In Praise of the Printed Page, Newspapers

Newspapers, it is reported on teevee, on the wireless and online, are in decline.

Newspapers have been in decline for years, in terms of quality there has been a shift from journalism to comment.  Newspapers had something of a reputation of never letting the facts get in the way of a story, but now it is a case of never letting any facts get in the way of an opinion.  Comment used to be serious writers writing about what they knew, then moved to essentially being blogs that somebody could be bothered to print out, and are now repackaged extended tweets.

There has also been a decline in quantity, declining budgets, declining circulation.  Most importantly of all, a decline in the size of the newspapers themselves.

Broadsheets used to have gravitas.  Sure, they didn’t always print the truth, and maybe the facts weren’t always right, and there may have been libels and damaging speculation, but the page was fifty inches wide and who can argue with a headline that is rendered in Time New Roman 400 point?  No matter what it says.

The introduction of the tabloid newspaper heralded a new age, with the printed page becoming more accessible to the working man, who wanted to read the news in a way that spoke to him in his own language, about issues that mattered to him, and had a picture of a dolly bird with her top off.  Serious journalism still mattered in the tabloids, yes, there were pictures of topless women, but you got their name, age and learned that they enjoyed pottery in their spare time.  Gone now is such journalistic rigor with some hack just getting their ‘facts’ about Jane, 21 from Stevenage off Wikipedia.

From boardsheet to tabloid to mobile telephone screen, the news has gotten smaller.  Which is a shame, because issues like environmental problems, economic crisis and challenges to our security and democracy remain as big as ever.

There is, still, arguably, a place for newspapers in our culture.  That place is on line.

Kidding.  There is something about an actual physical newspaper that remains important.  What exactly that is, I’m not entirely sure, I think it has something to do with the crossword and other puzzles but I’m sure it must be important to all those who read the ‘Metro’, a newspaper that is given away for free at train stations and, on examination of the content, can be described as ‘overpriced’.

The Metro is owned by a rich proprietor.  This at least is a tradition that has endured in the newspaper industry when others have not.  If you are a normal human being with forthright views that you think others should know, you set up a blog that nobody reads.  If you have immense wealth and want to influence society, you either train your private army in an undersea volcano base, or buy a newspaper and exert subtle influence over first the editorial policy and then in turn over the population.  Remember, it’s not fake news if it’s your news, and if you are reporting what people want to know, where’s the harm, even if the news you print is not in total alignment with the facts?

The weekend though is when newspapers come into their own.  That’s when the majority of the newspaper can be given over to sections that are not already out of date by the time they are printed, like teevee listings.  It’s also the time when the review sections are published, and authors who had their last novel trashed by a reviewer can exact terrible revenge by describing the new work of their nemesis as ‘insipid’.  The same review can be recycled, not unlike the newspaper’s destiny, in the restaurant section where any restaurant in the whole of London can expect a dull rave review or a terribly witty crap one.  Places to eat outside London may be found in the supplement about rural gastropubs.

I gave up on reading the weekend newspaper some time ago, when it became like the opposite of a guided meditation.  The weekend is too short for fits of rage, except when reading the Telegraph, when it’s a perfectly normal, healthy reaction.

In Praise of the Printed Page, Books

Books, famously, furnish a room.  Especially a library.  Despite the rise and rise of the eReader, the tablet and the audiobook, hardback and paperback books continue to be popular, sold in bookshops, on the high street.  It’s like three endangered species banded together to buck the trend.

The conventional book is superior to its electronic bastard offspring in a number of ways.

Firstly, a book is in and of itself a precious object, especially if you are paying full whack for a hardback.  It’s something that makes you happy to buy it, happy to read it and then happy to own it.  Because books are decorative, as stated above.

