Riot City - Protest And Rebellion In The Capital - Clive Bloom

 RIOT CITY -

PROTEST AND REBELLION IN THE CAPITAL -

CLIVE BLOOM

The first thing that struck me about Riot City - Protest And Rebellion In The Capital, by Clive Bloom was the actual title. There's some copyright infringement going on here, surely, because everyone knows that it's Bristol that is the genuine and original riot city? Its tradition and history of protest and rebellion is a proud one stretching back centuries, with there even having been a Bristolian record label called Riot City in its honour. Of course, there's always been riots in London as well but the mobs involved with these have often come from outside - and that means from places like Bristol - descending upon the city with our flaming torches, our cudgels, our bags of marbles to throw under the hooves of police horses, and our strictly non-Cockney accents.

On a more serious note, the second thing that struck me about the book was the accolades at the front. You know when favourable quotes are taken from reviews and highlighted as endorsements? In Riot City they're from such people as Michael Binyon OBE - a Leader Writer for The Times; and Danny Kruger MBE - the former speechwriter to David Cameron. It leaves you wondering: though I doubt very much if these people have even read the book, how did a copy end up in their hands to begin with? What interest would such such people have in reading a book such as this? And what does it bode for the book when such people are praising it? 

Well, a clue is given just five pages in where the urban rioters of 2011 are described as being 'inarticulate and badly educated', which in my eyes is quite a loaded categorization. It's a description that can only be applied by someone who feel themselves to be articulate and well-educated. Someone perhaps from a public school background, educated at Eton or Cambridge perhaps, peering down upon the urban poor from their position of privilege? It's almost enough to put me off reading any further but as Don Corleone once advised: 'Keep your friends close but your enemies closer'. So I persevere. 

An interesting thing about Clive Bloom's 'inarticulate and badly-educated' comment is in its relation to one of the main subjects of his book, that being the student riots of 2010. These specific riots were instigated by the announced rise in tuition fees and the abolishment of the Educational Maintenance Allowance (EMA). Bloom writes about how free education at all levels had been since the Second World War the only way to beat the poverty trap, and how this idea was a cornerstone of 'socialist-modified' capitalism and the welfare state. In the same breath, however, he also writes of how free education had actually only ever been a privilege rather than a right. And there's the nub of it: that word 'privilege'. It just keeps cropping up.

Clive Bloom would be fully aware of his privileged position but he also might think he can circumnavigate it and that it have no relevance to his writing? He certainly knows his stuff when it comes to the subjects of protest and rebellion, and Riot City is certainly well-researched but if he thinks he can write from an unbiased and impartial position then he's clearly not read Chomsky. Bloom writes from a position of having a favourable network of specific contacts. He writes from a position of conservatism.

'Since the premiership of Tony Blair, mainstream politics had suffered a malaise,' Bloom tells us. As if mainstream politics pre-Blair was some different beast altogether where everyone held hands in a land of milk and honey basking under a Conservative sun.

Elsewhere he mentions and quotes Ayn Rand but in such a way that he almost gives his game away. Does Bloom's political sympathies lie with free market, laissez-faire capitalism of the kind Rand once advocated? I suspect so but then like a lot of other Randists and supporters of Objectivism he would probably deny it even to himself.

For all that, Riot City is an interesting read not least for acting as a reminder of what we've lived through and of the calibre of those who were governing over us during the period of which Bloom writes. For example, there's the reminder of Boris Johnson's view of the Occupy London lot camping out at St Paul's as being 'hemp-smoking, fornicating hippies'. If only. And then there was the Evening Standard headline declaring 'St Paul's Junkies a Health Hazard'. As with most things with the Evening Standard: only in their fevered dreams.

And then there was Michael Gove in his role as the Secretary of State for Education during the student riots in 2010 arguing for soldiers fresh from the front line of Iraq and Afghanistan to be retrained on a 'troops to teachers' plan in order to tackle classroom indiscipline.

And Theresa May in her role as Home Secretary in 2011 authorising the potential use of rubber bullets in response to the riots rocking the country that year. 

And Eric Pickles, the then Community Secretary going on about the 'uneducated, unemployed sub-class'. Pickles would some years later be summoned to the Grenfell Tower inquiry where he would make it clear he had better and more important things to do with his time than answer a load of questions about 72 people burned alive.

Bloom's book ends with a supplementary essay entitled 1968: The Revolutionary Model Redefined, which is - surprisingly - really rather good even if the relevance of the inclusion of it is questionable. It's just nineteen pages long but it's packed with references, ideas and interesting insights that suggests it's actually groundwork for a whole other book. It's a critique, essentially, of the New Left movement that came to prominence during the late Sixties, its full flowering realised in the Sorbonne in Paris of '68.

