Narcissus and Goldmund, by Hermann Hesse - revisited....

 It had been some little time since I had read one of the novels of Hermann Hesse. This would seem strange and even curious, as Hesse remains possibly my favourite writer, a writer whose works were a great source of inspiration and comfort during some troubled and uncertain times in my life. Anyway, other matters, and other books, took hold of my attention and curiosity, although I never forgot the stories of Hermann Hesse, and the way in which they had offered me direction and even new ways of looking at the world and the challenges of life.

In returning to the Hesse canon, I chose first to revisit 'Narcissus and Goldmund'. I recalled the strong and vivid effect which it had on me some years ago, even if the minutiae of the plot and the characters would take time to drift back into my consciousness.

Another thought occurred to me as I retrieved the book from the shelf - I expected it to be a stimulating and beneficial read, but I equally wondered whether my interpretation of, and reaction to, it would be the same as before. I have "moved on" in a philosophical sense, since the period when Hesse's works first came to my close attention (and to my assistance).

Basically, the story centres on the relationship between the two titular characters. Narcissus is a scholarly resident at a monastery, now a teacher and set to ascend the ranks and the hierarchy of the institution. The younger Goldmund arrives as a new student/pupil, and the two eventually establish a friendship. The perceptive Narcissus sees that it is not in his young friend's true nature to live a life of secluded scholarship and study; he is an artist. Without giving too much away, Goldmund subsequently takes his leave of the monastery and embarks on years of adventuring and experiences "on the road".

Apart from the author's perpetual concerns regarding self-discovery and spirituality, a more distinct strand of study emerged, namely that of people's awareness of their true nature and the means by which they uncover their true "calling". In this instance Goldmund had the shrewd and visionary Narcissus to perform this function, but it occurs to me that most of us are thwarted in this regard, our potential and true happiness suppressed or blocked by other people, by social structures and even by ourselves, consciously or otherwise. The question, of course, of whether we each have a "destiny" is a whole subject on its own...

Must of us have no figure such as Narcissus, to help us to see what our potentially most rewarding and satisfying future course is. Our true talents and gifts remain undiscovered or at least under-utilized, the secret remaining unlocked.

Humanity has progressed in many respects over the centuries, but this may remain one of the areas where we continue to let ourselves down. One has to ask if modern economic pressures and imperatives are among the factors hampering an improvement.

Going back to the novel, I was once again left animated and enthused by Hesse's simple yet poetic and absorbing language. However, there was something else this time around. I was more attuned to the writer's implied, and even sometimes explicit, criticisms and judgements, especially concerning some aspects of scholasticism and monasticism, and the rigidity of the institutions which uphold and oversee them. Being Hermann Hesse he makes the points in a subtle, gentle and constructive manner. Before I was less sensitive to such charges being levelled by the great man, and this change I expect reflects changes in me over the intervening years.

I suspect that most people who read "Narcissus and Goldmund" find themselves, at some juncture, engaging in a touch of soul-searching, and wondering whether they themselves are closer in character and inclination to Narcissus, or to Goldmund. I was not immune to this process, but my assessments were clouded with caveats, doubts and qualifications.

On reflection, I am probably more a "thinker" than an "artist", but I arrived at this thought via a circuitous route. As I turned the age of thirty, I entered a period which could be best described as ebullient, although unlike Goldmund I did not become a wayfarer. The preceding years had been ones of restraint and reticence, although without the erudition and commitment to study of Narcissus. 

The "outgoing" years, when I look back, were more a case of circumstance and a reaction to the "quiet" years, which were really characterised by passivity on my part, rather than any conscious programme of scholarship or learning. When the spell of relative excess was brought to an end, I realized that my true calling was to be a person of study, contemplation and words. So my true finding of myself occurred later in life than happened with Goldmund, and I was not fortunate enough to have a sounding-board or mentor such as the learned Narcissus. This kind of thing can happen to people, but not as dramatically as in literature, and at different stages and under different guises. In my case I wouldn't describe it as trial and error, but it needed several sea-changes in my life before the clearer picture started to fully emerge.

It is easy to see why, with his examples, his vision and the clarity and appeal of his ideas, Hermann Hesse has been cited as an inspiration for those undertaking the journey of life and of self-discovery. He opens people's eyes to their potential, and their humanity, partly through his evoking of the scope for authenticity and beauty in life and the world. He helps to peel away layers of inertia, apathy and lethargy.

The novels and other writings of Hesse are a deep well of philosophical nourishment from which I draw from time to time, and the works seldom fail to energize and galvanize me.

