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| The nervous, noncommittal noughties can't end soon enough | John Harris In a decade defined by fatalism and impotence, film-makers and writers have been quick to tap into our sense of impending doomJust to make sure filmgoers leave the present decade on a high, this month brings two suitably upbeat blockbusters. The first is 2012, which topped box office takings in the US and Britain at the weekend, and is directed by Roland Emmerich – who also brought us the aliens-blitz-Earth delight Independence Day and the eco-disaster movie The Day After Tomorrow. This time humanity's demise seems to be traceable to the horrors foretold in an ancient Mayan prophecy, though the standard plotline quickly materialises: John Cusack and on-screen family attempting to escape tsunamis, landslides and those obligatory aesthetic disasters whereby iconic global landmarks are ground into dust.For those who want something that bit more cerebral, there is also the film version of Cormac McCarthy's The Road, out in the US later this month. True to the sparse, haunted spirit of the novel, gonzo urban destruction shots are restricted to quick flashbacks, and just about all the story is set in a world laid waste by an unspecified ecological disaster, in which a surviving father and son seek ridiculously unlikely safety and survival. "It is cold, and growing colder, as the world slowly dies," says the trailer – ideal, evidently, for a pre-Christmas cinema visit with the family.But how true both films are to these fretful times: not just the current moment, with the Copenhagen summit looking shaky, the allied mission in Afghanistan faltering, and every failure and fear etched on our prime minister's face – but the 10 long years we must bathetically call the noughties. Just to seal the mood of ongoing dread, here comes a likely end-of-decade bestseller: having already published two volumes entitled Is It Me Or Is Everything Shit?, the writers Steve Lowe and Alan McArthur have just put out a sequel – Is It Just Me Or Has the Shit Hit the Fan?, subtitled: "Your hilarious guide to unremitting global misery".What follows will seem equally despairing, but I'd challenge anyone to argue with the basic story. It is not meant as any kind of denial of the woes of previous decades, and is inevitably defined by my own generation's passage through the optimistic period when we cut our teeth, and the altogether more troubled times that have followed it. Put another way, we thirty- and fortysomethings will probably always miss that brief interlude after the Berlin Wall had come down and taken most ideological argument with it, when to live in the industrialised west was to witness a giddy, often silly phase of human progress: the long economic boom, the sudden receding of the nuclear threat, and what some overexcited minds thought might be the end of history.But then came the first big cracks. I can well recall how I entered the noughties: having left a job in the traditional media, I was in talks about possible work with a handful of the internet entrepreneurs who were seducing money out of venture capitalists, buying up domain names, and promising a largely painless future. The dotcom bubble soon burst, taking their hubristic dreams with it, while plenty of us anxiously clung on to print and paper.This was followed soon enough by the great nightmare of 9/11, which in turn opened the way to the military adventure that squashed the conceit that was liberal interventionism, eventually did for Tony Blair, and arguably set off the crisis of political trust that has reached its apogee with the expenses meltdown. Consider also 7/7, and a very telling juxtaposition: the last stand of Cool Britannia-esque euphoria sparked by London being honoured with the 2012 Olympics, only for carnage, CCTV footage, and the obligatory martyr videos to remind us of the true spirit of the age. Meanwhile, rising panic about the overheating planet deservedly took an ever increasing share of the cultural-political foreground.And then, though a lot of people would have us believe that our current economic woes unexpectedly fell from the sky the day Lehman Brothers went bankrupt, a low hum of anxious conversation began to build up. As usual, Americans were first on the case, as evidenced by such prophetic books as Anya Kamenetz's 2006 polemic, Generation Debt; and from the same year, The Great Risk Shift by Jacob S Hacker – an analysis of rising insecurity, stagnating middle incomes, and rocketing rewards at the very top, with the clear implication that a crisis loomed.As also proved by such films as 28 Days Later (2002), Steven Spielberg's remake of War Of The Worlds (2005), and the wondrously stupid Cloverfield (2007), movie makers have had no problem tapping into our fears via various versions of the apocalypse. Musicians, by contrast, have returned time and again to the songs of balmy reassurance that have been the calling card of Oasis, Coldplay and Keane and lately converted into lachrymose show-stoppers for X Factor contestants: piano played with all the passion of a nodding dog, and a singer once again imploring us to "hold on".Fatalism and impotence aren't the half of it. If you want historical comparisons, think back to the deadened early-to-mid 1970s, when leftist terrorism, the Opec oil price shock and the decisive arrival of deindustrialisation were often smoothed over by escapist progressive rock, or the airbrushed, complacent stuff that blared from the radio: the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, Paul McCartney's Wings. Meanwhile, even if Hollywood wasn't quite going for the full end-of-the-world monty, there were films that made flimsy entertainment out of general mishap: The Towering Inferno, Earthquake, The Poseidon Adventure.Anyway, once I've got a viewing of 2012 out of the way, New Year's Eve will not come soon enough. Not that one should invest much hope in mere numerals, but the arrival of a new decade might just convince more people that they ought to start aiming higher, and begin to decry the mess we're in – or better still, to point to some kind of way out. Whatever. The nervous, noncommittal noughties cannot end soon enough. To use one of the decade's verbal tics: get me out of here.Film adaptationsTony BlairMusic industryCormac McCarthyRoland EmmerichOlympic games 20127 July London attacksSeptember 11 2001The X FactorJohn Harrisguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds feeds.guardian.co.uk |