Bloom writes of one of the ideas thrown up during the Sixties that said in order to cure the alienation of capitalist exploitation and banality it would be necessary to take alienation to its extreme possibility, thereby promoting shock. The shock would be via art but of a specific kind: anti-cooperative, non-recuperable and evanescent. The same tactic, of course, that elements of Punk Rock would later immerse themselves in.

Bloom traces the failure as he sees it of the New Left  and its ultimate dissolvement into personal identity politics, ending up with a situation that merely reinforces so-called 'natural' and political conservatism. It's a convincing argument but moreover you can read between the lines that Bloom is basing much of his theory on his own personal experience.

Bloom has stared into the sun, peered at the horizon and gazed into the abyss but now he's back to square one. Back to him acknowledging the fixed position of his own privilege under state control, consumption and capitalism. Though recognising and acknowledging at the same time that the barbarians are at the gate, armed with flaming torches, cudgels, bags of marbles to throw under the hooves of police horses, and strictly non-Cockney accents.

John Serpico

The Girl From U.N.C.L.E - The Global Globules Affair - Simon Latter

 THE GIRL FROM U.N.C.L.E -

THE GLOBAL GLOBULES AFFAIR - SIMON LATTER

Pulp fiction for the broad of mind, based on the cult television series The Girl From U.N.C.L.E starring Stefanie Powers and Noel Harrison that itself was a spin-off from the classic cult television series The Man From U.N.C.L.E starring Robert Vaughan and David McCallum. The Global Globules Affair written by Simon Latter gives nothing away in its title as to what it might actually be about although at the same time it tells us all we really need to know, that being it's the brand that counts not the content.

Published in 1967, it starts off quite fittingly in Carnaby Street where everything's groovy baby until U.N.C.L.E agent April Dancer who's on holiday in London for a few days sees some girl model-types sashaying along dressed in fashion garments woven from what looks like metal armour. At the same time she also spies an ex-professor of hers from when she was studying in Paris and her special-agent intuition is immediately buzzing. Something was going on warranting further investigation.

To cut to the chase, the professor has invented a fluid designed to attack all known banknote paper and reduce it to mush. Administered as a fine mist, the only thing it cannot penetrate is the metal armour material as sported by the Carnaby Street girls which means no money is safe anywhere, not in your purse, your wallet, or even your bank. The metal material has also, of course, been invented by the professor and the girls are agents of his.

The plan is is to destroy as much money as possible so that financial chaos ensues throughout the world leaving the professor and the forces of global crime embodied by the T.H.R.U.S.H organization to step in with their own currency and become the new financial rulers.

It's all good, ludicrous stuff and preposterous with it but weirdly it all makes sense and makes for a ripping yarn. U.N.C.L.E agents Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin are given brief mention whilst the weapons of choice are Karate chops, gas guns and high explosives in the form of saliva-activated chewing gum.

As an aside, there's an unexpected and very good description of Dartmoor (where the professor has his secret base) that Simon Latter should be quite proud of that anyone with any knowledge of Dartmoor - of its beauty but also of its hidden dangers - should recognise: 'Like a woman full of promise, beckoning you to her scented embrace. And two men friends waiting behind the curtains with coshes.' Isn't that so very spot-on? Next time you go hiking on Dartmoor remember this.

As stated, The Global Globules Affair is pulp fiction for the broad of mind, and you can take it or you can leave it. Interestingly, the fact that Stefanie Powers name has been misspelt on the cover - spelling it with a 'ph' instead of an 'f' - serves only to add to the overall kitschy, daft but enjoyable quirkiness of it all.

John Serpico

Not Just Bits Of Paper - co-edited by Greg Bull and Mickey 'Penguin'

NOT JUST BITS OF PAPER -

CO-EDITED BY GREG BULL AND MICKEY 'PENGUIN'

Some might find it hard to believe and others impossible to comprehend but there was a time when the Internet didn't exist. A time when there was no Facebook, no X, Instagram or even MySpace. 'But how did you message anyone?' all the children ask in wide-eyed wonderment 'Or did you not message anyone ever and just sit instead around the piano of an evening singing songs?'

'Well, we had landline telephones and there were these things called 'pens' that you could write a letter with and send to people by something called 'post'. Have you heard of it?'

But by this time the attention of all the children has wandered so you instead open up your copy of Not Just Bits Of Paper and cast your mind back to slightly more interesting times when communication required effort and was a means to an end rather than an end in itself.