It is well known that the right sort of vintage Penguin (book, not animal or biscuit) jutting jauntily from your pocket can attract the right sort of romantic partner, that is, the sort of romantic partner who knows that anyone with a Penguin edition of ‘The 39 Steps’ or ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ is exactly the sort of chap or chappess with whom a romantic fling would be just the thing.  It if further known that a small stack of the right sort of reading material by the bedside is an indicator of good character and conducive to frolics and a good night’s sleep in exactly the same way that a collection of soft toys in the bedroom is not.  We then progress to a decent bookshelf, bookcase and, finally if you are fortunate enough to have the space, the means and the tolerant partner, a room one can designate a ‘study’ or, if you are exceptionally fortunate, a ‘library’.

The difference between a study and a library is a narrow one.  Broadly, a study has books and a desk and a sensible chair with a stiff back.  Captain’s chairs are permitted, although the rule of ownership is not unlike the rules permitting one to play international rugby for a particular country, one must have a seafarer in the immediate family, or one must have been a seafarer for a number of years.  Whereas a library has a table, usually cluttered with books, and a comfortable chair near a good light source that can be used for reading, or dimmed for short or even extended periods of contemplation.  The other main difference is that a library will have 2/3 more decanters of booze available.

Studies are, increasingly, in the news.  Literally.  No news programme it would appear is complete without a video link interview with an expert in something, or at least with somebody who has a tweed jacket and some strong opinions.  In such cases, the person speaking from their home increasingly takes pains to ensure that the backdrop is not of a microwave and a fridge with a shopping list stuck to it, the contents of which would make one doubt the value of any opinion somebody who actively purchases ‘Nutella’ might espouse.  Instead, they ensure that their background is bookish.

If the interviewee is an academic, then they will ensure that the only book not conventionally shelved, but rather with the front cover prominently displayed, is their latest work.  If they are a writer then the shelves will display their collected works, including translations.  If they are a politician then political biographies are the thing, Churchill for tories, Bevan for Labour, Stalin for the Labour front bench.  Multiple biographies of Hitler are permitted for military historians only, anyone who owns more than three biographies of Hitler and does not teach history at a decent Polytechnic or educationally equivalent establishment should be placed on some sort of watch list.

Given the news is pretty ghastly, the only time one really needs to flip it to HD is to either try to work out if Fiona Bruce has had some more work done, or to decode the bookcase of an interviewee, and then judge them.

We have lost album artwork and sleeve notes to the digital download, thankfully we still have the art of the book cover, although famously that’s no way of judging a book.

Having the book’s title visible is, however, an excellent way of judging who, and who not, to sit next to on public transport.

The Cult of Apple is now the Cult of Moleskine

The first stationary was, appropriately, immobile.  Early Man used cave walls and ceilings to record pictures of Woolly Mammoth hunts and other cardio activities.  The first cave painting was probably followed by the first scathing review, possibly followed by the first critic being chased from the cave, and being trampled to death by a Woolly Mammoth.

Fast forward a few thousand years to dawn on the Nile, where Pharaoh has gathered his architects for the latest tomb project management meeting.  Folk are still putting stuff on walls, although this being a more modern society they carve as well as paint.  That’s progress.  Papyrus is the latest thing but wait, one of the younger architects has papyrus that is somehow thicker, creamier and of a heavier weight than the sheets of papyrus used by the other architects.  Surely, this fellow must be cleverer.  He gets to speak first and suggests that if they cut costs by making the tomb pointy instead of a cube as was originally suggested, Pharaoh can afford to take another two dozen handmaidens with him into the afterlife.  Good help is hard to find and so Pharaoh agrees, meeting adjourned, Pharaoh goes off to stand in profile for the rest of the day for his official portrait, and the rest of the architects know two things, that they too must get this papyrus of authority, and that this cocky kid will be crocodile fodder by sundown.

Vegetable matter continues to be pulped for paper to this very day.  There have, of course, been a couple of diversions along the way.  Velum is the writing surface of choice if you want to record something for posterity and really, really, don’t like goats.

Today, despite technological advances such as the Apple Newton, stationary and paper is more popular than ever.