Running alongside the story of Goldmund's wanderings is the philosophical, and ultimately practical, challenge posed by this tension between the artist and the thinker, the senses and the spirit, the flesh and the mind. Can they be reconciled, made not to complement each other but to act in true union to lead us to fulfilment and realization?  It is a tantalizing prospect, and even if there is substance in the notion it is likely that only a very small fraction of us will attain such a union in a meaningful way.

The chronicling of Goldmund's wanderings, his experiences in forests and with assorted inhabitants of the lands which he passed through, is essayed in a charming yet plausible way, with an eye for detail, shade and colour. More than with most authors, I find my brain and my imagination composing imagery to accompany Hesse's words as they are processed. The cares of the world tend to evaporate, at least temporarily, and I am transported to another world, but a world made very believable, very human.

I would be inclined to assert that "Narcissus and Goldmund" is not one of Hesse's most heavily "philosophical" novels, despite the subject matter which is covered within it. It might be more accurate to declare that the philosophy is less immediately "heavy", onerous and portentous than with some of his other output. To a degree, of course, all novels are "philosophical", but this one is bathed in a very beautiful salve.

An intriguing dimension of the Hermann Hesse universe is the naturalness of the settings. In this instance we are presented with a largely pre-industrial world. Of course the pastoral "idyll" is blemished by difficulties, vices and evils, although they appear at first unlike those which abound in our twenty-first century society. The backdrop is a pleasant enough vehicle, but at times we are reminded of the pernicious realities of those bygone times. It is quite easy to miss these sub-texts when caught up in Hesse's enchanting and fluid prose. It may be that he was wanting to draw some attention to the less enlightened patterns of life in the medieval ages without distracting us unduly from the central direction of the narrative.

There are some passages in this novel which examine the nature of art and artists, and I can see why such discussions may serve as a turn-off to some. However, these sections greatly impressed and intrigued me, especially those which addressed questions of impermanence and the fear of death. 

A message which I drew from the story is that of our goals. Our goals may be vague, but the progress and the journey are more important and valuable than the precise objective itself. The objective, if even partly realised, cannot be "the end", but a new beginning, a prompting to embark on a quest for fresh horizons. So it appears to have been with Goldmund.

The artist/thinker dynamic is enticing but, particularly later in the book, Hesse brings the bourgeois/"bohemian" paradigm to the party. This has exercised my thoughts for some years now, more specifically the constraints and "responsibilities" imposed on individuality by modern economic and cultural pressures. Perhaps it was easier to practically escape bourgeois existence (in its various guises and forms) during the times when the novel is set, even the times when Hesse himself was composing his works. Modern societal norms seemingly make it more difficult to pursue a life parallel to the mainstream. For most of those feeling emasculated or ill-at-ease, maybe the most realistic option is to engage as little as possible with "the system", and strive where possible to achieve some kind of realization and insight. Idealism sometimes has to give way to a measure of pragmatism.

In keeping with his favoured themes, Hesse postulates the notion of cycles and the idea that everything passes, with life characterised by renewal and rebirth. Another central theme is that of the "maternal", the mother figure, and the feminine and masculine conscious and unconscious minds. 

However, the one topic from "Narcissus and Goldmund" which stuck most indelibly in my psyche was this idea of unburdening oneself of experiences, emotions, triumphs and traumas by creating something tangible rather than ephemeral, before venturing on to a new challenge. This process almost sounds like a form of catharsis, and it should ideally be conducted in a non-vicarious way, but I was left asking myself whether it matters what form the "document" should take. Can those who are not blessed with artistic gifts or training benefit from such a "project", provided that it reconciles the two "opposites"?

I viewed the tale, and the subjects tackled, through more of a humanist framework on this occasion, because of my burgeoning interest in humanism and ideas of human flourishing. As with many novels of this kind, however, excessive latching on to one philosophical strand or message can mar or obscure one's overall enjoyment of the art.

"Narcissus and Goldmund" is to my mind one of Hesse's most affecting and finely rounded works, one with the depth and scope to spur the reader into greater contemplation and reflection.

 

Virgin Golf Record File - Alun Evans

 I always find it interesting and thought-provoking to read those books, residing on my shelves but somewhat forgotten and neglected, which were published some years ago.

Recently I dusted off a book called the "Virgin Golf Record File", by Alun Evans. It, or at the least the edition in my possession, was published in the year 2000.

The book contains some nice and informative histories of the various Major championships, tracing and highlighting the waxing and waning of the fortunes and prestige of those championships, and the swings in dominance between American, European and Southern hemisphere players. I really enjoyed the author's examination of some of the cultural and socio-economic factors which influenced the development and growth of these great events. The articles also serve as a history of "competitive" golf in general going back to the middle of the nineteenth century.

