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Meaning of Recognition: New Essays 2001 - 2005
Literary critic, cultural commentator, TV personality, journalist, poet, political analyst, satirist and Formula One Clive James is a man (and master) of many talents, and the essays collected here are testament to that fact. Whether discussing Bing Crosby, Bruno Schulz or Shakespeare, he manages to prioritize style and substance simultaneously, his tone never less than pitch-perfect, his argument always considered. With each phrase carefully crafted and each piece offering cause for thought, the resulting volumewhich takes the reader from London to Bali, theatre to library, from pre-election campaigning to sitting in front of the TV at home, watching The Sopranos and The West Wingis remarkable not only for its range and insight, but also its intimacy and honesty. A contemporary everyman, James is also unmistakably himself, and The Meaning of Recognition shows him at his witty, learnedand heartfeltbest.
- GenresEssaysNonfiction
383 pages, Hardcover
First published September 2, 2005
9 people are currently reading
71 people want to read
About the author
Clive James
94 books289 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
An expatriate Australian broadcast personality and author of cultural criticism, memoir, fiction, travelogue and poetry. Translator of Dante.
An expatriate Australian broadcast personality and author of cultural criticism, memoir, fiction, travelogue and poetry. Translator of Dante.
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
December 27, 2019
Thirty-one essays.
Dedication to Ian McEwan
The epigragh: 'No fixed idea except to avoid fixed ideas.' Robert Musil
I've read three so far,
'Larkin Treads the Boards',
'Slouching towards Yeats',
'Save Us from Celebrity'.
I'm next to read 'Philip Roth's Alternative America', and then pick my way through the list.
The Meaning of Recognition
Polanski and the Pianist
Fantasy in the West Wing
Pushkin's Deadly Gift
Great Sopranos of Our Time
A Memory Called Malouf
The Hidden Art of Bing Crosby
• Larkin Treads the Boards
The Iron Capital of Bruno Schulz
Criticism à la Kermode
Fast Talking Dames
Rough Guides to Shakespeare
General Election Sequence
Primo Levi and the Painted Veil
A Big Boutique of Australian Essays
• Slouching towards Yeats
Cyrano on the Scaffold
A Nightclub in Bali
Our First Book
In Memoriam Sarah Raphael
Aldous Huxley Then and Now
Formula Zero
A Man Called Peter Porter
Weeping for London
Attack of the Killer Critics
Philip Roth's Alternative America
The Miraculous Vineyard of Australian Poetry
The University of the Holocaust
No Way, Madame Bovary
The Battle for Isaiah Berlin
• Save Us from Celebrity
Dedication to Ian McEwan
The epigragh: 'No fixed idea except to avoid fixed ideas.' Robert Musil
I've read three so far,
'Larkin Treads the Boards',
'Slouching towards Yeats',
'Save Us from Celebrity'.
I'm next to read 'Philip Roth's Alternative America', and then pick my way through the list.
The Meaning of Recognition
Polanski and the Pianist
Fantasy in the West Wing
Pushkin's Deadly Gift
Great Sopranos of Our Time
A Memory Called Malouf
The Hidden Art of Bing Crosby
• Larkin Treads the Boards
The Iron Capital of Bruno Schulz
Criticism à la Kermode
Fast Talking Dames
Rough Guides to Shakespeare
General Election Sequence
Primo Levi and the Painted Veil
A Big Boutique of Australian Essays
• Slouching towards Yeats
Cyrano on the Scaffold
A Nightclub in Bali
Our First Book
In Memoriam Sarah Raphael
Aldous Huxley Then and Now
Formula Zero
A Man Called Peter Porter
Weeping for London
Attack of the Killer Critics
Philip Roth's Alternative America
The Miraculous Vineyard of Australian Poetry
The University of the Holocaust
No Way, Madame Bovary
The Battle for Isaiah Berlin
• Save Us from Celebrity
December 31, 2019
Clive James in his usual, effortlessly erudite mode while also managing to be thought-provoking and often very funny.
December 6, 2016
It seems that I have been reading this collection of essays for most of the year. And now that I am racing to the end of the year, and have a few books left to hit my target, I managed to summon the discipline to complete it.
This might sound odd, given I very often and very loudly proclaim that Clive James is one of my favourite, nay, most influential authors. But the truth is, in every prolific essay writer's life, a good proportion of his works will be on topics that you just don't care about.
In this particular volume, Clive James writes about car racing, politics, history, the cult of celebrity, translation, elections, and much more besides. And to be honest, I don't give much of a shit about car racing. I couldn't care less about why it is the way it is. And similarly, having lived through a number of American elections (as they have been reflected into the Land Down Under by left-leaning liberals shouting into the void), reading analyses of them does tend to carve away my soul until I am but a floating splinter of myself, waiting in my pained boredom for the breeze to dismantle me and carry me away.
Even when James writes about subjects whose tedium makes me want to cry into my tea, it is an instructive read. Clive James is a poet, a man who wants to pride himself on well-shaped and meaningful writing. He wants to be known as a good writer, an intelligent writer, a man with a dashing repartee and an impromptu wit that he has idolised in others. He admires writers such as Gustave Flaubert for their ability to write without wasting a single word. He places himself in popular history as a sad, balding fellow determined to prove his virility by virtue of his baldness, while simultaneously (often successfully) attempting to demonstrate his erudition... and somehow to leave the spotlight. Yet his inner moth causes him to sidestep into its brightness as much as his inner pride causes him to step outside of it.
