excellent start to London Literature Festival 2016.

The full festival listing can be found on the Southbank Centre’s website.

The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner, James Hogg

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Hogg’s oft-neglected novel was first published in 1824 and quickly faded into obscurity, where it remained until the second half of the twentieth century. Justified Sinner details the life of Robert, likely an illegitimate child, rejected by his mother’s husband and raised by Reverend Wringham, a radical autonomian Calvinist. He is indoctrinated with the belief that he will attain heaven regardless of his earthly actions, and sets out on a bloody life, destroying those he considers unholy. He is egged on by a mysterious doppelgänger who goes by the name of Gil-Martin and whose influence eventually becomes too much to bear.

We are presented with two unreliable narratives – that of the editor who provides details he would not possibly know without being omnipresent, and Robert’s own confession, which paints his story in a rather more sympathetic light. He shows himself to feel regret at others taking the blame for his wrongdoing and his initial reluctance to commit murder. He is also accused of crimes he has no recollection of – whether this is a symptom of his fractured mind or simply Gil-Martin acting in his place is never clarified, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions. Despite his failings, it is difficult not to pity Robert as his world becomes increasingly claustrophobic, Gil-Martin an unwelcome presence in his life.

Often cited as laying the foundations for popular tales such as The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, this is both an interesting dissection of one man’s psychology, and a satire of Calvinism and the effects of extremist beliefs. The confused state of Robert’s mind is reflected in the structure of the storytelling, making it a challenging read. What initially feels almost a comedy quickly turns much darker, and the refusal to give a solid answer to the many questions raised ensures continued intrigue. This feels like the kind of book that would benefit from a second reading, allowing time for the ideas to settle and develop.

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The Lord Treasurer of Botany; Sir James Edward Smith and the Linnaean Collections, Tom Kennett

The Lord Treasurer of Botany is the first full-length biography of Sir James Edward Smith, something of an unsung hero in the world of botany. Born the son of a Norwich textile merchant he was on the path to becoming a physician when he made the fortuitous acquisition of the collection of Carl Linnaeus, an influential eighteenth century botanist, physician, and zoologist. For appearances’ sake he continued with his studies but botany had won his heart and he had every intention of making it his life’s work. He founded the Linnaean Society in 1788, an institution still in existence today, and one that was central to scientific study in the nineteenth century.

Smith was often unwell and had a weak constitution but could be intrepid and determined when the need arose. He did not suffer fools lightly and had a number of very public disagreements with other prominent figures. His defining legacy is described as his binomial system and standardization of terminology, which proved to be a great contribution to botanical study. He published a number of works, most notably his mammoth set of volumes, English Botany, produced over a twenty-year period with James Sowerby. Smith’s concise descriptions paired with Sowerby’s hand-coloured plates opened the subject to a broader audience than previously.

This biography reveals not just the scientific contributions made by Smith but also the colourful life he led. He lived during such pivotal moments in history as the French Revolution, and this wider historical context is woven neatly through the narrative. The book is firmly rooted in documentary evidence, despite the lamentable fact that his wife Pleasance destroyed most of his personal correspondence after his death. Overcoming this loss, Kennett succeeds in illuminating the character of this determined, influential figure.

Don’t Point That Thing At Me, Kyril Bonfiglioli

Don’t Point That Thing At Me is an irreverent romp through the seedier side of London’s art scene with the foppish Charlie Mortdecai as our guide. Written in first person narrative Mortdecai often speaks conspiratorially to the reader, including us in in-jokes that we can’t always understand, suggesting that we would agree with some of his morally questionable opinions. He is cocky, wealthy, and judgmental – attempting to trick those he does not like into revealing their ignorance of the finer things in life. What he lacks in physical aptitude is balanced out by his manservant/live-in thug Jock. He seems to be one of the few people that Charlie has any lasting affection for and in some scenes their relationship has moments rather surprisingly bordering on tenderness.

The plot is somewhat all over the place as Charlie crosses continents in an attempt to deliver a stolen Goya. He proves himself to be inept and cowardly at times, Jock displaying unshakable loyalty as they find themselves in rather sticky situations. There is so much that is farcical in their tale that the moments of sincerity are often mistrusted.

Despite the alcoholic, misogynistic narrator whose belief system would have been outdated at the time of original publication, you can’t help but smile at moments while reading this. His brazen behaviour in the face of his nemesis Inspector Martland and the simple yet cunning techniques he uses to cover his crimes are amusing. There’s just about enough intrigue to keep your interest but the story arc is not strong enough to be truly gripping. Humour, snobbishness, and peril abound in this easy, light read that isn’t likely to linger long after reading.

A Little Life, Hanya Yanagihara

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The opening chapters of A Little Life introduce you to four talented young men on the cusp of adulthood – William, JB, Jude, and Malcolm. In these early passages we are given snippets of their past lives, the roots of some of their insecurities, and a glimpse of the concerns and preoccupations that they struggle with. There is a certain focus on the forming of identity and their uncertainty of who they are and what they want to become. It is clear that they have come through some difficult times but it is nonetheless jarring when Jude, who remains something of an enigma throughout, comes to Willem in the middle of the night, bleeding from a self inflicted wound.

The story then begins to focus in on Jude with Willem the main supporting character, JB and Malcolm melting away into the background. That night we are introduced to Andy, Jude’s long-term doctor and friend. Certain recurring issues make their first appearance in these scenes. One aspect of the novel deals with responsibility – Andy’s ongoing dilemma as to whether or not he should have Jude committed, Willem’s responsibility to Jude, an unspoken understanding between the group of friends that he is the one who can help him best, and Jude’s own responsibility to those who love him, even if beyond his comprehension.

As the novel progresses we witness flashbacks to Jude’s youth, slowly revealing the abuse he survived, and giving us an understanding of how he has been shaped. It borders on frustrating to begin with – his self-deprecation when he is clearly loved and admired by those who know him. This frustration quickly evaporates when we come to know what he has been through and how remarkable he is. We see him struggle to open up to people, to understand that he can be loved. We also see his desire for control informed by the feeling that he has never had much, the sense that life is something that happens to him without him playing an active role. His physical injuries add to this and he attempts to hide how much he suffers and the potential help he will need as his condition deteriorates. This need for control in part manifests itself in his self harm and reluctance to accept help.

Jude’s story is devastating but it is not without its positives. He is incredibly successful, he inspires great devotion from Willem and Harold, his once teacher who becomes personally close. In a fascinating interview with Yanagihara in the Guardian she claims this was intentional, that everything is heightened. Yes, there are many incredibly upsetting scenes and detailed violence, but this is balanced by an excess of love and success. This deliberate exaggeration is rare in contemporary novels, but while the novel holds you in its thrall the technique feels entirely appropriate.

The story of Jude’s endless struggle to cope with life and intimacy, to attempt to come to terms with what has happened to him, will break your heart several times over. It is a consuming tale that will stay with you long after the final page. The characters feel alive and the closeness forced upon the reader is brutal but important. It does not allow you to look away or expect a quick fix and this makes it very real. An utterly devastating, brilliant read.

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