New in Paper: 'Piano Teacher,' more The Piano Teacher by Janice Lee: USA TODAY's Bob Minzesheimer calls this debut fiction title an "atmospheric, finely wrought ... rssfeeds.usatoday.com |
Crime: Three Weeks to Say Goodbye, The Darkening, Dandy Gilver and the Proper Treatment of Bloodstains, Badfellas Laura Wilson's choiceThree Weeks to Say Goodbye, by CJ Box (Corvus, £12.99)Three Weeks to Say Goodbye is the UK debut of CJ Box, award-winning bestseller in his native America. It's a high-concept thriller with a fascinating premise: nine months after bringing their adopted daughter home, Jack and Melissa McGuane are told that the girl's father, who has never signed away his parental rights, wants her back. Although the biological father is part of a notorious gang, his father, a well-connected judge, is backing him all the way. It's certainly a page-turner but, as so often with this type of book, the fast pace, which sometimes accelerates to warp speed, ensures only blurred views of a bunch of thinly drawn characters and helps to hide the fact that plausibility is, more often than not, sacrificed to formula.The Darkening, by Stephen M Irwin (Sphere, £6.99)This year there has been a marked increase in the number of books described by their publishers as "supernatural thrillers" but marketed as crime rather than horror. The Darkening, Stephen M Irwin's first novel, is one of these. After the unexpected death of his wife in London, Nick Close decides to return to his childhood home in Tallong, Australia, where memories of the murder of his schoolfriend Tristram, more than 30 years ago, come back to haunt him. The eerie atmosphere of the woods where the killing took place is marvellously evoked in precise and powerful language, and the results are subtle, insidious and downright creepy – until Irwin abandons it for a lot of Hobbity stuff about vast spiders and jolly green giants. But that, I suppose, is the problem with genre-bending: try as you might, you can't please all of the people all of the time.Dandy Gilver and the Proper Treatment of Bloodstains, by Catriona McPherson (Hodder & Stoughton, £19.99)The fifth novel in Scottish author McPherson's Dandy Gilver series is, like its predecessors, a fine example of the traditional "amateur sleuth" detective novel. This time it's an upstairs, downstairs mystery, set against the social unrest of the 1926 general strike. Upper-class Dandy goes undercover as a lady's maid to help an acquaintance who fears that her husband is trying to kill her, forcing her to unravel the mysteries of curling tongs and goffering irons while attempting to make sense of the increasingly bizarre behaviour of the master of the house. McPherson's books are always strong on period detail, with nifty sleight-of-hand plotting and plenty of interesting secondary characters, but it's Dandy herself who makes them shine: witty, briskly humane and quietly subversive, she is a continuing delight.Badfellas, by Tonino Benacquista, translated by Emily Read (Bitter Lemon Press, £8.99)Italian-American gangster Giovanni Manzoni, who has broken the mafia's code of silence to testify against his fellow racketeers, has been given a new identity under the FBI's witness protection programme and relocated, together with his family and a retinue of minders, to a small town in Normandy. Unfortunately, old habits die hard, and the newly minted "Fred Blake", finding himself frustrated by incompetent plumbers, rude grocers and other blights on the suburban landscape, deals with them in the time-honoured fashion. Inevitably, his cover is blown, and chaos ensues. The latest offering from critically acclaimed French author Benacquista manages to be savagely funny and surprisingly touching, as the protagonist, a man not given to self-reflection, attempts to make sense of his life while dodging the bullets.Laura Wilson's An Empty Death is published by Orion.FictionCrime booksguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds feeds.guardian.co.uk |
