The Angry Island: Hunting the English
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| Simon & Schuster |
AA Gill
2007
My recent indulgence in more non-fiction than what I did used to read led me to this random little number, a book I wouldn't call 'good' as an overall description, but had enough about it for me to at least be glad that I read it. To a certain extent, anyway. If I fall off a cliff and get amnesia I probably won't read it again. Anyway, this review should be a pretty short one; not because I'm lazy (far from it), but because hopefully it'll be reflective of AA Gill's The Angry Island in being highly stylised in its use of yea olde English language without actually saying much of relevance.
Anyway, I picked this book from the charity bookshop shelf simply because of its topic, rather than having any inclination towards AA Gill's writing. Though I knew the name, I didn't really know who he was (previously confusing him with Will Self), but a quick bit of background looking-up and a quick bit of reading revealed the truth; he's basically Jeremy Clarkson with an upmarket image, and a vastly superior command of the English language. He's also full of shit at least 90% of the time, but it's rather entertaining all the same. As the title suggests, this is book is about English people. As an English person, I was intrigued. AA Gill is also mostly English in nationality (and completely so in appearance), but he pretends not to be, seemingly for the sake of annoying his readers (this is a common theme).
Gill's method of analysing the nation consists of addressing the key features and stereotypes of English culture, adding a bit of historical and anthropological perspective, then mercilessly poking fun at them through his incredibly dry and well-constructed prose. This is, in some places, very good stuff indeed. The historical stuff is enlightening (well, for me) and amusing in places, though Gill rarely goes into much detail. It's a short book, and its brevity is both a gift and a curse, as his genuinely interesting historical knowledge is dealt short shrift for the sake of keeping his witticisms from overstaying their welcome.
There's really not much else to say about this book than that. In a certain way I absolutely respect it for what it is; a character piece. I have no idea what AA Gill is really like, but here his narrative is directly linked to an exaggerated character designed to provoke both controversy and loyalty in equal measures. It became clear early on to me that this was the case, which changed the nature of my reading it substantially; in its attempts to achieve its goals as an aggravating, charismatic extended magazine piece it works almost perfectly, but that's essentially all it is. As a highlight of its author's talent with words it is very good, like a modern day Thomas de Quincy (whose Confessions of an English Opium Eater is of course the title I stole/homaged for this blog), but there's only so far that can actually take you. When comparing this book with the last piece of non-fiction I read, Richard Dawkin's The Blind Watchmaker, it becomes clear just how little actual substance there is in this book; while Dawkin's friendly, amiable tone works very well in presenting heavyweight, astounding real-world facts, Gill has to struggle to be as loud as possible in an effort to disguise the fact that he barely says anything.
Nevertheless, I did enjoy reading this book, almost entirely to indulge and hopefully learn from Gill's mastery of language (particularly in establishing a narrative tone), but I can guarantee I'll never read it again. I'd recommend it to other people looking for a short, amusing lightweight read (and even then only British people, since it's not going to tell a non-Brit anything valuable), but only if you take the gentle prodding with a pinch of salt and don't expect too much.
Anyway, I picked this book from the charity bookshop shelf simply because of its topic, rather than having any inclination towards AA Gill's writing. Though I knew the name, I didn't really know who he was (previously confusing him with Will Self), but a quick bit of background looking-up and a quick bit of reading revealed the truth; he's basically Jeremy Clarkson with an upmarket image, and a vastly superior command of the English language. He's also full of shit at least 90% of the time, but it's rather entertaining all the same. As the title suggests, this is book is about English people. As an English person, I was intrigued. AA Gill is also mostly English in nationality (and completely so in appearance), but he pretends not to be, seemingly for the sake of annoying his readers (this is a common theme).
Gill's method of analysing the nation consists of addressing the key features and stereotypes of English culture, adding a bit of historical and anthropological perspective, then mercilessly poking fun at them through his incredibly dry and well-constructed prose. This is, in some places, very good stuff indeed. The historical stuff is enlightening (well, for me) and amusing in places, though Gill rarely goes into much detail. It's a short book, and its brevity is both a gift and a curse, as his genuinely interesting historical knowledge is dealt short shrift for the sake of keeping his witticisms from overstaying their welcome.
There's really not much else to say about this book than that. In a certain way I absolutely respect it for what it is; a character piece. I have no idea what AA Gill is really like, but here his narrative is directly linked to an exaggerated character designed to provoke both controversy and loyalty in equal measures. It became clear early on to me that this was the case, which changed the nature of my reading it substantially; in its attempts to achieve its goals as an aggravating, charismatic extended magazine piece it works almost perfectly, but that's essentially all it is. As a highlight of its author's talent with words it is very good, like a modern day Thomas de Quincy (whose Confessions of an English Opium Eater is of course the title I stole/homaged for this blog), but there's only so far that can actually take you. When comparing this book with the last piece of non-fiction I read, Richard Dawkin's The Blind Watchmaker, it becomes clear just how little actual substance there is in this book; while Dawkin's friendly, amiable tone works very well in presenting heavyweight, astounding real-world facts, Gill has to struggle to be as loud as possible in an effort to disguise the fact that he barely says anything.
Nevertheless, I did enjoy reading this book, almost entirely to indulge and hopefully learn from Gill's mastery of language (particularly in establishing a narrative tone), but I can guarantee I'll never read it again. I'd recommend it to other people looking for a short, amusing lightweight read (and even then only British people, since it's not going to tell a non-Brit anything valuable), but only if you take the gentle prodding with a pinch of salt and don't expect too much.
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