Not Just Bits Of Paper is a portal into a world now diminished, a world where the importance of specific bits of paper cannot be overstated. Not that these bits of paper had any intrinsic purpose beyond the sole reason they were produced for - that being to advertise and publicise events - though paradoxically, without it ever being stated or even considered they also represented nothing less than a vision.

The bits of paper we're talking about here are the flyers and posters created to announce upcoming concerts of the more 'earthy' punk rock type prevalent throughout much of the 1980s. Black-and-white, made with scissors, glue, pens, Letraset and found images. Utilising the 'cut'n'paste' method rather than desk-top publishing, then photocopied, fly-posted, stuck up in record shops, given out by hand and sent out by post enclosed with fanzines and cassette tapes purchased from various mail-order lists.

This was the way we communicated before the advent of the Internet and social media. Slow, time-consuming, sometimes wearisome but effective.

Many of these flyers and posters could be really basic in design and layout whilst others could be veritable mini-works of art. All, however, whatever the quality of them were meant to be throwaway. Ephemeral. To serve their one purpose then binned, which is what most people tended to do with them once the publicised event had passed. Very few people thought of saving them and those who did so saved them essentially for the sake of it. Not for having an eye on one day them being collectible or of any possible future monetary value to anyone. They saved them without thinking and for no reason but saved them - thankfully - they did.

Unlike nowadays, back then hardly anyone took photographs at concerts so the flyers and posters advertising these events are the only physical evidence of a lot of them ever happening. For sure, they're held in memories but memories tend to fade so the flyers and posters compensate, prod and serve to remind. Just as importantly if not more so, however, these flyers and posters - these bits of paper - acted at the time as seeds blown on the wind, as conduits for messages. Weaving gossamer-thin threads between not only friends and neighbours living in the same city, town or even village but between strangers and people of like-mind living in cities throughout the whole country.

It was subliminal. Unspoken. Like tiny beacons being lit on top of hills or flares being shot up into the night sky. These bits of paper acted as signals announcing an alternative to mainstream entertainment, mainstream news and even mainstream values. Announcing a vision. They were the corpuscles in the bloodstream of an underground punk culture that sought legitimacy not through commercial success but through the instigation of consciousness raising, further creativity and political action. Just as fanzines and concerts themselves were deemed to be, these bits of paper were the very life-blood of that punk culture.

Co-edited by Greg Bull and Mickey 'Penguin', Not Just Bits Of Paper collates a wide selection of flyers, posters and handouts from the anarcho punk era of the 1980s and for posterity lays them out and presents them in all their ragged, torn and tattered glory. As to be expected, Crass are heavily represented alongside The Mob, Flux Of Pink Indians, Antisect, Conflict, Poison Girls, Chumbawamba plus many more others. Thoughts are collected also in essays of various length and size written by some of those who were there at the time. Noticeably and interestingly they're all written from the audience point of view rather than from any band members and in doing so adds a whole other dimension to the book. Quality-wise these essays differ and again that's only to be expected but in among them are some very well-written pieces indeed, most noticeably from Ted Curtis, Rich Cross, Tristan 'Stringy' Carter and in particular one by Tim Voss.

Not Just Bits Of Paper documents a period in time that is unlikely to be ever repeated again. A period in time that impacted mightily upon a significant number of people to such an extent that their lives were inexorably altered - some say 'ruined' - for the better. A period in time that though now long gone still resonates, and that under the noise and technology-driven haste of modern day living still echoes.

John Serpico

Blood On Satan's Claw - Robert Wynne-Simmons

BLOOD ON SATAN'S CLAW -

ROBERT WYNNE-SIMMONS

Along with Witchfinder General and The Wicker Man, the 1971 film Blood On Satan's Claw is considered to be one of the main pillars of what is today referred to as 'folk horror'. As a genre, folk horror is a genuinely fascinating one though its meaning and what might fall under its umbrella is somewhat open to interpretation. According to writer and horror anthologist Johnny Mains, the definition of folk horror is 'the upper-class demonisation of lower/working classes' and this is true but it's only one aspect of it. Folk horror is much more to do with a certain 'something' lurking under the veil of nature. A presence that is beyond words. There is a distinction also between city and countryside folk horror, where the horror of the city is usually born of man as a freak of nature whilst the horror of the countryside is born before nature and only manifesting itself through nature, rather like the force behind the changing of the seasons.

There is a scene in Lars von Trier's film Antichrist where Willem Defoe pulls back some foliage to discover a self-disemboweling fox that then speaks to Defoe and says 'Chaos reigns'. This one scene is as close as anything to defining the true meaning of 'folk horror' though you probably require a sense of an understanding beforehand to actually fully appreciate it.