The reality of Cormac McCarthy's The Road The Road, Cormac McCarthy's powerful tale of a father and son surviving in a post-apocalypse world will resonate with many parents - but how authentic is it? John Crace imagines the realityI have no problem with the vision. Streatham High Road on a Saturday afternoon can make a fair claim to post-apocalyptic. It's the long walk of Cormac McCarthy's novel The Road I'm struggling with. Since when did any father and son go on an epic trek with so little moaning? Here's how the film would pan out in reality ...We're going for a long walk, Bob.Why aren't you using any speech marks, Dad?Because the prose is as bleak as the landscape.What a loser.Just get your coat.Can't you make Anna go with you?She's been vaporised in the holocaust.That's so unfair. It's her turn to go for a walk.Just get your bloody coat.Well, I'm not feeding the cats. I did it last time.Forget about the cats.But who's going to feed the cats?Just get your bloody coat.Can I take my bike?No you cannot take your sodding bike. We're in the middle of a nuclear winter. You'll skid all over the place. Now, for the last time, put your bloody coat on.Can we go in the car, then?An icy wind blows outside, lifting the dull grey dust that coats the pavement into our eyes.I'm cold, says Bob.I told you to put your coat on.Can we go back and get it?OK, but wipe your feet on the mat. We don't want that dust in the house. I said, wipe your feet on the bloody mat.The false start is over. This time we get to the end of the road. Or is it The Road? Past burned-out houses. Burned-out cars.I'm bored, says Bob.We haven't gone anywhere yet.Well, I'm still bored. Can I bring a friend?You can't. They're all dead.No they're not. Donny was on Facebook half an hour ago.I don't care. This is a father-son bonding kind of thing.Not another one. Is it going to last long?A tree cracks. A branch falls to the ground. Broken corpses lie scattered.Are we nearly there yet? Bob asks.Of course we're not there yet, you moron. We've only just left the house.Well, I'm tired. Can we go to the cafe?Don't be ridiculous. What don't you get? We're in the middle of a disaster movie. There are no cafes open.But if there are, can we go to one?Fires burst out spontaneously. And go out. Grey turns to red. Turns to black. A few mutants huddle under flickering neon.Are they paedophiles, Dad?No. They are not paedophiles.What is a paedophile? Bob sniggers.I'll tell you later.What are they doing to that baby?They're roasting it on a spit.Cool. That's well sick. Take a picture of it on your mobile.Voices raised. A clash of metal. A rattle of gunfire.Can I have a gun, Dad?Oh, don't start that one again.Not even a BB gun?No.Dave's got a BB gun.Tough.I hate you.A lone car coughs in the distance. Before dying. Twisted steel, shattered glass. A canine howl tears the air.Can we have a dog?No.How about a ferret, then?No.Will there be a TV where we're going?No.Then I want to go home.There's no TV.But I've got a whole load of stuff recorded on Sky+.Onwards. Past the looted 99p store. Past the post office that was closed long before the Chill. Towards the bus garage.Let's get the bus.There are no ...I'm going to kill you, Dad.Too late.The Road is out now at cinemas nationwideFamilyCormac McCarthyViggo MortensenJohn Craceguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds feeds.guardian.co.uk |
TóibÃn runaway favourite for Costa book of the year Colm TóibÃn's Brooklyn is being heavily backed to win this year's £30,000 awardOdds on Colm TóibÃn taking this year's Costa book of the year award have shortened to evens as the prize's judges prepare to unveil their decision this evening.TóibÃn's Brooklyn, which follows the story of a young woman who leaves 1950s Ireland for a life in America, saw off competition from Hilary Mantel's Booker prize-winning Wolf Hall to win the Costa novel prize earlier this month. This morning, it was given even odds to take the overall Costa award tonight by Ladbrokes, while William Hill also shortened its odds on the Irish writer to 6/4, up from 2/1 a week ago."Since winning the novel award, TóibÃn has been backed almost to the exclusion of the field," said Ladbrokes spokesman Nick Weinberg. William Hill spokesman Graham Sharpe agreed, saying that Brooklyn was the only title which punters "are backing in numbers".Debut novelist Raphael Selbourne's Beauty, the story of a Bangladeshi woman on the run from her family which took the Costa first novel prize, is second favourite at Ladbrokes at 3/1 to win the Costa book of the year award, while William Hill is backing Christopher Reid's poetry collection, tribute to his late wife The Scattering, at 5/2.There has not been a poetry winner of the overall Costa prize since Seamus Heaney won in 1999 for Beowulf; last year's Costa book of the year was Sebastian Barry's novel The Secret Scripture, which has gone on to sell 300,000 copies.According to the bookies, Patrick Ness's children's book The Ask and the Answer, about a world where thoughts can be heard, and Graham Farmelo's account of the life of quantum physicist Paul Dirac, The Strangest Man, are the least likely to take the prize. Readers are not so sure: although Brooklyn has sold by far the greatest number of copies to date – over 31,000, according to the Bookseller – Ness is the second most popular author, with sales of around 11,000. Farmelo's biography comes in third, with 9,000-odd sales, Selbourne's first novel fourth, with around 1,500, and A Scattering last, having sold just 767 copies to date, the book trade magazine reported."Unusually this year, we've seen a marked increase in sales for all five of the category winners, which reflects well on both the judges' sense of what people enjoy reading and on the reading public's willingness to try new things," said Jonathan Ruppin from Foyles bookshop. "This year's Costa awards have offered a tempting taste of what's to be found outside the banal and predictable bestseller lists."The overall Costa prize, intended to reward the most enjoyable book of the last year, is worth £30,000, with each of the shortlisted authors also receiving £5,000. The winner will be announced this evening, selected by a judging panel chaired by novelist Josephine Hart and including Marie Helvin, Caroline Quentin, Dervla Kirwan, Gary Kemp and Tom Bradby.Costa book awardsAwards and prizesColm TóibínFictionPoetryBiographyChildren and teenagersAlison Floodguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds feeds.guardian.co.uk |