….in which your Blogger achieves critical mess.
A couple of years ago, our regional TV news from the BBC here in north-west England had a refreshingly different 'take' on the annual story of the latest GCSE exam results. You know the sort of thing they usually do: the 'package' features a group of telegenic girls excitedly ripping open the envelopes with the results, then there's the expression of sheer joy, excitement, whooping, "Oh my God! Six A stars!", hugging with fellow pupils, etc. Not this time! Instead, a group of lads, possibly not in the top quartile of intelligence, was seen opening the envelopes with a mixture of pessimism and world-weary acceptance that the results would be, shall we say, slightly less than impressive. As indeed they were.
One in particular, though, clearly had a realistic and cheerful view of his prospects, because when you read his results out - which, if I remember rightly consisted of two grade Es, if that's still the lowest pass grade, and the rest 'U', which I think is for 'unclassifiable' - far from being embarrassed to recite these results in front of the TV cameras, he was clearly, as they say round these parts, 'dead chuffed': "That's good for me, that" was his considered response and he went off with his mates quite happy. In a way this was touching, and "that's good for me, that" instantly entered the family list of catchphrases, to be deployed whenever someone does something which, to most people, would be considered quite unexceptional – for example, when I screw in a key-ring cabinet in the downstairs 'cloaks'. In fact, any achievement involving me and DIY is greeted with this response. Because that's what you do in families – you take the proverbial from each other. It's a sign of affection, because, as my dad would have said, unless you want a fight, you can only be rude to people you like. You can usually see the extent of friendship amongst males by the amount they take the p**s out of each other.
There's a good reason why men do this, of course: in evolutionary terms we're but a few steps away from hunter-gatherers, who need to know whether others are tough enough, quick enough, bold enough to do the day's 'kill' and fight off sabre-toothed tigers and the like. If not, your role is to be back at the cave, doing your best to help protect and nurture the land and the young. That is not a soft option and usually requires more individual courage and initiative and being happy to rely on your own wits, make your own decisions and judgements, and this requires the capacity and tenacity to take a stance that others might challenge. As will become apparent to anyone who knows me or reads even a smattering blogs, Tweets, Facebook updates, etc., I do have a number of *fairly strongly* held opinions (some of which, on the UK joining the Euro for instance, I feel have been vindicated - so there!) and are more than happy to express them in, shall we say, robust terms. That of course invites criticism from time to time and that is fair enough.
Of course, if you have spent all your working life prior to going into education in the media, everything you write, say and, in TV's case, how you look (actually, increasingly in radio's case also how you look, thanks to the ubiquitous WebCam) is open to scrutiny and challenge: first by your colleagues, and then by the public. If you start on a weekly newspaper and then progress to a regional daily, as I did, you are very conscious of the impact your work has and that you not only had better get it right but you know you might have to defend it, in person, to a very angry punter who turns up at the office counter. I have a feeling that if Johann Hari, instead of going straight from Oxford University to a national, liberal newspaper had done an apprenticeship in local newspapers (so brilliantly portrayed, at least in the time the drama is set, by the recent TV adaptation of The Field of Blood), then, despite what Toby Young may think, he would be less touchy about criticism, more respectful of others' views, leave their Wikipedia pages alone, and be more wary about making stuff up or passing others' work as his own. Certainly - and of course I do have a vested interest in this - some training would be a good idea, but you can't get the feel for the relationship between the words that you type and the people who read them outside the workplace bubble until you get up close and personal with your readers and audiences.
However, journalism and broadcasting is one thing – academic writing is another and brings a whole different raft of criticism and review, which can be chastening and even crushing, but which has to be endured and expected if you are to make any kind of impact. I've loved writing since, well, since I could write – which is a terrible way of expressing a love of writing! Stephen Fry, unsurprisingly, says this a lot better, in his introduction to a new BBC series, which starts on Sunday. Here's how his piece in the Radio Times (24-30 September, 2011: 19) – which forms part of the forward to the book of the series – begins:
Words are all we have. Certainly, reader, words are all we have, you and I, as you read this and I sit and tap at my keyboard. You have no idea where I am as I do this, and I have no idea who, where or what you are as you continue to read. We are connected by a filament of language that stretches from somewhere inside my brain to somewhere inside yours. There are so many cognitive and cerebral processes involved simply in the act of my writing and your reading these words that not all the massed ranks of biology, genetics, linguistics, neurology, computational science or philosophy can properly describe, let alone understand or explain, how it all works.
