As recent politics illustrates, Eton has a reputation for producing pupils who achieve high office, but who are not sufficiently competent to hold high office. One thing that is rarely mentioned, however, is all the murder.
Take, for example, the Liberal party leader and old Etonian Jeremy Thorpe. Thorpe tried to have his lover Norman Scott murdered, a story told brilliantly in Russell T Davies’ A Very English Scandal. Thorpe was charming and likeable, which made his cold, premeditated decision to have a man murdered so shocking. Fortunately, thanks to Etonian incompetence, Scott survived the murder attempt. Although they did shoot his dog.
Perhaps
the most famous example of Etonian incompetence and murder is Lord Lucan. Lucan intended to murder his wife but
murdered the nanny by mistake. He beat the nanny, Sandra Rivett, to death with
a lead pipe.
It’s a
lot of murder, that’s my point. It’s more murder than there should be. To the
best of my knowledge the school I went to, a comprehensive in North Wales,
produced zero murderers. That is, I think, the normal amount. Of course, in
some schools you will get the odd one, but you shouldn’t get loads.
Something is very wrong if you get loads.
Eton has long had a reputation for producing people who
were cruel and damaged. In fiction, Captain Hook and James Bond are Old
Etonians. As the Old Etonian, serial adulterer and political diarist Alan Clark
described it, Eton was “an early introduction to human cruelty, treachery and
extreme physical hardship”. As well as murderers, it produces
traitors, such as the spy Guy Burgess, and an awful lot of crooks. Etonians
seem strangely proud of these. In Etonian terms, they are regarded as
“bounders” who got themselves “into a spot of trouble.”
When the
Old Etonian crook Darius Guppy wanted to get a journalist beaten up,
before he was arrested and jailed, he phoned his old chum Boris Johnson and
asked him to get the journalist’s address. Johnson, famously, agreed to do so.
This struck many as shocking, but it is entirely in keeping with a culture of
people who were taught from an early age that they were special and above the
law. We happen to have a recording of this conversation but, given how much
Etonian crime and murder we know about, you have to wonder about how much they
got away with. They can’t all be that incompetent, can they?
It’s hard to imagine a school which produced so many murderers and villains being allowed to stay open if it served any other part of society. You can only imagine how we’d react if there was a school like that in a foreign country.
Of
course, you can’t blame the children in all this. They are not born as
sociopaths, and they have no say in where they are sent. The shame lies with
the parents who choose to send their children there, knowing full well how they
will turn out. We can only hope that those parents – unlike King Birendra –
live to regret it.
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Higgs’ symbolic Octannual Manual #12
A six-and-a-bit-weekly newsletter from author John Higgs
Summer Solstice 2019
Symbols are tricksy things – their meanings are rarely static. A good example is the RAF roundel. It was designed in 1915 to be clean and easily recognised from the ground, to prevent British planes from being hit by friendly fire. But that is not why Bradley Wiggins uses it on his training kit now.
The RAF roundel was of course adopted by the Mod movement, and by bands
like The Who and The Jam. The initial reason involved cheap, ex-RAF
surplus parka jackets, but that doesn’t explain why the symbol caught
on. Symbols go where they are needed, and this was sharp, clear, very
British pop art – perfect for the Mods.
All this did the RAF no harm at all, but shifting symbols are not always
so benign. Consider the problem we have in Britain – and, particularly,
England – with flags. Every few decades the far-right come along and
ruin the flag for everybody. When this happens, the sight of someone
waving the flag stops meaning “I know where I am from, and I have love
for my home”, and instead means, “I might hit you in the head with a
brick.”
This happened in the 1970s, thanks to the National Front, and it took a
couple of decades for a generation to emerge who didn’t have these
associations – the Britpop kids. Given the recent rise of white
nationalists, the cycle has inevitably started to repeat. Most people
deal with this by thinking, “Well, I’ll just have nothing to do with the
flag, or symbols of Britain”. But flags and symbols are powerful tools.
Walking away from a powerful tool and leaving them for your enemy to
use is not good strategy.
In the pop-art afterglow of Britpop, sometime around the Millennium, the RAF Benevolent Fund dropped their formal crest and started using this symbol, the heart roundel, as their logo.
It’s a lovely bit of design. A heart can be seen as sentimental or
saccharine, but the Mod sharpness counteracts that beautifully. Being
such a simple design, however, the RAF Benevolent Fund were not the only
ones to think of it. Once a neat, simple idea like that had appeared in
ideaspace, many people stumbled across it independently.