As a bit of a sports and statistics nerd myself, I love books such as this one, records and stats being mixed with some textual chronicling and context.

It is interesting that this edition was composed just as the Tiger Woods era was beginning, ushering in changes to the men's game which are still being felt today. 

Another observation is that there is a good deal less about women's golf than there certainly would be in a similar publication today.

It is also instructive to flick through the pages at a time when the men's professional game is garnering more mainstream publicity than for some time, largely because of the "organisational" divisions which have arisen. Parts of the book remind us that down the decades, pro golf was sometimes tranquil and stable, at other stages not so much.

Looking at the statistics sections, one striking trend which stands out is the phenomenal consistency of Jack Nicklaus, notably in the major championships. This was quite a feat, as he was competing at a time when the game was growing more and more global, and increasingly competitive. Nicklaus could easily have won, say, 50% more majors, and put some of his records out of sight. He endured as a force at the top level whilst the careers of others briefly soared and then faded away.  After his rivalries with Arnold Palmer and Gary Player, he then vied with the likes of Trevino, Jacklin, Watson and Ballesteros, and was still a player to be reckoned with even as the likes of Norman, Faldo et al began to take over the reins.

A good little book, all in all.

John Wesley Harding - Bob Dylan

An album which has recently reintroduced itself to my orbit is John Wesley Harding, by Bob Dylan.

My perspective on this record has tended to oscillate between two points. The first, which held sway for many years and was admittedly based on insufficient and superficial listening, was that it was a slight and bland work whose reputation and myth were out of proportion to its real artistic weight. The alternative view was that the first appraisal was harsh and my earlier assessment of the album as "lightweight" had militated against any more nuanced or thorough examination of its merits. I can report that after a more rigorous inquiry the strengths and charms of John Wesley Harding are no longer obscured from my view.

The songs, by and large, have a stripped down and austere flavour, with pared-down instrumentation. Story-telling is to the fore. If the stories themselves are sometimes enigmatic and mysterious, the language employed is generally more straightforward and less oblique than that which characterized Dylan's classic mid-60s releases.

In some ways the material is similar in tone and character to that from the "Basement Tapes" sessions, if less ebullient in its execution and production. Despite the more direct and literal mode of song-writing, there is still sufficient poetic acuity and wit to leave many of the songs open to interpretation, enveloped in an almost sepia-tinted haze.

The title track sets the pattern. In a sense, John Wesley Harding is one of the precursors to the emergent trends of "country rock" and the "retreat" to a more rootsy and authentic fashion of composition and performance. As always, although nominally part of a wider musical movement or scene, Dylan puts his own signature and stamp on things.

Looking at the lyrics and the delivery here, I get a strong sense that Bob was deriving great satisfaction and fascination from the process of putting together these tunes and stories, with their themes, spiritual and rustic. No longer under pressure to be the hipster or the troubadour for a generation, he could immerse himself in the simple joys of song-writing and poetry. 'As I Went Out One Morning' and 'I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine' are examples of these factors playing out in practice.

As for 'All Along the Watchtower', well Bob's version of the song has understandably been overshadowed by Jimi Hendrix's monumental and apocalyptic rendering, but the original presented here has its own quieter drama and charm, with the lyrics unencumbered by production excesses.

Some of the material on the record even arguably harks back to Dylan's very early albums, with their simplicity and more basic brand of expression and narrative - 'The Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest', for instance.

There are references to 'Dustbowl' injustices and concerns, although presented in a restrained and even ambiguous way. The characters in the songs are often outsiders or outcasts, oppressed by societal pressures and prejudices. The tenor and structure of these compositions could well be illustrative of Dylan's literary inclinations and tastes.

It has become customary to refer to albums possessing "hidden gems". It could almost be said that the majority of the tracks on John Wesley Harding are hidden gems, but 'Drifter's Escape' and 'Dear Landlord' certainly stand out in this respect. This all rather serves to dispel any notion that the album lacks substance or depth. In its own way it is fuller and more thought-provoking than LPs which have garnered lavish praise. It packs a lot of content and expressiveness into a comparatively short running-time, with numerous murky corners, tangents and detours to explore and savour.

Perhaps as a listening experience the record packs less of an outright punch, and elicits less exhilaration, than other Dylan efforts, and one's enjoyment or appreciation of it might well depend on individual preference. attention span, patience and mood at any given moment.