Yes, well, not bad Stephen - but par for the course for the Fry. When I was in the final stages of writing my new book – gosh, you're wondering how many paragraphs it would take until I actually got round to the plug when you? – I re-read David Hendy's superb work on BBC Radio Four, Life On Air. It has rightly won awards: the research is extraordinarily good and, most importantly, the narrative around it is lively, engaging and even riveting – quite a feat when it's discussing internal BBC memos! David gets under the skin of what was going on, why things happened the way they did, what were the key points when decisions were made and decides if those decisions were due to the force of particular personalities, or for artistic, ideological, bureaucratic or pragmatic reasons. All this I try to do in my own research, particularly the historical elements that I'm working on. When I finished re-reading his book I e-mailed David (who I've known for some years and with whom I've presented papers at conferences and so on) and said that his work was both inspiring, but also demoralising. Inspiring, because of the quality of the work and the elegance of his writing; demoralising, because I knew that I could never write anything as good. He responded, saying that I was being too kind, etc. But I'm not - and neither is it a case of false modesty on my part; the readers of this blog will know that is not an accusation that can fairly be levelled at me! But I hope I do have a realistic assessment of my abilities. I know that my book is the best that I can produce, given my own limitations (see below!) and that of time and the distraction of little things like life, but I think I've pulled together some coherent arguments and evidence, and that it is written in a lively style. Given the wide scope indicated by the title it is of course open to criticism at a more general level; that I've chosen to concentrate on the wrong things and that I've missed or underplayed key developments and exaggerated others. Here is a bit of a blurb on the book – roaring up the Amazon top 1000,000 chart (!) - and then we can move on:
• A lively and engaging text, using interviews with broadcasters and managers, as wells as research and case studies from the UK, USA, China, India, South Africa, Australia and many other countries.
• Argues that it is important to understand broadcasting's history in order to appreciate today's issues.
• Reveals how people 'really' use the broadcast media and explains why 'on demand' and multiplatform viewing and listening is causing a fundamental shift in our relationship with broadcasting.
• Explores the significance of Reality TV, including Big Brother and shows how social media has helped to blur the distinctions between fantasy and 'truth' and the continuation of broadcasting 'myths'.
• Assesses the validity of accusations from both the 'Left' and the 'Right' of bias in broadcasting.
• Investigates the impact of broadcasting, including the TV leaders' debates in the UK 2010 general election, and arguments that TV news coverage encourages 'copycat' mass killings.
• Analyses claims of 'dumbing down' in broadcasting and contains startling evidence of reductions in viewing of 'serious' programmes.
• Shows how trust in broadcasting and broadcasters is under threat, including studies of the 'Gilligan' and 'Ross/Brand' affairs.
• Considers the impact of TV and radio programmes, formats and news coverage across national borders.
• Discusses the nature and importance of Citizen Journalism.
• Makes the case for the continued importance and special appeal of radio, including 'pirate' radio, but reveals a potentially fatal drop in listening by younger people.
I give myself credit, too, for exposing myself to those very possibilities of negative criticism. I might immodestly think that I have a good reputation at the moment and every time you put out something new you risk that reputation being damaged. Every person who creates anything – and then, when the first 'thing' turns out well, creates something else, whether it be an album, a book, a movie, or, indeed, a piece of furniture - knows this. Yet still we do it because, despite all the risks involved with such a venture, let alone the hard slog (and although the research is wonderful and the end result can be satisfying writing is hard, hard, hard!), the sacrifices, both financial (I took three months' unpaid leave because that was the only where I could have a sustained period I could really concentrate on the work) and personal, not least to my wife, you feel you need to do it. Because you can – or you think you can - and because the rewards in making the connections with the mere words that Fry talks about are immense. Getting into somebody else's brain, engaging with them through those collections of shapes, IS an extraordinary business and hugely gratifying.
After those e-mails to David I also thought I was being rather too unkind on myself; not in my assessment of the comparative merits of our work, but in remembering that (and this is absolutely not to take ANYTHING away from his towering achievements), aside of course from being highly intelligent, he had read mediaeval history at Oxford, and would therefore have been taught and mentored by some of the best in the academic world on how to research material, how to assess it and how to write it up. Whereas I didn't attend – other than weekend and summer schools - a traditional university (of any type, let alone 'the dreaming spires') and went to and FE and Tech College before becoming an indentured trainee at a local 'paper. I went into academic life late and have been playing 'catch up' ever since, in contrast to most of the others who write in my field, generally squeezing in my research and writing at week-ends and holidays. That could read like an almost Hari-style special pleading of mitigating circumstances, or a request for special sensitivity in the assessment of my work. It isn't, but, if the book doesn't go down well, those thoughts will help me bounce back and increase my determination to do even better next time (if fate and circumstances permit a 'next time'). The book is done, it's out there, and although, it will be a 'squeaky bum moment' when I see the first reviews, if they are harsh I shall at least think back to that lad with his GCSE results: that's good for me, that. Bugger! That crash was the key-ring cabinet falling down.
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