A Nottingham band called Performance, for example, were using a
variation of it in the Noughties. Performance were fronted by the late
Roy Stone, who is much missed by those who knew him, and after whom the Roy Stone Foundation was established, to help musicians with mental health issues.
Or to give another example, I recently bought this card from the website Mikeysart.biz.
The combination of Beatles imagery and this symbol was so entirely in
keeping with my personal head-canon that I couldn’t resist. When the
symbol appears culturally like this – usually with no knowledge of the
RAF Benevolent Fund – it has become known as the Albion Roundel. It is
seen as a symbol of Britain or, perhaps more accurately, a symbol of the
better Britain that we want to build.
I mention all this because the culture clash between the metamodern, networked Generation Z I discuss in The Future Starts Here,
and the Twentieth Century Old Guard, is happening on a fault line
different to the one we’re used to. Previously, the main battleground
was between the left and the right – Labour and Tory. Then Brexit
brought about an entirely different fault line, one which sliced through
both the Labour and Tory parties, possibly fatally.
It can appear as if Remain or Leave is the main fault line now, but I
don’t think that’s quite right. I think the clash is increasingly
occurring between those who are pro-doom and those who are pro-hope –
between those who want to find a better system, and those who are
content with the system we have, even though it dooms us all, because
it’s just easier that way.
Another way to describe this divide is between those who delight in what
they love, and those who focus on what they hate. Pro-hopers want to
make a system that works better for everyone, while pro-doomers are more
interested in sticking it to the other side. This isn’t a clear
left/right, leave/remain thing, as the tweet below illustrates.
Rory Stewart is, as his voting record shows, a very right-wing man. Like
the Billionaire Arron Banks, he is working to leave the EU. But here,
he has used the word ‘love’ in terms of healing divisions, much to the
disbelief and horror of Banks and Banks’ Twitter followers. This is an
example of the pro-doom/pro-hope divide playing out between people who,
under standard anaysis, are nominally on the same side.
Note that Banks does not argue or debate Stewart’s point, he just
responds with an immediate emotional reaction. This reaction is
important, because it tells us that the Albion Roundel is the one
British symbol that people like Banks will never adopt, subvert, or
otherwise ruin for the rest of us. They wouldn’t be seen dead using it.
It’s got a heart on it, for Christ’s sake! Their immediate reaction is
“Urgh!”
Your reaction to the Albion Roundel symbol immediately shows which side
of the pro-hope/pro-doom divide you are on – would you display and
identify with it, or wouldn’t you? There are shades of the Mitchell and Webb “Are we the baddies?” sketch
in that decision. If you shrink away from the symbol, you might ask
yourself why that is. This is what makes it a potent and useful thing.
I’m seeing more and more appearances of the Albion Roundel in the general culture. This flowered-up XR variation by Dan Sumption
is one example of people putting it to their own personal use – be that
on clothes, flyers, record sleeves, graffiti, online, or whatever.
If you see this symbol out in the wild, or feel inspired to use it
yourself, let me know (just reply to this newsletter). I’m particularly
interested in early usage, but I’m also curious to see how the
culture-side of this symbol develops. Here, for example, is some
subverted coins left around Stockton-on-Tees by Lisa Lovebucket earlier
this week, with art by Danielle Boucher:
What’s great about this is, because the RAF Benevolent Fund have a clear
claim, no-one will be able to exploit the symbol commercially and hence
ruin it for everyone else. There won’t be a ‘Keep Calm and Carry
On’-like tat tsunami. When people use the symbol, or their own
variation, to express the sort of country they want to see and are
trying to build, then that also provides a bit of publicity for a worthy
charity – it’s win-win.
Because let’s be honest, we need all the help we can get at the moment.
Artists, storytellers and musicians are supposed to raise our culture,
but there has been serious dereliction of duty. Pro-doomers have pretty
much got control of the media. The country is about to appoint a
sociopath as Prime Minister, being fully aware that he is a sociopath
who will do to the country what he did to his family and what he did to
his party. This is a situation that most find hard to explain. If you
view it through the frame of the pro-doom/pro-hope divide however, it
suddenly makes sense. It’s the logical expression of the doomer dream
made manifest.