An aspect of the album which intrigues me is the subject matter of the lyrics, and their approach to social and cultural issues. Dylan to me seems to be consciously delving into such territory, finding its possibilities and its themes stimulating and interesting, perhaps hoping that they would provoke corresponding levels of contemplation and reflection among listeners.

The religious imagery, often subsumed within other topics, is a feature, and despite its restraint it helps to equip this record with its distinctive hue and flavour. As with other singer-songwriters over the years, the religious themes may occasionally be intended as metaphors or symbolism for other matters.

I would contend that John Wesley Harding is a worthy contender to be held up with some of Bob Dylan's most important work. The songs are intelligent and interesting, and should encourage thought and imagination. Another thing to its credit is that this collection of songs is unpretentious, and it will be a rewarding process for those who persevere with it. The record incorporates subjects and musical elements which both hark back to his early output and also anticipate some of his later concerns and excursions. So disregard any notion of "blandness", and lose yourself in this album's crevasses and recesses.

David Bowie's Berlin Trilogy

 I have in the past couple of years, belatedly and rewardingly, become a wholehearted and fully-fledged adherent to the notion that David Bowie was perhaps the most important and influential solo artist ever to emerge from Britain. Even now, I think that many people under-estimate just how good he was.

Bowie's period of greatest creativity and consistency arguably spanned the years between, let us say, 1969 and 1984. He maintained a remarkably high standard allied to what, looking back, seems a prodigious work-rate. It seems barely credible that he managed to cram so much into the time available. Writing and recording, not to mention touring and engaging in various side-projects as producer and collaborator. That's before we even get on to his acting career! This productivity and prolific output remain one some of the most notable aspects of the Bowie story.

For what it's worth, my personal view is that his work in the period 1970-73 remains his most vital and his most enduring. The other clearly identifiable series of works which attracts most praise, comment and scrutiny is the so-called 'Berlin Trilogy', released between 1977 and 1979, in the form of the albums 'Low', 'Heroes' and 'Lodger'. 

I approached this blog article with a vague sense that the trilogy had received slightly excessive praise, that the critics had grasped hold of these records out of relief, following Bowie's musical excursions and meanderings of the mid-1970s. Anyway, in order to confirm or refute my tentative analysis, I resolved to review the three LPs and commit my conclusions and observations to blog form.

Of course it is debatable whether the sounds unveiled on 'Low' were genuinely new or revelatory to the music-listening public at large. Groups such as Kraftwerk and Tangerine Dream and, to a lesser extent, Can and NEU!, had acquired some attention on both sides of the Atlantic, so this brand of experimental work came as less as a shock than some might might have us believe. This, however, was an established, mainstream rock "superstar".

It is worth mentioning how much of the material on 'Low' is instrumental - 'Speed Of Life' and 'Sound and Vision' (sort of !) for example. Bowie was clearly sufficiently enamoured with this type of music to take this step. It was also a sign of his confidence and comfort with the new technology which he was utilizing.

'Low' has its hard edges too, and an uncompromising side to it . Songs such as 'Breaking Glass' display no little aggression. It may be that some of the rhythmic vigour was a legacy of the 'Station to Station' album. The directness could also have been prompted by the shadow of punk, which was making a genuine impact in Britain in 1976/77.

By and large the synthesizers and the experimental features do not come across as gimmicky. Bowie and his colleagues managed to make it sound as though this was a perfectly logical new direction, but also a matter of wrapping some familiar Bowie hallmarks in dynamic new clothes.

Like its two successors, 'Low' is not quite as 'experimental', not quite as much of a departure as might be deduced from some of the comments one hears and reads. Traditional song structures and musical basics still just about predominate, although songs such as 'Always Crashing In The Same Car' and 'Be My Wife' would have been regarded as unusual by more vanilla circles in 1977.

There is a uniformity of sorts to the musical palette of 'Low'. Meaty, big drums and sinuous bass lines, overlaid by keyboards and guitars. A few years ago this recipe might have assailed my ears as 'synthetic' or 'soulless', but I know better now.

The second half of the record is where much of the interest resides. 'A New Career in A New Town' is quite radical-sounding, with the influence of Can detectable in its quieter moments. As with most of other other numbers, there is plenty going on to hold the attention.

'Warszawa' is on on another level, both emotionally and sonically, to what surrounds it. A brooding 'semi-instrumental', bearing the stamp of Brian Eno. Making clever use of 'wordless vocals', it is perhaps the centrepiece of the album. Like other parts of the album, it is distinctly 'central European' in its influences.