Published in 2022 via a crowdfunding venture, Blood On Satan's Claw is the first time a novelization of the film has been created. Written by the film's original screenwriter, Robert Wynne-Simmons, what it does is to expound upon the film's original premise as any good book of this type should be able to. So rather than being a typical movie tie-in it's more of a companion-piece with many of the film's themes fleshed-out and added to. In this instance, does it mean that the book is now better than the film? Yes it does, but at the same time the book compliments the film and vice versa.

Quite apart from the presence of the Devil lurking behind the simplicity of peasant village life, one of the main themes of Blood On Satan's Claw is the involvement of children in the unfolding events. One of the main conduits of the horror, for example, is a girl by the name of Angel Blake, who only when disrobing in front of the village chaplain in a bid to seduce him is it stated that she's all of fifteen-years of age.

It is this and similar aspects of the story that whilst not making it disturbing as such, adds to the sense that this is an adult tale. Subsequently this then lends weight to the idea that the countryside is all about sex, violence and strangeness where 'chaos reigns', and that 'folk horror' as a manifestation of this is a serious subject that demands adult consideration.

Read the book, see the film. See the film, read the book. Then under a blazing sun go lie-down in a field somewhere and try and feel the centuries of untrammeled life-force rumbling away underneath whilst you let your mind wander.

John Serpico

The David Bowie Story - George Tremlett

 THE DAVID BOWIE STORY - GEORGE TREMLETT

There are some books you read purely because of the cover and The David Bowie Story by George Tremlett is one such example. Published in 1974, the cover is pretty wonderful. Bowie in Ziggy Stardust mode against a backdrop of fractal art. What more could you ask for from a music book from the 1970s? It's Pop Art, man. It's psychedelic, Eric.

Books on Bowie, of course, are two a penny which means that for any to stand out there has to be an angle. With George Tremlett's book it's obviously the cover art but there's also the Kenneth Pitt connection. Pitt was Bowie's manager in his very early days and Pitt also happens to have been a long-time personal friend of the author and it's from talks between them both that the vast amount of the material in the book is drawn.

Pitt was dropped from his managerial role by Bowie in 1969 to be replaced by Tony De Fries, although Pitt's influence upon Bowie should not be underestimated. Bowie was always the proverbial social butterfly, flapping between different interests whenever the mood took him. One minute it was Buddhism up in Scotland, the next it was mime with Lindsay Kemp. One minute it was bit-part acting in The Virgin Soldiers, the next it was hanging out with Marc Bolan (and furiously taking notes). Pitt by all accounts was a very cultured man, a collector of Victorian literature and an authority on the works of Oscar Wilde, so you can see why Bowie might have been attracted to him. Significantly, it was Pitt who introduced Bowie to the music of the Velvet Underground.

Tremlett's book deals with the period in Bowie's career from his early days in 1966 of supporting The Who at the Marquee on Sunday afternoons, up to Ziggy Stardust's retirement announcement at the Hammersmith Odeon in 1973. For most, this was Bowie's most iconic period and there are clues given - particularly once Tony De Fries had taken over - in how this iconic status was achieved. It makes for an interesting read but for all the hype, the media manipulation and the projection it still at the end of the day comes down to how good the songs were. Media hype doesn't last, neither do styles of clothes, theatrical costumes and lightning streaks across the face. Songs do. And Bowie irrefutably had some very, very good ones.

John Serpico

Space Gypsies - Murray Leinster

 SPACE GYPSIES - MURRAY LEINSTER

Space Gypsies. Why would you not want to read a book called 'Space Gypsies'? Especially when looking at the cover it gives little away as to what it might actually be about, leaving you essentially dependent on the title for clues. Written by Murray Leinster. Never heard of him but then I'm not really up to speed with my sci-fi. And actually, do people still call science fiction books 'sci-fi' or is that term now past its sell-by date? Written in 1967. Which means it falls into the New Wave of science fiction - I know that much.

'Why should humanity destroy itself?' asks the blurb on the back cover 'The Marintha hurtled into space to discover the secret of the galactic ancestors of the human race. In the shattered rubble of great civilizations they discovered bizarre remnants of humanity beside whom they would battle the poisonous forces arrayed against all human life.'

Blimey! So in I go, and immediately find myself in a kind of forgotten episode of Star Trek where it turns out the space gypsies are an alien race of men-children, all looking about 12 years-old but with whiskers. They're encountered when a spaceship on a mission from Earth is attacked by an alien spaceship and crash-lands onto a planet where the men-children are hiding. Mankind, it seems, had long ago conquered space and had once inhabited various planets throughout the universe. The cities they had built upon these planets are all now just ruins and Earth is the only remaining world where man still exists, the human race being the ancestors of those long-gone space conquerors.

