The Joy of Six 1548

Sam Bright explains what is missing from the Covid Inquiry PPE report: "Long before the pandemic struck, the governing party had established a fundraising system that handed influence to those with the fattest chequebooks. The Conservatives, and Westminster as a whole, created the conditions for the PPE scandal long before even the first whiff of Covid in Wuhan."

Andrew Page shares his thoughts on the reaction to the death of Ann Widdecombe: "It has been deeply depressing to see some people going much further than this and celebrating her death online. Quite apart from the cruelty shown towards her family and friends, there is something profoundly corrosive about a society in which the death of another human being becomes an occasion for applause because we happened to dislike their opinions."

"Whilst working in public libraries, I experienced several attempts to censor library stock including a parent wishing me to withdraw art books from the library’s shelves, because they featured paintings or sculptures of nudes. Books featuring Black people of note were the subject of complaints as well as those about political figures of the time. I had parents complaining about Judy Blume’s books, which were aimed at a teenage audience, because they featured girls going through puberty and parents who were divorced." Meg Gain on Reform-led Warwickshire County Council's proposal to censor what children read.

"Residential family assessment centres have become a major part of England's child protection and family justice system, yet surprisingly little is known about whether they improve outcomes for children and families." King's College London reports research by Mary Baginsky and Rick Hood.

Tim Adams says Jude Bellingham is channelling the spirit of Duncan Edwards, his 1950s Black Country counterpart.

"In 1951 he helmed an adaptation of Josephine Tey’s bestselling The Franchise Affair. In it, a teenage girl accuses two respectable women living in a remote country house of having kidnapped, beaten and starved her in an attempt to force her to become their servant. The movie starts on a remote highway with a wild thunderstorm, and the young girl (Ann Stephens) pops up in the middle of the road in a startling close-up." Self-Styled Siren praises the neglected British director Lawrence Huntington.

Private Eye's Literary Review: "A 17-year-old writing in his public school's magazine 50 years ago"

As I usually point out before criticising Private Eye, to establish my credentials, I have bought every issue of the magazine since I went to university in York in October 1978. (Before that I couldn't, because no one stocked it in Market Harborough.)

The Eye's strength at the moment is its investigations. The humour, by contrast, increasingly feels like the product of a sausage machine: feed in the week's events, turn the handle and out it comes. And as for the columnists and regular features, they are often a source of weakness.

I've had a go at The Agri Brigade and Pseuds Corner in the past - the former, I will admit, has recently been very good on the NFU's (and the Lib Dems') campaign against restoring inheritance tax to any holding of farmland, no matter how large.

So let's turn to the Eye's Literary Review, which a couple of issues ago was on to something when, in the course of a review of Ali Smith's Gliff, it complained about the stereotyped and simplistic view of politics held by many literary types.

I love the coverage of culture in the London Review of Books, but I've not forgotten the regular contributor who complained in 2011 that George Osborne was trying to pay off the national debt in one parliament.

Literary Review complains of Sally Rooney and of a caricature Conservative minister in Alan Hollingshurst's Our Evenings. 

I've not read that book, but it's worth pointing out that Tory politicians have discovered the power of intentionally becoming a caricature of yourself. Boris Johnson and Jacob Rees-Mogg are the obvious examples to cite, but the first Tory to employ the tactic was Ann Widdecombe.

My reason for writing this post is the sheer awfulness of the column's conclusion:

In fact, the orthodoxies of the modern leftie novel are becoming just the slightest bit tedious, and this reviewer put down Glyff with the thought that, really, voting Conservative may have something to be said for it.

If the author was aiming to hit the tone of a 17-year-old writing in his public school's magazine 50 years ago, then he scored a bull's eye. But why would you want to sound like that? And why should we value the opinions on literature of someone who does?

Ann Widdecombe looked old-fashioned in the 1990s but was really the future

Embed from Getty Images

How we used to laugh at Ann Widdecombe when she was a government minister!

We didn't laugh at her politics, which were deeply unpleasant, but at her image. It was so hopelessly old fashioned.

As it turned out, Widdecombe was not old fashioned at all. She was an early adopter of a style that has since been deployed by a number of leading Conservatives.

The clue at the time was the number of her university contemporaries who told the press they did not recognise the young woman they knew then in the iron-clad virgin of the 1990s.

Because Widdecombe had turned herself into a cartoon character - a living exaggeration of certain characteristics that appealed to Tory voters and to Tory activists in particular.

Since then we have had Boris Johnson as a minor P.G. Wodehouse character, Jacob Rees-Mogg as Lord Snooty's grandfather and Geoffrey Cox as the famous actor you can't remember seeing in anything.

These personae are a calculated armour designed to disguise their wearers' politics and shield them from conventional criticism.

That is why people who think they are hurting Rees-Mogg by laughing at him for being behind the times are playing into his hands.

And it is why we should not have laughed at Ann Widdecombe.