'Art Decade' is almost a continuation of 'Warszawa'. As for 'Weeping Wall', there once again is that irresistible, intangible pull, atmospheric in a way that even the other quasi-instrumentals cannot quite manage.

The closer, 'Subterraneans', which was apparently inspired by East Berlin, is appropriately unsettling and stark, and features a great and evocative saxophone solo. 

To be fully appreciated and understood, 'Low' has to be listened to in its entirety and 'in sequence'. Only this way can one grasp and comprehend where Bowie was in 1977, and where his thoughts were leading him. The result is a measure of his imagination, his curiosity and his restless energy. My esteem for this work has been elevated a notch.

'Heroes' commences with 'Beauty and The Beast', which in part appears to take up where Side One of 'Low' left off.  Robert Fripp's guitar contributions add something to the mix, literally.

The title track of 'Heroes' is, of course, justly celebrated and revered, and it does embody those traits which made David Bowie so important and rewarding. The song is even sometimes cited as a "hinge" uniting two eras of rock music, or at least signifying a change.

I would say that this record feels considerably less "Berlin" in character and substance than 'Low', There could be more than one reason for this perception. The overall mood is more cheerful and less foreboding, perhaps reflecting what was going on in Bowie's mind and life. Also, what instrumental fare there is on 'Heroes' is different to that which formed the backdrop to 'Low' - although 'Sense Of Doubt' tries its best!

Other instrumental passages on 'Heroes' are more purely ambient in nature; 'Moss Garden' is the main example of this. 'Neukoln' on the other hand is more avant-garde than menacing; great saxophone part, too.

Whether all this makes it a more pleasant and congenial LP to listen to is still I guess a matter of personal taste or inclination. To me, it lacks a little of the gravitas and measured mastery which were so palpable with 'Low'.

So, it is a more buoyant and 'ebullient' record than the one which came before it, but this does not equate to 'better' or 'superior'. It lacks the philosophical depth and emotional power of 'Low', notwithstanding the presence of the 'Heroes' song itself.

It would not be surprising if the initial energy which was summoned up on 'Low' could not be sustained, leading to a slightly different type of record. Who knows, Bowie may have wanted it that way....

To be frank, I have never really associated 'Lodger' with the other two, and it often seemed that the reason for its existence was that it was an album which followed those other two, and journalists and others could therefore speak in terms of a 'trilogy'. If anything, my mind links 'Station to Station' with the series more than 'Lodger',

Also in my recollections, 'Lodger' has been linked to the musical trends of 1979 and beyond, rather than connection with some thematic or stylistic continuity from before. This may be because 1979 was the year when I first became truly interested in music on anything more than a superficial level. I was too young to remember the hype and chatter about 'Heroes' or 'Low', and the profound outpourings of critics and observers would have gone completely over my head, anyway. It was interesting to see how 'Lodger', more freed from the aforementioned preconceptions, would stand up.

The 'world music' content and orientation have been cited (Middle Eastern, African), but they hardly jump out at me. If Bowie was indeed exploring such genres, it would be typical of his ceaseless search for inspiration and knowledge. It would also be characteristic if those styles were absorbed into his musical framework in a subtle manner. 'Yassassin' does have quite an impact, the first truly impressive track on the album.

After a sluggish beginning the pace and the intensity pick up; 'Red Sails' maintains some momentum, with echoes of the German group NEU!. 

'D.J' reminds me of Talking Heads, and it presages some of the material which would be found on the 'Scary Monsters....' record. The song has some conviction to it, and this goes a long way.

Some of the songs ('Look Back In Anger') are illustrative of the artist's uncanny knack of anticipating trends (or alternatively of harnessing forces already present underground). Quite a lot of 1980s music can be heard in 'Lodger', as with the two previous albums, but presented here in more digestible and compact form.

Sound-wise 'Boys Keep Swinging' starts almost like 'son-of Heroes'.  I remember this song being played heavily on British radio in that year of 1979. It bears some Bowie trademarks, the relatively simple 'rock n roll' melodic and rhythmic foundation, the enigmatic lyrics and the backing vocal arrangements and 'horns'. It was the obvious choice as a single. Traces of 'Diamond Dogs' and 'Blue Jean' can also be heard within it, methinks.

The album does rather tail off after 'Boys Keep Swinging'. The track sequencing perhaps left a little to be desired?

So, how do I sum up the Berlin Trilogy? The three works each possess their own identity. 'Low' remains the most substantial and impactful, the most radical and the one which adheres most recognisably to the Berlin 'concept' (if indeed there was a concept), in artistic terms at least. 