Indeed, it’s reached cult status.  When Apple were opening up their new stores all over the planet, they were likened to temples, with all the staff dressed like members of a religious order and Apple users showing a devotion to the company’s products that is surely more faith based than reasoned.  Like the Church, Apple continues to rely on the devotion of its followers to get it through scandals or, as Apple prefers to call them, iOS updates.  I’m not saying that changing the interface on my iPhone is as bad as diddling choirboys, I’m just saying that at least the Church has acknowledged that that kind of behaviour is a problem.

The analogue equivalent of the Cult of Apple is the Cult of Moleskine, or stationaryphelia.

Over the last few years, the Moleskine has made something of a comeback.  For all I know, or care, the brand was invented in 2005 but the thing looks as though it has been in the pocket of the combat jacket of war correspondents everywhere from the Normandy landings to the bars of Saigon.  It is, it has to be said, a fabulous product, having a cover thick enough to act as a reasonable writing surface on its own, and bearing paper that can take the ink of a fountain pen without blotching like a teen in a titty bar.  I don’t think it could stop a bullet, blade or broken bottle but I do think it’s sturdy enough to beat off an enraged artist who has read your piece on her latest exhibition and is trying to pummel you screaming, unaccountably, ‘to the mammoths with you!’.

The value in a decent notebook is twofold.  The first is that even if you are writing ‘eggs, milk, foot cream’ during a meeting, it looks like you are the sort of person who is writing ‘synergy’.  A good notebook is, in business or art or recreation, a commitment to a serious attempt to do something.  Once it’s in there, it’s there forever.  This is not thermal fax paper, this is a cave wall.

The second is an extension of the first.  If you treat yourself to a decent notebook, you make a commitment to yourself to be worthy of those who the advertisers would have you think used this brand before you.

Or choose a new brand, and be the one others will follow.

Podcasting Too

The internet is great for doing quite a few things.  It’s very good for social media, where you can like pictures of kittens, or retweet angry and ill-informed comments originating from GRU bots, for fun.  It allows you to order your shopping to get delivered to you, or to research stuff like string theory or episode summaries of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Best of all, it allows you to reach out and share your opinions with others, secure in the knowledge that your views are important and will be embraced and appreciated by others, especially if you turn comments to ‘off’ so you never have to read any negative criticism, or indeed any criticism at all, of your forthright views about the casting of a woman as a female Doctor Who, or your controversial views about race and intelligence.

On the up side, for every bigot there are hundreds of passionate and positive people who want to share their knowledge, or even just their experience, about something dear to them.  Or just want to try to entertain.  And for each of these people who knock out a podcast, there are many more who engage in a positive way.

Podcasting is something special.  Technology has developed smartphones that mean we can download podcasts and take them with us, meaning that we can listen to podcasts at home, or on the move.

But the really special thing about podcasts is that the podcasts created by enthusiasts are better than the podcasts produced by professional broadcasters.

This doesn’t happen anywhere else.  A blog is very unlikely to be as good as, say, a novel or a published collection of essays from the ‘New Yorker’, because a blogger is unlikely to have the resources available to a remunerated writer, like an editor.  There are exceptions but the dross to quality ratio is high.  Likewise vlogs.  These only really succeed where they cover niche subjects and have a charismatic host.

Bringing us to podcasting.

The beauty of a podcast is that it can be high concept with a low budget, and a real labour of love.  Do you like Jane Austen?  So do I.  Do I want to hear you talk about Jane Austen for two hours?  Probably not, but I bet you can talk about her life, her literature, adaptations and legacy in fifteen minute chunks for a few episodes?  How about getting your friends involved?  How about asking listeners to contribute.  Holy shit, as Jane Austen never wrote, ‘Talkin’ Bonnets’ is number five in the podcast download charts.

The enthusiast is able to outperform the professional broadcaster for the very same reasons the blogger cannot.  They don’t have an editor and they don’t have to worry about producing to deadline to get paid.  They can craft a labour of love.  They can also interact with their community.

I love a literary podcast, two presenters knocking views about their favourite stories back and forth, it’s almost what the media was invented for.  Because while there is nothing quite like a single voice speaking directly to you, eavesdropping on a conversation is tremendous fun too.

They also provide the perfect platform for original drama.  Anyone with a bit of writing talent and some actor friends who are keen to perform, and are there any other kind of actor friends? can create an episodic drama that builds and audience and a reputation.  This is the stuff that would never have been produced by a broadcaster with a finite amount of airtime.

And of course there are the documentary podcasters.

While genre fiction may have found a more mainstream audience thanks to the Game of Thrones TV series and the MCU, podcasts are, to an extent, the fanzines of the twenty first century, produced with love by people who care about the subject for an audience who are consuming this stuff because they have a passion for it and, rather pleasingly, come to it by way of subscription, just like back in the day.

Maybe somebody should make a documentary podcast about fanzines.  Most likely, somebody already has.  So what about a drama about a fanzine, a fanzine about Jane Austen.  Now that, I’d subscribe to.

Podcasting

Arguably the greatest radio programme ever broadcast on the wireless was ‘Letter from America’.  Every week, the veteran broadcaster and journalist Alistair Cooke would speak for a quarter of an hour about an aspect of Americana.  It had that magical combination that only radio can provide, the intimacy of a single voice, broadcast to millions and speaking only to you, with a charismatic and talented speaker saying something meaningful.  Letter from America was broadcast on the BBC, to a British audience and was, as the name suggests, about life in the US.  It was on air for as long as I can remember but the episode that means the most to me, and I guess to many millions of others, was an anecdote about JFK’s rocking chair.

I heard that broadcast driving along the motorway on a wintry night, and recall Cooke’s supremely soft voice and the rattle of grit bouncing from the bonnet of my car as I passed a gritter lorry.  It seemed to me, driving through that darkness on that night that Cooke, speaking about a night-firing exercise by the US Navy being observed by the then President, was speaking directly to me.

The internet has, for good or ill, revolutionised communication.  Now, anyone who has the means and the inclination can record their thoughts on any subject and, within the bounds of anti-extremism legislation and good taste, make it available to anyone who chooses to read, watch or listen.

This revolution has grown with the bandwidth available to folk, and the sophistication of the tools at their disposal.

Back in the day when you had to plug your computer into a telephone socket and dial up the internet, text downloaded a lot more quickly than images and so the blog, or weblog, became popular.  There was a time when to have one’s diary made public would mean social mortification, but the first internet privacy shift began when people began recording what they were up to, and in some case who they were up, for public consumption.  Book deals were done as a result, legitimising the blog as the gateway to a writing career with those who had the talent and saucy content to interest a wide enough audience.

Youtube has, of course, given us the video blog, essentially a talking head or heads discussing a subject dear to them and, they hope, to others.  This can range from arguing about Star Trek, to arguing about Doctor Who, to arguing about the Marvel Cinematic Universe.  Of course, it could be that there are other sorts of vlogs out there, but I know what I like and I am buggered if I am going to waste my time getting professional make-up tips that I am unlikely ever to use.

Want to make believe that you are the handsome and popular host of a television programme, trusted by millions to come into their homes every night and give your opinions about cultural matters, or talk about vegan stuff, then the vlog is the vehicle for you, and you can do it all from your smartphone.

But it is the podcast that has emerged as the greatest beneficiary of the internet’s merging with media.

Anyone of a certain age will have had the shared experience of trying to make their own radio programme, on cassette.  This was slightly different to recording the charts, where the editing process consisted of trying to press record to minimise any sound of a DJ talking over the track, or your family bickering in the background.  Rather, you would use a cassette and record and record your own links.  This would be done in a state of feverish excitement that lasted until the first time you heard your own voice played back to you.  Surely the technology must be defective, as the tinny whine emanating from the speakers was the voice of a little kid, not the smooth tones of a superstar DJ.

If you were wise, you destroyed that tape kid.

Now, we have a whole recording studio on our smartphones, our voices have broken, and we have something to say.

It’s not a radio broadcast, it’s not a cassette narrowcast, it’s a podcast.