The spaceship from Earth is on a mission to explore these once-inhabited planets in a bid to understand where man has come from and what has led to the demise of their galactic empire. The presiding theory is that having reached the zenith of their capabilities and fulfilled their destiny, mankind's forefathers had destroyed themselves in some mad suicide pact. Being attacked by an alien spaceship, however, immediately dispels this theory, suggesting that rather than destroying themselves, mankind's forefathers were destroyed by these same alien forces. The space gypsy men-children, it turns out, are also descendants of mankind's forefathers but are fully aware of the homicidal aliens which is why they are in hiding on the planet the spaceship from Earth has crashed down on.

From there on, the battle is joined.

Space Gypsies is essentially light entertainment though of course there's nothing wrong with that in the slightest. There is no 'big idea' going on here nor does it have any message to convey. There's nothing in it to think about or ponder, which leaves nothing but the genre - science fiction itself - to consider.

What makes for a good science fiction book? What compels a man to write science fiction? Is the medium - the science fiction genre itself - the message? In the case of Space Gypsies it would appear so. In its pages are various tropes that anyone familiar with science fiction films would recognize, in particular Ridley Scott's 'Prometheus', although interestingly the thing that stands out about the book the most is the misogyny encapsulated by a line spoken by one of the main protagonists:

'"Karen," said Ketch in the same authoritative tone "is a woman. And a woman glories in being the wife of a fighting man."'

Now, I acknowledge this line is spoken by a fictional character but still, for a writer to come up with such a line and have one of his characters say it is pretty dire. How does a writer have his imagination fly off into the most fantastical realms yet his basic human sensibilities remain at knuckle-dragging level? That is the question. Murray Leinster in Space Gypsies leads by example and shows how.

John Serpico

Blood Brothers - Ernst Haffner

 BLOOD BROTHERS - ERNST HAFFNER

There are other things to do besides reading a book, of course. There are games to play, TikTok to watch, Twitter to follow, Netflix to view. There's shopping to be done, places to go and people to see. There's drugs to take. Who's got the time to read a book nowadays? Especially when there's a hundred other things that flash and bleep in 40 different colors to entertain and provide some sort of light relief.

As enjoyable as all these things are, however, and not to denigrate them at all, I take the side of the angels and say the book is better. I take the side of Patti Smith who once said "Please, no matter how we advance technologically, please don't abandon the book. There is nothing in our material world more beautiful than the book."

To read a book is to enter into a relationship. It demands commitment. It's not an instant hit. It's not a shot of Vodka to down in one go. It's not the mindless act of scrolling nor a tip-toe through the tulips. It's not a paddle along the shoreline and a dipping of toes. No, it's more a swim out into the ocean or sometimes even a deep sea dive. It's immersion. It's submersion. It's entry into another world and all which that entails. If a book is a gift of life, then to read is to live and then some.

And so to Blood Brothers, by Ernst Haffner, a book that most people would probably pick up and not know what it might actually be about. The premise, however, is the key and the invite to enter. Blood Brothers is the only known novel by Ernst Haffner, a German journalist and social worker who disappeared during World War II. Originally published in 1932, Blood Brothers was banned by the Nazis a year later, and then thrown onto their book-burning pyre. All records of Haffner subsequently disappeared in the 1940s and his fate during the war remains unknown.

Written in a peculiar documentary style, Blood Brothers tells the story of a gang of homeless teenagers in Berlin on the eve of Hitler's rise to power. It's the story of an underworld where petty crime and prostitution - both male and female - is a way of life and but a means to survive the cold and the hunger of the city. It's the story of underground bars and makeshift hostels where extreme poverty is just a spit away from decadence and wealth. It's the story of gang loyalty, friendship, pickpocketing, teenage prostitution, and snatches of hope and happiness before the increasing encroachment of German authoritarianism. 

Blood Brothers is like Oliver Twist but without the Fagin figure. It's like Once Upon A Time In America but without the leap into adulthood. It's like Jean Genet's 'The Thief's Journal' but without so much of the gay sex. It's like Cabaret but without the music. It's like Lord Of The Flies but without the pig's head.

Blood Brothers is strange and somewhat unique in its depiction of pre-war Germany and of Berlin in particular. Interestingly, the Berlin it depicts has direct links to the Berlin of the 1980s where another kind of underworld once flourished as represented by the likes of Christiane F, David Bowie, and the impoverished yet creative squat culture caught in the twilight world between Western capitalism and Eastern communism before gentrification won out.

Blood Brothers is very much a book worth reading.

John Serpico