'Heroes' is also excellent, but appraisal may have been skewed ever so slightly by the hold which the signature tune has on our collective consciousness.

'Lodger' is good in parts, but it lacks the edge and the breadth of ideas which propel the other two records towards some kind of greatness.

Above all, these three albums show Bowie's fearlessness, his openness to new ideas, the vigour of his quest and his refusal to settle for easy options or to tread water artistically. Overrated, underrated, it is almost irrelevant. These are important collections, and they should be experienced by every serious student of rock music. Their legacy continues to be heard and felt in our music and culture in 2022. 

Visions Of The Future, from 1960s Television

 I recently watched some episodes of the television series created by Gerry Anderson and his colleagues. These programmes were Thunderbirds, Captain Scarlet and The Mysterons, and Joe 90.

Back in the day Anderson and his team were lauded for their vision of a future which seemed optimistic and quite progressive, envisaging a prosperous, technologically advanced and comparatively harmonious world. Just how accurate and perceptive were these "predictions" and imaginings, and how desirable would those outcomes really be?

The above mentioned programmes were all set in "the future", in the case of Joe 90 roughly our own epoch (the 2010s), and the other two were apparently meant to have taken place in the 2050s or 2060s.

It is clear to me that the shows in question were produced against the backdrop of 1960s optimism and idealism and, some might say, naivete. It could be that the visions contained in the episodes represented a mixture of what the makers anticipated would transpire, and what they hoped for.

In broad terms, the programmes seem to envisage some form of "federal" global structure, with world government agencies and functions, and much emphasis on international co-operation. The main threats are perceived to emanate from rogue (smaller?) nations, potent criminal elements and corrupt business interests. It is curious to think in those terms, as I type this in the Summer of 2022....

The expectation appears to be that large corporations will still exist, and that they will wield considerable power and influence. My interpretation, for what it is worth, is that Anderson and Co. were predicting that, on balance, corporations would be a benevolent force, fulfilling a "progressive" role in society. The current evidence would suggest that the reality will be more mixed and ambiguous, to say the least. 

To me it is noteworthy that environmental and ecological issues are touched on relatively infrequently by these 1960s creations. Nuclear power and fossil fuels are shown as still being quite pervasive, although there is some mention of innovations in the fields of renewable and alternative energy sources. 

As we now know, the importance of green considerations will likely precipitate changes in social and economic conditions far beyond what these creative people from the Sixties expected. This might be explained in part by the fact that the ecology movement was comparatively under-developed and basic in the 1960s, and did not really gather momentum until the decade which followed. In one Thunderbirds episode, scientists are seen trying to discover new ways of boosting livestock and the world's supply of meat!  Clearly knowledge of such topics, and their impact on the planet, was quite unsophisticated, even limited, back then.

When the series in question are discussed, it is often stated that they imagined a "utopian" future. However, looking critically at the economic and social structures which were portrayed, genuinely profound change is not evident. Rather than being "utopian", I see their outlook as progressive-liberal, and certainly not radical in terms of the way that life was expected to develop or evolve.

The attitudes exuded by the characters and people in the stories do not signal any major shift in attitudes, values or beliefs, no big "Enlightenment 2.0". Selfishness, greed and ignorance are still shown as existing, but the Anderson view of human nature seems to be optimistic. The link between socio-economic changes and shifting attitudes may be instructive, in that the extent of the former could be dependent on the magnitude of the latter. Little suggestion, of course, that man-made laws might corrupt people or instil harmful habits or ideas.

I must say that I rather like the future architectural and design trends postulated in these productions. They are in accord with my own "modernist" tastes and inclinations. Maybe these patterns were conceived in the light of things which were around in the 1960s, but which were seen then as futuristic and cutting-edge?

The issue of social stratification, and the class system, is one area of these Anderson programmes which seemed to conflict mildly with other anticipated societal developments. The programmes appear to depict, certainly in Britain and even elsewhere, a society where class distinctions are still very much entrenched and palpable.

One area of the thought-world of those productions, especially Thunderbirds, which intrigues me is the "military" involvement and influence in "civilian" affairs and sectors. People of a military bearing, and sporting military-type uniforms, are seen fulfilling functions which these days we would hope and expect to be carried out by more technically-orientated people. 

It seems that the producers saw the future as being an arena of technological progress, but not necessarily as a prodigious driver of social transformation or deep-rooted human emancipation; just making life "easier", but just as hectic and bewildering. In other words, alienation and social exclusion would remain as ills, insidious trends inhibiting change in some areas.

The balance of economic relations and power, and the centralization of power, would likely remain unchanged. Progress? That depends upon how you define and quantify "progress". There has to be at least a gesture towards something more meaningful and far-reaching.

