Category: Books


The British class system depends on its nation’s citizens knowing their place and not getting any fancy ideas above their station. Two films from the late 1950s and mid-1960s show what can happen to those who challenge this convention.

The image on the left is from Room At The Top (1959) directed by Jack Clayton. The second is  from John Schlesinger’s Darling (1965).  

The smarmy anti-hero of the first is Joe Lampton, a man on the make stylishly played by Laurence Harvey. This film is based on John Braine’s novel of the same title. Braine described his creation as a man who behaves “like a little boy with his nose pressed against the window of a beautiful candy store.”  Lampton is determined to defy those who label him as a small town nobody and savour the sweet stuff money can buy.  

Getting the girl (the boss’s daughter),  the top job in the company and a handsome salary would in other circumstances constitute a happy ending but here they are the ingredients of a personal tragedy. The look on Lampton’s face as he puts on his suit jacket is not that of a man happy with his lot.  

In Working Class Hero,  John Lennon sang  “There’s room at the top /They are telling you still/But first you must learn to smile as you kill. The Bible (Matthew 16:26) issues a similar warning: “What will it profit a man, though he should win all the whole world, if he loses his own soul?  Joe Lampton does not heed these warnings. The film shows that upward mobility is possible but breaking through Britain’s rigid class-bound barriers may come with increased riches but you must be willing to live with no peace of mind.

Julie Christie’s look of puzzlement in the image from Darling is also one of dissatisfaction. The unmade bed in the background is not the aftermath of a sexual romp but seems to symbolise one of many sleepless nights.

Christie plays Diana Scott, a glamourous model and free-spirit who seems to have the world at her feet. But like Room At The Top, Darling is a cautionary tale that shows the illusions and delusions surrounding material success.

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THE EMPUSIUM : A HEALTH RESORT HORROR STORY by Olga Tokarcsuk (translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones) – Riverhead Books, 2024

The Empusium is the story of sick men bad-mouthing women.

The main title is an invented portmanteau linking together two Greek words: symposium (a drink-fuelled philosophical debate) and empusa (a female shape-shifter). 

If, from the book’s subtitle, you are tempted to visualize crazed serial killers or scary monsters , change the thought. There is one mysterious death near the beginning but little that could be conventionally defined as a ‘horror story’. 

In an interview with Literary Hub, Tokarcsuk says “the choice of the horror genre  makes sense because the main theme of this book is essentially a horror story—of patriarchal horror, protracted in historical time, embedded within culture, with all its traditional features, such as rivalry, a black-and-white, binary view of the world, and misogyny.”

I wish I had known this before starting the novel.  It might have made my reading experience less of a slog.

This is not a plot-driven story. It is slow, repetitive and frankly often rather dull. I suppose the prose is intended to replicate the tedium of the prescribed routines in a health resort but I can’t help feeling it could have been edited down and/or spiced up substantially.    

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GHOST OF AN IDEA By William Burns (Headpress Books, 2025)

A great cover, an interesting subject and a promising title but sadly the content of this book leaves a lot to be desired.
The first of its seven chapters takes up just under half the book and is for the most part a well-informed, though often repetitive, essay on the topic. William Burns knows his stuff but seems unsure whether his pitch should be high (with quotes from Derrida / Nietzsche) or low (e.g. when complaining that the vagaries of memory “can be an extreme bummer”).
The second half is mainly filler; a hotchpotch of lists, reviews and over-long interviews with obscure musicians. The focus of these pieces is very confusing. For instance, having established that Folk Horror was born in the UK, the author’s list of film recommendations contains summaries of recent American or global titles before ending with a quote from The Wicker Man!?
A review of a Nick Cave concert in Brooklyn has no obvious relevance to the rest of the book.
Worst of all, the book ends with an unseemly rant against the Toy Story franchise which is portrayed as being nothing more than a corporate exercise in mind control and is held responsible for “endless merchandising that has blighted the world for the last 20 years.” If you want to split hairs, Disney have been doing the same thing for much longer!
Aside from bordering on the unhinged, this short but spiteful essay (in lieu of a coherent conclusion) ends the book on a very sour note.



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Nosferatu directed by Robert Eggers (USA, 2024)

‘Elevated horror’ is a term used to distinguish artier cinema from the cruder slash and gore brand of bloody horror mayhem. It’s a pompous label which suggests that an arthouse aesthetic raises films above the baser (and more mainstream) characteristics of the genre. This is akin to those snobbish readers who make a point of distinguishing between old school Sci-Fi novels and the weightier sounding ‘speculative fiction’.
Essentially, ‘elevated’ films are those that pay tribute to their sources but add a knowing modernist slant – The Bababook, Get Out and any recent folk horror would fit this bill. Robert Eggers’ homage to FW Murnau’s 1922 silent classic can confidently included in a list of ‘horror with something to say’ movies.
But what can be added that is truly fresh or original to a story that has been told so many times? Not much, seems to be the answer since although the bloodthirsty undead anti-hero goes by the title of Conte Orlok he is still Dracula by another name and the story faithfully follows the central plot of Bram Stoker’s classic Gothic novel published in 1897.

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‘My Year of Rest and Relaxation’ is a novel full of fear, anger, angst and pain but is also very funny. The unnamed protagonist is not particularly likeable but I had no trouble relating to her and understanding why the idea of a year of drugged-up hibernation so appealed to her. I loved her caustic wit.

In some ways hers is like a modern day version of Bartleby’s passive-aggressive “I would prefer not to” in Herman Melville’s short story but Ottessa Moshfegh’s story is much more extreme and could only have been written in the 21st century.   

Making the protagonist  young, pretty, thin and financially secure is a smart touch. It ensures that her opting out cannot he dismissed as her not fitting in. The fact that she ticks all the boxes of what is taken to be ‘successful’ means that we have to  look for other explanations to her behaviour.

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