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Diaries: Into Politics 1972-1982
INTO POLITICS begins in 1973 with Clark's selection as Tory candidate for Nancy Astor's old seat in Plymouth (rival candidates included future Conservative luminaries Michael Howard and Norman Fowler). Alan Clark describes his election to the Commons in the 1974 general election; his years as a backbencher coincide with Edward Heath as PM, his downfall and the arrival of Margaret Thatcher. This volume ends with the inside story of the Falklands War. In his private life Alan and his wife Jane and their two young sons take over Saltwood Castle, previously the home of his father Kenneth (Civilisation) Clark. His enthusiasms for the estate, skiing, fast cars and girls are never far away.
372 pages, Paperback
First published October 12, 2000
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About the author
Alan Clark
125 books21 followersAlan Clark was an English Conservative MP, historian and diarist.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
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Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews
December 11, 2020
This is the earliest volume of Clark’s diaries, but was published after the success of those covering 1983-92. His editor should honestly have started this book later, as the entries spanning 1972-79 are mostly just a man moaning about having to live in a castle – or occasionally being forced to sell one of his vintage cars. From 1980, the entries become more detailed and more centred on politics, before the expansive chronicle of 1981-2, which climaxes with the Falklands War.
Unfortunately I won’t be reading any more of Clark’s diaries, because he’s an absolute fucking prick. Seeing modern history through his eyes is an almost unrelentingly depressing experience. He’s a lech, a misogynist and an unrepentant racist. In a way there’s a parallel with Errol Flynn’s performative wickedness, in that Clark is undoubtedly playing up to an image and we’re asked to weigh up how much of his Nazi sympathising is merely attention-seeking, but that’s honestly not something you should have to say about an MP.
And there is a serious point here, which is about the moral corruption at the centre of political life – and at the heart of the British media. There is no way on God’s green earth that someone like Clark should ever have been close to the levers of power. Similarly, it’s disgusting that he should have become an improbable national treasure off the back of these books – lauded by the broadsheets for his waspishness, given a pass because he was caustic and indiscreet, deferred to because he had a posh voice and a title. We have honestly been enabling psychotic Nazis because they’re rather fun for decades now, and it makes me want to puke.
On a more prosaic note, these diaries are also quite boring. You’d think that a narrator who was vindictive, venal, crass, comically self-important, utterly self-absorbed, and also literally fancied Thatcher might offer some sort of vicarious amusement, but not really. There are a handful of funny lines (including a nice one about how Argentinian prisoners should eat each other), and a smattering of insights across the later pages, but Clark is neither as funny nor as smart as he seems to imagine – or as his cheerleaders in the book pages suggest – and it can also be difficult to follow what’s going on, with newspaper articles and even people alluded to but never properly identified.
It's interesting to read the book in 2020, though, and see to what extent Clark’s worldview has permeated the mainstream. At one point he argues that someone should be no more criticised for what they say than the colour of their skin, an opinion that seems to be coming back in vogue, with the false hysteria around a non-existent ‘cancel culture’. Clark too offered a respectable face of fascism, an unimportant but perhaps symbolic bridging figure between the jackbooted Mosley, the eerie Enoch Powell, and the transparently phoney pub bore, Nigel Farage. He also delighted in “triggering” the left, through the simple expedient of repeatedly praising Hitler, which honestly isn’t fine. And he remains a prime example of a fascinating phenomenon: the person who is mawkishly sentimental about animals (in his case particularly birds), as well as his family, his country and his God – not, in this case, a God I recognise – but who loathes people. Especially those who are poor, vulnerable or any colour except white. There’s something here too about the modern question of privilege, which despite his relentless self-pity, Clark is positively drenched in, while believing for all the world that it’s his own brilliance that has garnered him such rewards.
It isn't a book entirely without value, but to be honest I hated it. More than that, I found it chilling: the diaries of a man who thought himself a character but was instead a minor monster. That the British media largely fell for his act, and continues to be duped by his spiritual successors, is about the bleakest thing I can think of.
Unfortunately I won’t be reading any more of Clark’s diaries, because he’s an absolute fucking prick. Seeing modern history through his eyes is an almost unrelentingly depressing experience. He’s a lech, a misogynist and an unrepentant racist. In a way there’s a parallel with Errol Flynn’s performative wickedness, in that Clark is undoubtedly playing up to an image and we’re asked to weigh up how much of his Nazi sympathising is merely attention-seeking, but that’s honestly not something you should have to say about an MP.
And there is a serious point here, which is about the moral corruption at the centre of political life – and at the heart of the British media. There is no way on God’s green earth that someone like Clark should ever have been close to the levers of power. Similarly, it’s disgusting that he should have become an improbable national treasure off the back of these books – lauded by the broadsheets for his waspishness, given a pass because he was caustic and indiscreet, deferred to because he had a posh voice and a title. We have honestly been enabling psychotic Nazis because they’re rather fun for decades now, and it makes me want to puke.
On a more prosaic note, these diaries are also quite boring. You’d think that a narrator who was vindictive, venal, crass, comically self-important, utterly self-absorbed, and also literally fancied Thatcher might offer some sort of vicarious amusement, but not really. There are a handful of funny lines (including a nice one about how Argentinian prisoners should eat each other), and a smattering of insights across the later pages, but Clark is neither as funny nor as smart as he seems to imagine – or as his cheerleaders in the book pages suggest – and it can also be difficult to follow what’s going on, with newspaper articles and even people alluded to but never properly identified.