Gerry Anderson's world of the future may indeed be the one which comes to pass, given the current balance of forces, prevailing "wisdom" and policies. We should bear in mind, though, that we as citizens of the world have it within our power to change this state of affairs, at least in theory. Personally, I hope that at least pointers to something more radical are evident by the forthcoming decades in question. 

One area where the 1960s creators underestimated the likely scale of development was in the areas of "information technology" and communications. There is little suggestion (to my eyes and ears) of anything resembling what became the internet, although they did admittedly foresee some other leaps and advances.

Despite nurturing a hopeful verdict on human nature, some of the "villains" and antagonists in Anderson programmes appear to presage that egomania and megalomania would continue to pose problems and present obstacles for genuine progress and tranquility, and lead to some grief and suffering for "mere mortals". This is in addition to pride, intransigence, arrogance and narrow-mindedness. Sadly, they were probably right in expecting this to be the case. Changes in attitudes would be needed to militate against this, and such changes could be accelerated by reforms to socio-economic systems.

Above all, I think that the only partial accuracy of the predictions amply demonstrates just how quickly and profoundly our world can change in short stretches of time, thus confounding the experts and the futurologists. No doubt if I am around to write a similar article to this in 2050, I will have to revise several of my judgments on the forecasts of the makers of those television shows.

 

Formula 1 Fanatic - Koen Vergeer

Maintaining the momentum of my recent reading adventures, that is seeking some perspective and meaning from my library of motor sport-related books, I turned to a title which had hitherto escaped my serious attention; Formula 1 Fanatic, by Koen Vergeer.

Originally published in Dutch, and first seeing the light of day around 2003/2004, this is essentially one person's account and appraisal of his interest in, or obsession with, the sport of Formula 1 racing, going back as far as the early 1970s.

Some of the early chapters genuinely struck a chord with me, bringing strongly to mind my own burgeoning immersion in the same world, although my journey commenced approximately a decade after Vergeer's.  There is a temptation for me to feel embarrassed or defensive about the nature of my early "fandom", and the naivete which was at the heart of it, but this is tempered when we appreciate that we all go through such phases at that stage of our lives. Let's face it, such diversions are probably more healthy and harmless than much of what we will engage in later in life.

I found the author's opinions and interpretations on some matters refreshingly different and well argued, especially his thoughts on some of the historical personalities and events of the F1 world. His opinions on people such as Nelson Piquet are very interesting. It is nice to get a fresh view, detached from the stereotypical portrayals which become so prevalent and self-perpetuating.

The version which I have read is the English one, and it may be that the translation from the Dutch accounts for some quirks in the language and words used, but this does not detract from the central mission; nor do the occasional factual inaccuracies.

Working my way through Formula 1 Fanatic, it was difficult to ascertain a particular ethos or mode of thinking as regards racing. Beyond the usual mild idealism, for me a certain ambiguity emerges, and it could be convincingly argued that this is a good trait to have for a Formula 1 devotee.

The anecdotes concerning the writer's experiences in following racing are strong and quite evocative, and they come over as sincere. Importantly, they do not become excessively sentimental, and they are instrumental in building the picture. These passages help to lift the book above the mundane, and to make it a genuinely stimulating and valuable "memoir".

In my estimation, the book really comes into its own with the series of chapters which examines the careers, strengths, weaknesses and vagaries of the leading drivers of Vergeer's era. The author demonstrates a keen sense of nuance in looking beyond mass-media platitudes, whether it be analysing Ayrton Senna's beliefs or the psyche of Damon Hill. Vergeer comes close to laying bare the very essence of Formula 1. These are frank and in-depth appraisals, and they are a pleasure to read.

In amongst all this material, I was made keenly aware that Formula 1 has somehow, since the early 2000s, become too "ordinary", too anodyne. It has lost sight of its mission, and its raison d'etre has become distorted and diluted. When certain things happened, for example some of the Prost/Senna confrontations, I was repelled, but after having relived the salient points in this book, I was reminded at what a stratospheric level - sporting, psychological and human - that drama was played out. Despite what today's hyperbole and PR spin might attempt to convince us, there will never be anything to compare with Prost versus Senna. It was not really manufactured or contrived, more a case of inevitability.

There is a sharpness and an acuity in the author's outlook and observations, and his weighing of factors, which truly impressed me. The "philosophical" sections are relatively brief, but thought-provoking, and perhaps even more relevant in 2022, almost two decades after the original publication of Formula 1 Fanatic. Questions about the sport's relevance and "soul" are more pressing and pertinent than ever before.

I was gratified to see that the Schumacher-Hakkinen epoch of the late 90s and early 2000s is given due prominence and attention. As the author hints at, this was the sport distilled down to its core - pure unalloyed F1, in which all of the elements which make (made?) the sport unique were tested. Perhaps the last era of its type which we will ever see, save for flickerings such as Suzuka 2005. Vergeer covers the 1998-2001 years in some detail, and with some style and shrewdness.

Increasingly I sensed that the author and myself were on something approximating to the same wavelength. I could identify with many of his sentiments about accidents, about having to defend and explain this passion with outsiders and "non-believers", as it were. There is also the ambivalence which regularly rises to the surface, almost a form of shame, and that "addictive" quality. Many readers will I am sure find themselves in accord with the writer's feelings and emotions.

Rightly or wrongly, I detected another characteristic; a tacit acceptance that some unpalatable things cannot interfere with "the show" and that, despite occasional protestations and periods of disaffection, the compulsion to watch or follow still remained. 

As mentioned above, the manner in which the author relates pivotal Formula 1 moments to his own personal experiences and memories gives his writing an additional dimension. His life has grown and changed with the sport, along with some striving to retain some of the innocence and simplicity of those earlier days.

This is an astute and well thought-out book, quite absorbing . Putting aside (very) minor reservations, this is a rewarding read. Much more authoritative and credible than supposedly more "cerebral" motorsport "literature". 

Taking a broader view, this book furnished me with an enhanced feeling of how confident, vibrant and assured the world seemed in the late 1990s and early 2000s. If only they, and we, had known that stormy waters (and storm clouds) loomed ahead, in the form of economic crises and other traumas, and what appeared to be a general loss of nerve. At the same time, when I reflect on my own navigation of those "good" times, it may have been too good to be true. Short-termism, a blindness to certain fundamentals, and a failure to address pressing issues. The last decade or so may well have served as a form of reckoning.

Inside The Mind of The Grand Prix Driver - Christopher Hilton

Following my reading of the book Deadly Obsessions, I threw myself into another motor-racing-related work, Inside The Mind of The Grand Prix Driver, written by the late Christopher Hilton (the edition I read dates from 2003). The latter book covered similar ground to Deadly Obsessions, but felt more substantial and absorbing in some respects.

I am not really sure to what extent the book truly gets "inside the mind" of the driver, but I found this to be quite an engaging and illuminating look at the world inhabited by racing pilots, tending to belie some of the assessments which I have seen elsewhere. The interviews with drivers are very revealing, and often entertaining.

There are some valuable nuggets of information about the career paths of certain drivers, and we see how precarious and stressful the driver's existence is, with constant anxiety about job security and one's status within team and sport.  It is true to say that the pressures and the intensity rise with each passing year, but it sounds as though the situation was pretty fraught and demanding even in the early 1980s!

The recollections of various Grand Prix competitors really do bring home the notion of the "survival of the fittest" being one of the main guiding principles of the F1 firmament. To many this might seem like an indictment of the sport, a recognition that one must be ruthless and grasping in order to not just succeed, but merely survive. On the other hand, I was quite inspired by being immersed in this rarefied atmosphere, where the mental and psychological faculties and capabilities are stretched to the limits.

Some of the drivers do come across as deluded in their assessments of their abilities, achievements and relative worth, but these traits have to be placed in the context of the necessity to survive, the nature of the beast. Outsiders, real outsiders, would have difficulty comprehending and appreciating all these things. Anything that helps them cope....

In one or two cases I was left wondering whether the drivers' pronouncements constituted posturing and bravado, a front which enabled them to navigate choppy and hostile waters. I suspect that many "lesser lights" have to put on an act, whereas the true greats can more or less take certain attributes for granted, without having to constantly broadcast their prevalence or importance.

It is pointed out in the book that after they retire from racing some drivers mellow, realise that they no longer require "extreme" attitudes or motivations. Others may have been "contaminated" more profoundly by their experiences and remain in "F1 mode" long after they hang up their helmets.

One of the tests of a book for me is the degree to which it instilled in me an enhanced knowledge and understanding of a subject at hand. This work, on balance, does pass that test. The contributions of Jonathan Palmer, Julian Bailey, Perry McCarthy, Martin Donnelly and Allan McNish I found especially instructive, for differing reasons.

To return to the theme which I sought to develop in my article about Deadly Obsessions, did I learn anything from the Hilton book about how the world has changed in the past two decades? Not really, as this is a drier and less emotive exploration of the F1 community.