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kcfromaustcrime's review against another edition
5.0
The second in the Unreliable Memoirs set of books sees Clive James newly arrived in post-war England, a Sydney boy trying to make good in the bright lights, high(er) society and learned sets of English society. Don't read this, however, if you're expecting the really breezy, cleverly observant, self-deprecating ways of his childhood. Young adult Clive James is a different beast and he's out of place, out of step and seemingly somewhat out of clues in this world.
Moving from self-deprecation clearly into a form of almost self-loathing, the Clive James that is trying to find his way in England, leading eventually to University post-grad studies, is struggling, and as you'd expect from Clive James he lays that on the line - warts, failures, drunk debauchery, questionable attitudes to friends and women, financially broke, morally bereft and simply lost, he's a bit on the whingy side, as well as brutally honest and self-flaggelating.
It's not until I finished FALLING TOWARDS ENGLAND and had some time to think about it that I came to see the the honest microcosm of that entire period. On the one hand self-reflective, on the other utterly self-destructive. Inward looking, scared and timid whilst also being a time of great scientific and societal advancement. In the middle of all of that sat an Australian man with no idea what he's doing or where he's heading, with a desperate need for acceptance, love and to be in on the act.
Sprinkled, as usual, with great observations, some positively cringeworthy moments, and a heap of stuff that everybody who has ever wondered what the hell they are doing with their lives could find well worth reading.
Moving from self-deprecation clearly into a form of almost self-loathing, the Clive James that is trying to find his way in England, leading eventually to University post-grad studies, is struggling, and as you'd expect from Clive James he lays that on the line - warts, failures, drunk debauchery, questionable attitudes to friends and women, financially broke, morally bereft and simply lost, he's a bit on the whingy side, as well as brutally honest and self-flaggelating.
It's not until I finished FALLING TOWARDS ENGLAND and had some time to think about it that I came to see the the honest microcosm of that entire period. On the one hand self-reflective, on the other utterly self-destructive. Inward looking, scared and timid whilst also being a time of great scientific and societal advancement. In the middle of all of that sat an Australian man with no idea what he's doing or where he's heading, with a desperate need for acceptance, love and to be in on the act.
Sprinkled, as usual, with great observations, some positively cringeworthy moments, and a heap of stuff that everybody who has ever wondered what the hell they are doing with their lives could find well worth reading.
“Some people are different, and so are the rest of us.”
jsimpson's review against another edition
4.0
Clive James' memoir about being a young, struggling writer who moves to London on a whim in search of literary greatness is everything that's wonderful about Clive James. Its recollection and attention to detail is worthy of awe, especially considering this took place in the late '60s. You know that saying, "If you can remember the 60s, you weren't really there?" Clive James remembers, which is impressive at he wasn't exactly tee-totalling.
James' memoir isn't perfect, don't get me wrong. He adheres to the wild would-be-Bohemian "troubled young artiste" that so many young men fall into, especially in older eras. The idea that reading and appreciating Shakespeare somehow excuses not being able to hold down a job, constantly borrowing money off of friends, etc. Much of his writing is firmly grounded in the male gaze, as well, especially when he talks about women. That isn't really a downside in this case, however, i feel. This is Clive James' gaze, and he makes no bones or pretentions about them. And while he does speak candidly - and often at length - about going to bed with pretty young women, its seemingly rooted in genuine appreciation and even love. Women are not treated as some inanimate objects in Clive James' world.
My personal favourite detail was how rooted it is in various artforms and media. I came to know Clive James through his critical work - writing about books, i want to say. James is the true Renaissance Man, however, being familiar with everything from film to art to theatre. As an interdisciplinary critic and artist, myself, that's always been my favourite thing about Clive James' writing. He's as knowledgeable and passionate about opera as about Australian advertising. He makes no distinction between 'high' and 'low culture,' and i love that. That's what i aspire to, and what i'm trying to do with all of my various criticism and creativity.
Add on to that an almost hallucinatory recall of era detail, and Falling Towards England serves as time machine as well as time capsule. High Street, Picadilly Circus, Tufnell Park in the '60s all come to life, reanimated by Clive James' near-perfect recall. It's an impressive feat that shows what's possible within the format of a memoir. He helps you to understand the times themselves while, simultaneously, helping you to understand the artist. The two are indistinguishible and interchangable and speaks to how much a critic is both shaped and also represents the times for which they speak. That's what i've always aspired to with my own critical work - an understanding of an era, its psychology, mores, taboos and tastes. To be a critic, you must understand people as much, if not more, than the art itself. I find myself re-invigorated towards this pursuit after hungrily devouring this slim tome.
Much recommended!
James' memoir isn't perfect, don't get me wrong. He adheres to the wild would-be-Bohemian "troubled young artiste" that so many young men fall into, especially in older eras. The idea that reading and appreciating Shakespeare somehow excuses not being able to hold down a job, constantly borrowing money off of friends, etc. Much of his writing is firmly grounded in the male gaze, as well, especially when he talks about women. That isn't really a downside in this case, however, i feel. This is Clive James' gaze, and he makes no bones or pretentions about them. And while he does speak candidly - and often at length - about going to bed with pretty young women, its seemingly rooted in genuine appreciation and even love. Women are not treated as some inanimate objects in Clive James' world.
My personal favourite detail was how rooted it is in various artforms and media. I came to know Clive James through his critical work - writing about books, i want to say. James is the true Renaissance Man, however, being familiar with everything from film to art to theatre. As an interdisciplinary critic and artist, myself, that's always been my favourite thing about Clive James' writing. He's as knowledgeable and passionate about opera as about Australian advertising. He makes no distinction between 'high' and 'low culture,' and i love that. That's what i aspire to, and what i'm trying to do with all of my various criticism and creativity.
Add on to that an almost hallucinatory recall of era detail, and Falling Towards England serves as time machine as well as time capsule. High Street, Picadilly Circus, Tufnell Park in the '60s all come to life, reanimated by Clive James' near-perfect recall. It's an impressive feat that shows what's possible within the format of a memoir. He helps you to understand the times themselves while, simultaneously, helping you to understand the artist. The two are indistinguishible and interchangable and speaks to how much a critic is both shaped and also represents the times for which they speak. That's what i've always aspired to with my own critical work - an understanding of an era, its psychology, mores, taboos and tastes. To be a critic, you must understand people as much, if not more, than the art itself. I find myself re-invigorated towards this pursuit after hungrily devouring this slim tome.
Much recommended!
momey's review against another edition
4.0
not as funny as the first book but does proceed at a slower pace w more 'character' development and at least a tiny bit of reflection, reading like less of a stand-up routine than the first book. not exactly wise but at least slightly thoughtful (possibly at the expense of humor).
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