This is also clear evidence that pro-doomers currently have the
pro-hopers on the ropes. The resistance needs all the help, and all the
tools, it can get its hands on. A symbol is not enough by itself, of
course, but it is something.
Just remember – the moment you hit the bottom, that’s when you kick down hard.
THE FUTURE STARTS HERE
I’ve been around the country this past month, talking about my just-released book The Future Starts Here. Huge thanks to everyone who came out to hear me.
If I didn’t come to your town and you would like a signed copy, either
for yourself or as a gift to someone who should read it, I’m making some
signed, first edition hardback copies available (for a limited time,
while stocks last etc). If you want/need one, reply to this newsletter
and let me know who to sign it to and where to send it, and I’ll give
you my PayPal details. Each book costs £15 (which is £5 off the cover
price), plus postage of £3.55 UK, £7.95 EU or £11.65 USA/rest of world.
Requests for strange drawings and cryptic messages scrawled inside are
always welcome.
This photo was from our launch event, taken by Peter Chrisp, and it
shows (L-R) Salena Godden, Victor Adebowale, me and, on the right, a
rare appearance in the flesh of AlgoHiggs, as built by Eric Drass and
Matt Pearson. As I mentioned in the last newsletter, we had 100 copies
of AlgoHiggs’ book The Future Has Already Begun printed up, which were available at my talks for a donation to Shelter.
After finishing my run of talks, I can announce that all you kind souls
donated a grand total of £455.82 to that most worthy cause. Huge thanks
to all who contributed.
SELENE
If you read Watling Street, you’ll recall the story of the late Steve
Moore, moon-worshipping his days away on top of Shooters Hill. You may
know that Steve had spent years working on an academic study of the Greek moon goddess Selene,
and died just as it was more-or-less finished. I ended up editing this
book and am delighted to say it has finally been published by the
ever-fascinating Strange Attractor Press. So Steve has fulfilled his
commission – as if there was any doubt!
On May 4th I took part in an event to launch the book at Brompton
Cemetery, with Alan Moore and Andrew O’Neill (photo by Flavio Pessanha).
Thanks to everyone who came – I think we did Steve proud.
If you’ve read The Future Starts Here,
you’ll recall how the journalist John Doran coined the phrase ‘New
Weird Britain’ to attempt to explain what’s going on in our cultural
hinterlands. Doran now has a BBC Radio 4 series called New Weird Britain, and it’s great – go listen!
And also – are you a creative soul who struggles to finish things or
never seem able to put in enough work on your projects? What you need to
do is sign up to horror author Jason Arnopp’s Sunday Confession Booth.
Every Sunday, he emails to ask, “How much did you get done this week”,
and you must then confess. If that doesn’t give you a kick up the
jacksy, I don’t know what will.
Before I go, I want to wish you all a very happy midsummer’s day. I
hope you saw the dawn on this, the day of the most light (apologies for
the brag, southern hemisphere readers). I have vague plans for a series
of publications to mark the coming midsummers, but more of that in due
course. I also have an as-yet-unannounced short book coming out in
September. There is much to come.
But be ready – only six months until we hit the 2020s…
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Higgs’ book-heavy Octannual Manual #11
A six-and-a-bit-weekly newsletter from author John Higgs
May Day 2019
Make room on your shelves, good people, it’s coming.
Out in hardback, ebook and audiobook on May 16
is my next book, THE FUTURE STARTS HERE: ADVENTURES IN THE TWENTY-FIRST
CENTURY. It might possibly be the first trad-published hardback to
include the Extinction Rebellion symbol on the cover – it’s hard to be
sure, times are moving fast. When I delivered it to the publishers, it
was an account of the future. By the time it hits the shops, thanks to
things like the school climate strikes, it will be an explanation of the
present. When the paperback drops next year, we will safely be able to
file it under ‘history’.
Read it now, it will help.
I’m launching it with a special, one-off, not to missed night in the
Brighton Fringe, along with a group of mighty guests perfectly curated
to demonstrate the argument of the book. If you can make it, it will be
well worth your time. Tickets are available here (make sure you select ‘May 15’).
If you do read the book and feel moved to mention it online, or leave a
review on Amazon, that would mean a lot – thank you in advance.
The release of this book is the MAIN STORY here, but that’s not going to be the only new book from me this year.