As an essayist and critic myself, one whose works have undeniably been shaped by the influence of this famous Australian expat, even the most long-drawn-out works of James's have much to teach. It is not just that Clive James is able to write about a book, an event, or a theme well; it is not that he can carry a phrase carefully and assiduously, unlike most critics and writers of our time; but it's that he has an unerring confidence in exploring the side-issues thrown to light by his central topic.
This is something that makes my own works utterly juvenile in comparison. Where Clive James is a commentator, analyst, and careful observer of the state of the world - a quality that one could also confer on a George Orwell (in essayist mode, rather than novelist mode) - I am a mere reviewer, taking a snapshot of a work as a singular entity and failing to explore its deep and interwoven relationships with culture, politics, genres, and perspectives.
In this regard, then, reading this book has been somewhat monumental for me, and perhaps it's an indication that I ought to pay more attention to Clive James's narrative and argumentative structures.
It could also be an indication that I don't give myself enough time to taste a subject while I write. Clive James, a poet before anything else, has on more than one occasion pointed out that good writing is not fast writing. He's as likely to write one verse of poetry in an afternoon, in between watching TV, as I am to smash out a singular article in half an hour... and then publish it before it's properly finished.
If nothing else, The Meaning of Recognition is true to its title. In its pages I recognised much more of myself and the nature of this writer whose pedestal is quite high; but more importantly, I know how and why I recognise them.
This might sound odd, given I very often and very loudly proclaim that Clive James is one of my favourite, nay, most influential authors. But the truth is, in every prolific essay writer's life, a good proportion of his works will be on topics that you just don't care about.
In this particular volume, Clive James writes about car racing, politics, history, the cult of celebrity, translation, elections, and much more besides. And to be honest, I don't give much of a shit about car racing. I couldn't care less about why it is the way it is. And similarly, having lived through a number of American elections (as they have been reflected into the Land Down Under by left-leaning liberals shouting into the void), reading analyses of them does tend to carve away my soul until I am but a floating splinter of myself, waiting in my pained boredom for the breeze to dismantle me and carry me away.
Even when James writes about subjects whose tedium makes me want to cry into my tea, it is an instructive read. Clive James is a poet, a man who wants to pride himself on well-shaped and meaningful writing. He wants to be known as a good writer, an intelligent writer, a man with a dashing repartee and an impromptu wit that he has idolised in others. He admires writers such as Gustave Flaubert for their ability to write without wasting a single word. He places himself in popular history as a sad, balding fellow determined to prove his virility by virtue of his baldness, while simultaneously (often successfully) attempting to demonstrate his erudition... and somehow to leave the spotlight. Yet his inner moth causes him to sidestep into its brightness as much as his inner pride causes him to step outside of it.
As an essayist and critic myself, one whose works have undeniably been shaped by the influence of this famous Australian expat, even the most long-drawn-out works of James's have much to teach. It is not just that Clive James is able to write about a book, an event, or a theme well; it is not that he can carry a phrase carefully and assiduously, unlike most critics and writers of our time; but it's that he has an unerring confidence in exploring the side-issues thrown to light by his central topic.
This is something that makes my own works utterly juvenile in comparison. Where Clive James is a commentator, analyst, and careful observer of the state of the world - a quality that one could also confer on a George Orwell (in essayist mode, rather than novelist mode) - I am a mere reviewer, taking a snapshot of a work as a singular entity and failing to explore its deep and interwoven relationships with culture, politics, genres, and perspectives.
In this regard, then, reading this book has been somewhat monumental for me, and perhaps it's an indication that I ought to pay more attention to Clive James's narrative and argumentative structures.
It could also be an indication that I don't give myself enough time to taste a subject while I write. Clive James, a poet before anything else, has on more than one occasion pointed out that good writing is not fast writing. He's as likely to write one verse of poetry in an afternoon, in between watching TV, as I am to smash out a singular article in half an hour... and then publish it before it's properly finished.
If nothing else, The Meaning of Recognition is true to its title. In its pages I recognised much more of myself and the nature of this writer whose pedestal is quite high; but more importantly, I know how and why I recognise them.
August 24, 2018
Funny polticial and cultural digs (his series on the 2005 UK general election is acid and insightful). I needed to read someone who doesn’t believe that everything personal is political tbf. (Larkin is a great poet and was a terrible man – why is this so difficult for people to accept? Is it just the halo effect?)
His long essay on Isaiah Berlin is fantastic and contentious, and his retorts to the professional philosophers who come at him about it devastating, inspiring.
His long essay on Isaiah Berlin is fantastic and contentious, and his retorts to the professional philosophers who come at him about it devastating, inspiring.
August 2, 2019
A series of high energy squibs going off behind the eyes. James' essays pack enormous erudition and media trivia on to the same page. He can talk about Bruno Schulz in one breath and George Bush and reality TV in the next. Entertaining, polemic, sometimes even crass and just wrong - how could the coup in Chile have improved the standard of living for the average Chilean? But always worth reading...
July 17, 2015
Good spy story, but characters are less believable
Pitched as a Le Carre style thriller, it's a good technical read on tradecraft, but I felt the main protagonists were too overwhelmingly fabulous for the story. Would have preferred more flawed and less comic book heroes.
Pitched as a Le Carre style thriller, it's a good technical read on tradecraft, but I felt the main protagonists were too overwhelmingly fabulous for the story. Would have preferred more flawed and less comic book heroes.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews