Fair warning: Over the next few weeks my writing is likely to become more introspective, and I’m likely to use longer sentences. Because I’ve started reading Clive James’ book Cultural Amnesia.
I haven’t read any of James’ books before. His TV shows annoyed me, mostly because his slightly-too-clever scripting was delivered in that, flat deadpan style of someone implying “I’m cleverer than you, so I’ll speak slowly so you realise how clever I am.” Or so it felt to me. But when I read an interview about Cultural Amnesia back in March, it triggered so many wonderful thoughts that I was inspired — nay, forced to write Stay alert, ye nameless, toiling animals.
I still think it’s one of my better essays.
So when I finally saw Cultural Amnesia in paperback, I had to grab it. 35 pages in, I’m rapt.