Here’s the situation: I finished The Future Starts Here and
sent it to the publishers. Let’s call it Book 1. I then wrote a proposal
for the book I’m desperate to do next, which we’ll call Book 2. I’m
clued up enough to understand how long it takes from writing a proposal
to signing a contract, so I immediately began writing an unconnected
novel, which is Book 3, to use this time productively. After writing
over a third of that, the publishers responded that they very much liked
Book 2, and could I also write a short, cheap paperback of around
10-15,000 words on the same subject that they could put out in
September, which is what I am currently doing. This is Book 4
(confusingly, in contracts, it is named Book 1). It’s something that I
am buzzing with delight about and which you’ll have in four months or
so. But as for details – you’ll can wait until next time.
Now, extensive research has shown that my head can contain about 80% of a
book before it gets full. This is fine for writing individual chapters,
but tying everything up and editing the book at the end is messy. At
this stage I bumble around drooling and walking into walls. My family
understand this, and looks after me well during these times. Remembering
the details of four books is frankly ridiculous.
As a result, I have been forced to learn the skill of dumping things out of my head when they are not immediately needed. I’ve talked in the past
about the need to Marie-Kondo your mind ahead of the coming 2020s –
what a useful skill this turns out to be! As it happens, many of our
preoccupations in the world of fiction are coming to a natural end this
year – Game of Thrones, Star Wars trilogies, Marvel Avengers cycle etc.
This means we can move on and make brain space for the new stories – and
new types of story – that are coming.
Then there are the large amount of outdated assumptions and beliefs
about how the world works which we keep in our heads out of habit, but
which we really don’t need anymore. The Future Starts Here, I
think, will bring many of these to light. I hope it will convince you to
dump a lot of this baggage. There are a lot of new ideas and
perspectives in the book, of course, but overall I hope it will leave
you lighter.
In The Future Starts Here, I talk about how my strangely-named evil friend Shardcore
has fed all my books into an AI called AlgoHiggs and trained it to
write in my style, in an attempt to replace me. It’s a handy example not
just of what AI can do but, more importantly, what it can’t do.
AlgoHiggs has recently improved massively, and has unexpectedly become
extremely funny. In response, we are printing up 100 copies of The Future Has Already Begun, AlgoHiggs’ attempt to write The Future Starts Here. It also includes a foreword by Shardcore and an afterword by me. This, god help us, is Book 5.
This is a frankly brilliant book of clueless AI gibberish, ideal for
toilet libraries and heartily recommended to all practitioners of
bibliomancy. I’ll have copies with me at my coming events, so coming
along will be the only way to get hold of one. The price is a donation
of your choosing which will go to Shelter, the housing and homelessness
charity. Think of it as doing a good thing and getting a limited edition
Shardcore artwork at the same time.
Today is also the day that Shardcore’s band The Private Sector release their debut album, YOUR MIND, OUR MARKETPLACE, which is now on Spotify and in all usual places. It is everything that is wrong with the modern world, in audio form. Brace yourselves.
Something entirely different to that album is the frankly marvellous
Creative Beast podcast, which is aimed at anyone who enjoys being
creative – and I happen to know for a fact that that includes you. I am interviewed in episode 3 by Jo Neary and Heather Minor, the only interviewers to have written a song about coming to visit me first. Other podcasters may need to up their game.
Before I go, a shout-out to the 69 pilgrims who have just returned from
the Cerne-to-CERN pilgrimage – a journey from the large hard-on to the
large hadron, ie the Dorset hill figure the Rude Man of Cerne to the
Large Hadron Collider in Geneva, via Carl Jung’s house, Damanhur, and
other magical places. If you search for the ‘#Cerne2CERN’ hashtag on
social media, you might get some idea of what this entailed. I talked in
my last newsletter about how Brexit has become a coming-out party for batshit Britain, and this was very much in that spirit. I was at Cerne Abbas at dawn to wave them off, along with these 4 or maybe 5 wizards.
What I find interesting about this thing is that there isn’t – yet – a
name for what it was. It was more than a pilgrimage, it was more than a
ritual, it was more than a 60s-style happening, it included theatre but
it was more than that. That it is yet unnamed makes me suspect that it
is something new, and worth understanding. What we can say is that it
was an effort by a group of people to not passively accept the myths
they are given but to take active control of their stories, rewrite
them, and improve them. The impact that art is supposed to have on
people, but usually doesn’t, was very present here.
The value of this is in the effect it had on those involved – which is
pretty heavy at the moment – and in what those people will go on and
create next. I watch with interest, and with much love and respect.
My newsletter gets sent out 8 times a year – you can subscribe here. This is the newsletter that was sent on 20 March 2019…
Higgs’ Foolish Octannual Manual #10
A six-and-a-bit-weekly newsletter from author John Higgs
Spring Equinox 2019
There’s no avoiding it, politics here in Britain are currently totally nuts.
One side effect of our Brexit delirium is that we’re witnessing the Great British Coming Out Party. Most people on these islands understand that we are not the sanest, and they are pretty comfortable with this. Our history is a long balancing act of keeping things just-about-working whilst we drunkenly freak out on the heath. You can see examples of who we are in work as varied at the @Coldwar_Steve twitter account or the BBC4 art film Arcadia. We are a surrealist, psychedelic mob who howl at the moon as politely as possible.
If you had to distil this complex, irrational and multi-faceted national personality down to a single universal archetype, the closest you can find is the Fool. I’m not being critical here. Being the Fool really isn’t the worst. The Fool traditionally has the right to speak truth to power and is often the only character who can understand the big picture. It is only the Fool who gets the Cosmic Joke, and if you have not seen the humour in something, you have not seen the truth of it. Plus, the Fool is allowed to muck about and arse around, in search of what National Treasure Bob Mortimer calls “daft laffs and that”. This is a pretty good deal. When you’re the fool, different rules apply.
When I say most British people understand that we’re the Fool, I don’t mean everyone. Part of being a really good Fool requires pomposity and arrogance and having no idea at all that you’re the Fool. We have a special section of society who take on that role for us. They genuinely have no idea, because they are sent to different schools to keep the truth from them. They are taught that the ‘Great’ in ‘Great Britain’ is more than just a geographical term and, God love them, even as adults they still believe this. They genuinely have no idea what this country is like. Despite living here, and being occasionally exposed to the people and the culture, they still somehow think we are Downton Abbey.
Unfortunately, they also believe that power is their birthright and sometimes we foolishly support them in this. It’s like a toddler trying to drive a bus; you know it’s not wise, but you want to see it. Alas, one of them got into power and decided to ask the British people in a referendum if they wanted to tell a bunch of politicians to go and fuck themselves, thinking that they would say no. That’s probably worth dwelling on a little. He asked the British people – the British people, that’s the British people – if they wanted to tell some politicians to go fuck themselves, and thought they would say no. During a time of austerity. He genuinely thought that. Those are real thoughts that he had in his head. Such is the extent to which the social niqab of elite education blinds its victims to the actuality of this country.
Oddly, a number of other countries, despite all evidence to the contrary, have also taken the view that we are Downton Abbey. Quite why they did this I know not. I assume they have their own pathologies to deal with. But suddenly, thanks to Brexit, these countries are now sitting up in alarm and crying, ‘My God! Look at Britain! They are not Downton Abbey. They are the Fool!’ As a Dutch Journalist said to Jonathan Coe, ‘We love Monty Python, but we always thought it was comedy, not a reality show.’ You might think, ‘No shit, Sherlock’, but this is significant.
We have had a global coming out party. The Downton Abbey spell has shattered. We stand here exposed, butt naked, and our role as the Fool can no longer be denied. This is not something we can undo. This is us for good now. You can’t unring a bell.
We’re in new territory. Exposed as we are, we now have to make the decision we have been able to put off for too long. We are now understood to be the Fool, but exactly what type of Fool are we? There are options.
Are we the timid, fearful, poodle-type Fool, seeking a master to discipline and lead it? We can do that.
Or are we the Arrogant Fool – the boisterous pain in the arse, hitting downwards, putting it about and not caring about our impact on anyone else? We can do that as well.
Perhaps we are the Happy-Go-Lucky Fool, doing our best to have a good time despite everything. There’s a long tradition of this.
Or are we the tell-truth-to-power type Fool? It’s a bit of a thankless task, admitedly, but someone has to do it.
Or could we be the strange surrealist Fool, the Lord of Misrule, odd as all hell and entirely unpredictable? We can definitely do that.
Or, maybe, just maybe, we could be the visionary Fool? The creative, inspired, enthused, uplifted soul, far outside the ‘mind forg’d manacles’ of normal thought like the “unfortunate lunatic” William Blake. As John Balance once said, “Why be bleak when you can be Blake?”
Our politics and culture is, essentially, is a never-ending debate about which of these Fools should be primary. Perhaps we should hold a referendum to vote on it? Only joking! No, the trick is to decide which type of Fool you are, then vote by your actions.
And do it quickly! As I said last time – the 2020s are coming.
My saintly writer friend Jason Arnopp has launched a YouTube channel called Jason Arnopp’s Terrifying House of Obsession, full of horror, VHS and retro-gaming goodness, which you should go look at.
That’s it for now. Keep safe. Don’t forget to listen to April 5th by Talk Talk on April 5th.
My newsletter gets sent out 8 times a year – you can subscribe here. As an experiment, I’m posting each newsletter to the blog as well, to see if this is useful…
Higgs’ chilly Octannual Manual #9
A six-and-a-bit-weekly newsletter from author John Higgs
Imbolc 2019
This newsletter is now one year old! Huge thanks to all of you for subscribing and making it worthwhile. I’ve found writing it to be extremely useful, so I am committing to continuing it throughout 2019.
This will take us up to the mighty 2020s.
The 2020s will be a Golden Age in your life. It will not be the easiest of decades, but it will be the one where you are most fully yourself, when you are most proud of what you create and the period in which you act most in accord with your higher nature. In the far-flung future when people bring you to mind, it will be you in the 2020s they think of. I know this is true because a wee mouse told me.
2019, then, is time to prepare. This brings us to…
ONTOLOGICAL MARIE KONDO
That 2019 is a time to get ready might explain the huge cultural buzz about the Netflix show Tidying Up with Marie Kondo. This applies Shinto ideas to the practice of tidying up and sorting your stuff out. Its success means that somewhere TV executives are trying to format Wiccan Cleaning the Windows and Daoist Brushing Your Teeth.
Marie Kondo advises getting rid of any household clutter and junk that doesn’t ‘spark joy’ when you hold it. This is healthy and liberating, but perhaps we can go further? Marie Kondoing your house is one thing. Marie Kondoing your reality tunnel is where it’s at.
Think about the culture you consume – are those TV shows, bands and websites really working for you? Which ones do you still get anything from, and which do you give them your time just out of habit?
Think about your prejudices – are they of any use? Do they really help explain how the world works, or are they just a shortcut to avoid thinking? For example, for years I’ve nurtured a deep prejudice about people who play golf. Would I be worse off if I took this prejudice down the skip?
Think about your beliefs – are they fit for purpose? Is it the case that some of them are a bit old and rusty? Do you own them or do they own you?
Think about the people in your life. Don’t Marie Kondo them! What are you, a monster? Hell’s teeth! Sure, problems arise, we all make mistakes, but unless someone is truly toxic, give them another chance. The 2020s are coming, remember, we’ll need all the help we can get.
If it helps, think of the 2020s as a more woke 1920s – a wild ride you’ll want to be part of, but not one that is blind to the growing shadows. Let’s all get light and ready and hold hands and dive in together, and see what happens.
DOCS AND PODCASTS
There’s a lot of interesting stuff around for fans of Bill Drummond, Jimmy Cauty and the Justified Ancients of Mu Mu at the moment. Paul Duane’s documentary about the People’s Pyramid and Toxteth Day of the Dead, What Time Is Death, is having its premiere on Feb 26 at the Dublin Film Festival. I was interviewed for this – whether or not I said anything worth including I don’t know.
(Paul Duane, incidentally, has another film starting to appear at festivals which looks interesting. While You Live, Shine is about the oldest music in the Western world. Worth keeping an eye out for – the trailer is here.)
Online now is How To Burn A Million Quid, a surprise podcast from BBC Sounds – a six part comedy recreation/fantasy about the JAMMs money burning. The makers have clearly dived deep into the mythology behind all this, but to my ears they seem to have missed the valuable jewels buried down there. To give one example, The Illuminatus! Trilogy is presented as a book to be believed, rather than a game that teaches you to question beliefs. That may sound like a petty nit-pick, but it is pretty fundamental to the story.
Still, the cast has Jeremy Stockwell as Ken Campbell and Kevin Eldon as Gimpo, and that surely is reason enough to download. You can find it on the iPlayer or the BBC Sounds app.
If you prefer your Ken Campbell to be the real deal, then the Seeker! Ken Campbell podcast (iTunes / Google Podcasts / ResonanceFM broadcast) is a must subscribe. It takes the surviving Campbell VHS and audio tape recordings and turns them into a polished archive of his one-man shows, including many performances never previously available.
