I was so annoyed about this article by Simon Heffer that I posted a lengthy, and not entirely coherent reply. Gratifying to see that even Telegraph readers can see, for the most part, what nonsense this is. I wrote the following, but it’s worth checking the link to see the comments of others. Somehow, I think “Edmund Burke” may be a pseudonym…
My response:
I notice that Mr Heffer talks about “the Marxist drivel” taught in “teacher training colleges for the last 40 years”. I suppose that’s one way of keeping the old canard of sixties looniness going. Has Mr Heffer ever visited a training college – if he had, he might know that they don’t actually exist any more, but why let the facts get in the way of a good rant? It might also be pertinent to point out that the Tories have been in charge for half the period he mentions. How about some truth?
I was at school in the sixties, routinely described by people such as Mr Heffer as a time when anything went, kids could do what they liked etc. I sat in a class with 40 others, in rows, chanting my times table. Later, when I trained as a teacher (and never heard Marx mentioned at all) I learned that, yes, there were a couple of experimental schools like that in the sixties – but literally a couple. Ever since, though, right-wing commentators have painted this ridiculously exaggerated picture of feckless teachers, indoctrinated by Stalinist trainers, turning out useless school-leavers. In fact, the major problem has been the ever-increasing attention on exams, exacerbated by the use of targets and league tables. Teachers are under considerable pressure to produce results by any means. This culture was, of course, a Thatcherite invention, enthusiastically pursued by her education secretaries, and since then equally vigorously pursued by the various Labour ministers. You’ll recall that the national Curriculum, introduced by Thatcher’s government, was considered so important that every school had to follow it – except, of course, those schools where the sons and daughters of the cabinet went. Dumbing down has, certainly, happened. A first year undergraduate in the university where I now work told me this week that she was struggling with the modest demands of our curriculum because, in her words, “at school, we were just given everything.” The system now is based on getting results, not on educating people. Other countries manage perfectly well without this insane emphasis on testing. Look at Denmark, where schools are given minimal guidelines, and left to use their professional judgement and expertise. They turn out highly qualified, literate, humane and confident school leavers. So could we.
Some time ago, I blogged about the advertisements that the mail-order writing course Writers Bureau place regularly in the national press. The general tone of the adverts was that their course could open the door for you to become a professional writer, earning lots of money. This was supported by testimonials from apparently successful clients. As I pointed out at the time, a prominent success story often featured in the ads was Jon Eagle and his novel Red. According to the ads, Jon received £25000 as an advance and sold the film rights. The ads said he’s working on the script. The truth was that Jon Eagle did publish a book called Red– but he published it in 1996 with Minerva, a vanity house, and therefore very very unlikely to pay an author anything, still less anything like 25 grand. Another contentious claim was by Christina Jones who claimed that her first three novels were bestsellers. Only bestsellers, it appeared, in lists of romantic novels by people called Christina Jones. There were other problems which I won’t go into again here.
What I can reveal now, however, is that after my post, I made a complaint about the ads to the Advertising Standards Authority. I’m happy (smugly so, actually) to be able to reveal now that my complaint was upheld. It took a long time – from early April to now, in fact, but I’m gratified by the result.
The ASA were very thorough, if a little slow, in their response, and approached Writers Bureau with my comments. Writers Bureau were obviously not prepared to give an inch. They maintained that Ms Jones was, if not a best seller, a fast seller, but the most egregious response was that relating to Mr Eagle. According to Writers Bureau, he stood by the £25000 claim, and his proof was a paying in slip. I had to point out gently to the ASA that you actually hand the paying in slip in with the money, and anyway, anyone could grab a slip and write whatever they wanted on it. A bank statement would have done the trick, but this was not forthcoming. It was also revealed that he had indeed sold the film rights – but for £1, and further, that no film had been or was going to be made.
The upshot is that if they continue to use Mr Eagle, they can’t mention the 25 grand, and they’ve got to say that the book was published 11 years ago. They also can’t claim that Ms Jones is a best seller any more. Interestingly, the complaints that the ASA added to my complaints were not upheld.
So, a small triumph, but nonetheless, a pleasing one. You can read the full judgement here.
Cartoon by Dave Walker. Find more cartoons you can freely re-use on your blog at We Blog Cartoons.
Will Self is never a cosy read, and The Book of Dave is no exception. Its central conceit is that, in a Britain where the waters rose calamitously centuries ago, the primitive people who inhabit what’s left of England have founded a religion based on the sacred texts of Dave, a depressed cab driver. The text is Dave’s rants about his miserable life, and as a kind of coda, he’s added the “knowledge” which becomes the mantra of all true believers. The novel veers unexpectedly between various dates in the late 20th century and various dates in the 5th century after Dave.
What makes this novel noteworthy, though, is the language (Mokni) used by the Hamsters (residents of what was Hampstead) in the future. It’s a bizarre mix of cod cockney and oddly childish chat, the cockney being rendered almost like Dickens with Sam Weller. Self uses an idiosyncratic spelling system, and some strange diacritical marks to render it. The result is at once oddly familiar and rather unsettling. “Ow mennë tymes av Eye erred all vis bollox … iss gotta B a fouzand aw maw”. No wonder the French translator gave up…
It’s funny quite often, but more frequently stomach-churning. A graphic slaughter scene in the opening chapter sets the precedent for several other set pieces of visceral violence. The novel to which it clearly owes a large debt is Russell Hoban’s Riddley Walker and it comes as no surprise to discover that Self wrote a preface for the reissue of that book a few years ago.
In the end, a clever idea is over-cooked. The book could do with being trimmed, and perhaps it would have been graceful to acknowledge its relation to the Hoban book, even down to the maps which begin both narratives.
I’ve always respected the pig as a very noble beast, but a bit unwieldy for the suburban house. These miniature ones are the answer. If you could epitomise cuteness in a picture, this would be a contender.
Another despatch from the department of the bleeding obvious. In other news: Pope confirms he is Catholic shock; Bears discovered defecating in woods horror.
Saw this on John Naughton’s blog. I couldn’t possibly comment.
When I found myself agreeing with what a high court judge said about daytime TV – and in particular Jeremy Kyle- I thought it was probably yet another indication, along with the gammy knee, of advancing years. Turns out it’s worse than the judge thought- and he called it bear-baiting. This account is actually quite shocking. In other news, I’m gearing up to asking a young colleague “who are the Arctic Monkeys?”
Good to know we are protected from attacks of the killer chillies…