It’s a major labour of love and you would pay handsomely for it, if it wasn’t free.
AND FINALLY
Not that I want to encourage this sort of thing, but is it the case that you have been part of unwise shenanigans and you wish to blame me for your actions? If so, you are in luck, for Shardcore has launched a T-shirt especially for this scenario.
This picture alone almost makes this whole sorry incident worthwhile.
I wrote an article for Shortlist magazine last year, explaining why it was my favourite game of all time. As that article isn’t online, I figured I’d celebrate the Switch release by posting it here.
Grim Fandango article
Rubacava at night was a hell of a town. I still dream of it sometimes, even though it is nearly twenty years since I was there. Its towering art-deco and modernist buildings looked designed for moonlight. Cruise liners built like Aztec temples towered over the docks. The nightclubs and beatnik poetry clubs were populated entirely by calacas, the blank-faced skeletons from the Mexican Day of the Dead festival. Rubacava was a town known for its nightlife, which was ironic, seeing as everyone there was dead.
Rubacava was a location in the 1998 LucasArts adventure game Grim Fandango. I was working on a late-night TV videogames review programme called Cybernet when it was released. The job meant that I had to play a lot of games. In most of those games, you shot at stuff until you got bored. Other games allowed you to drive things or pretend to play sports, but the majority involved shooting things. It was hard, at times, to defend gaming as an imaginative or creative pastime.
But then came Grim Fandango. The game was set in the Mexican Land of the Dead, but it was styled like 1940s Hollywood. It placed you deep inside a noir saga of post-death corruption, in equal parts Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon and Aztec religion. As you can probably tell from the description, this was not a game designed by a committee or fleshed out by a marketing department. This was a singular vision, which was not something 90s gaming was noted for. It seemed like the future of storytelling. It was a fully realised creative achievement. It was art.
Twenty years later, and Rubacava is still more vivid for me than the flat I lived in at the time. The town was so atmospheric, so beautiful and so unique that all those hours wandering its moonlit streets, puzzled and bewildered, seemed to somehow justify all the time lost to videogaming generally. It felt like gaming’s Sgt Pepper moment, the point when the bar had been raised and the medium would never be the same again.
But it was an end, not a beginning. It was the end of an era for mass-market adventure games. It was the end of companies like LucasArts creating original properties instead of relying on existing brands. The end of the idea that games could better novels and films in storytelling and originality. It is hard now to point to a successful, mainstream game that could be said to be its spiritual successor. The public, it turned out, did want to shoot things after all.
The game’s aesthetic of death and nostalgia should have been a clue: Grim Fandango was always fated to be an end, not a beginning. I found myself drifting away from gaming, unable to sustain interest in the endless identikit sci-fi, warzone or medieval fantasy scenarios they offered. But endings are also a celebration of that which will be missed. As the game itself reminds us, we’ll always have Rubacava.
Today is publication day for the Watling Street paperback, and it is a lovely thing – the ideal format for forcing copies on to people who don’t know they need it, but really do. Find it in all good bookshops, some bad ones, and online.
It is also out today as an audiobook, read by me, for anyone who wants to judge my pronunciation of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. Ideal for all your commutes and long journeys, especially those involving the A5 and A2.
To tie in with these releases, I have put all four episodes of the Watling Street podcast on Youtube for anyone who missed it last year or who doesn’t do podcasts. Episode 1 starts off in Kent, and features CJ Stone and Andy Miller.
Episode 3 hits the Midlands with help from the greatest living English writer, Alan Moore.
And Episode 4 takes us through North Wales with Cerys Matthews, Eric Maddern and Salena Godden. Plus, a remix from Greg Wilson and Peza to end things on a high.
I love audiobooks, it’s an intimate and powerful way for me to mash up your head during your commute. Oh, and you can expect an audiobook version of Watling Street this summer. Enjoy!
My new book Stranger Than We Can Imagine: Making Sense of the Twentieth Century is finally loose in the UK – being sold in shops, downloaded as ebooks onto Kindles and as audiobooks onto phones. It will be published in Canada on October 6th and America on November 10th, with Spanish, German, Dutch, Greek, Turkish and Romanian translations on their way. There are, I’d like to think, versions for everyone.
Everyone, that is, except those who don’t want to read an entire book. What about those people?
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