It's interesting to read the book in 2020, though, and see to what extent Clark’s worldview has permeated the mainstream. At one point he argues that someone should be no more criticised for what they say than the colour of their skin, an opinion that seems to be coming back in vogue, with the false hysteria around a non-existent ‘cancel culture’. Clark too offered a respectable face of fascism, an unimportant but perhaps symbolic bridging figure between the jackbooted Mosley, the eerie Enoch Powell, and the transparently phoney pub bore, Nigel Farage. He also delighted in “triggering” the left, through the simple expedient of repeatedly praising Hitler, which honestly isn’t fine. And he remains a prime example of a fascinating phenomenon: the person who is mawkishly sentimental about animals (in his case particularly birds), as well as his family, his country and his God – not, in this case, a God I recognise – but who loathes people. Especially those who are poor, vulnerable or any colour except white. There’s something here too about the modern question of privilege, which despite his relentless self-pity, Clark is positively drenched in, while believing for all the world that it’s his own brilliance that has garnered him such rewards.
It isn't a book entirely without value, but to be honest I hated it. More than that, I found it chilling: the diaries of a man who thought himself a character but was instead a minor monster. That the British media largely fell for his act, and continues to be duped by his spiritual successors, is about the bleakest thing I can think of.
December 29, 2020
I decided to read this first volume (chronologically) of Alan Clark's diaries after all the praise and popularity heaped on the earlier titles. Yes, they do provide some insight into his character such as his persistent anxiety over his finances but largely they are just a litany of references to different people he meets at various events. The entries become meatier and more informative towards the end with the advent of the Falklands War but that didn't stop it being a disappointing read overall. Granted, they were not written for public consumption and were only published after his death which explains a lot.
October 24, 2019
People have raved about him being the greatest diary writer ever so I was expecting something really great from the diaries. I knew that there would be things about his personal life in them as it says that the diaries are published as they were and not heavily edited to take out anything embarrassing and contraversial. But I did expect him to talk more about the major political events that were going on. I found myself greatly disappointed. I know that we talk about ourselves in diaries but Alan takes this to a whole new level of self obsession. He goes on about all the women he is sleeping with, how upset his wife gets about it but it doesn't stop him, his fancy home and chalet in Switzerland, his cars, his gambling addiction, his debts, his kids, women he meets and tries to pull, and moaning on about every fatal illness he is sure he is suffering from (he is a confessed hypochondriac). In one year's entries he thinks he has latent salmonella, terminal blood poisoning, oncoming paralysis, malignant conditions-being his doctor was certainly a challenge.
What bugged me most was that there was so little detail on his political career-we get him complaining about his career going nowhere, which is because he has a habit of insulting people and saying dumb shit including some shocking pro-Nazi stuff that offends people. His string of women also upsets people, gbearing in mind the different views on behaviour in this time period. He praises Hitler, agrees that the way forward is a genetic need for racial purity and supports Nazi ideals, which makes him vile in my book. His mentions about politics tends to be when he is talking about himself-ie his speaking out for the Falklands War is about how many TV appearances he notches up and how it can boost his career but nothing about the main events of the war or the soldiers who died. He was also going on about collusion between Britain and Argentina to allow the invasion which really annoyed me. He leaves out things like the leadership contest that sacks Ted Heath, details on General Election campaigns and most of the big political topics. These are personal diaries that hardly mention politics so I found them very dull to read and not what I expected them to be. I don't recommend them.
What bugged me most was that there was so little detail on his political career-we get him complaining about his career going nowhere, which is because he has a habit of insulting people and saying dumb shit including some shocking pro-Nazi stuff that offends people. His string of women also upsets people, gbearing in mind the different views on behaviour in this time period. He praises Hitler, agrees that the way forward is a genetic need for racial purity and supports Nazi ideals, which makes him vile in my book. His mentions about politics tends to be when he is talking about himself-ie his speaking out for the Falklands War is about how many TV appearances he notches up and how it can boost his career but nothing about the main events of the war or the soldiers who died. He was also going on about collusion between Britain and Argentina to allow the invasion which really annoyed me. He leaves out things like the leadership contest that sacks Ted Heath, details on General Election campaigns and most of the big political topics. These are personal diaries that hardly mention politics so I found them very dull to read and not what I expected them to be. I don't recommend them.
October 15, 2012
A bit of a shit and a shagger, but you can't help reading these totally honest diary entries without getting to understand and admire the man.
Enjoyed very much, although will admit to skipping most of 1981 (bit heavy weight political and full of references to people, who after 30 years, are long forgotten) and going straight to 1982 and the Falklands.
Enjoyed very much, although will admit to skipping most of 1981 (bit heavy weight political and full of references to people, who after 30 years, are long forgotten) and going straight to 1982 and the Falklands.
August 11, 2011
Who would have known being so rich could be so hard? Described a life I will never live, nor want to live. But it was interesting to feel a part of his life while reading.
June 30, 2019
First; published after his better known 1983-1992 Dairies, these are less obviously tarted up for the public and thus more revealing of his nature;
Second; despite the publisher's blurb, it says surprisingly little about the coming of St Margaret. Or much else, apart from Clark's quest to rise to the top, without doing any work. A prototype Boris Johnson if you will (and the reason I was inspired to re-read it).
As others have mentioned, he's a pretty unpleasant character - his brother Colin once described him as Mr Toad, which seems about right. There are far better political diaries available (Bernard Donoghue, Wedgwood, Woodrow Wyatt etc), so to use a phrase from Tropic Thunder, he needs to go full shit.
I'd love to learn more about his relationship with his father (Clark financed his life by selling his pictures without asking), his siblings (rarely even mentioned), why he decided at the age of 30 to marry a 16 year old etc. Maybe a new version is needed.
Second; despite the publisher's blurb, it says surprisingly little about the coming of St Margaret. Or much else, apart from Clark's quest to rise to the top, without doing any work. A prototype Boris Johnson if you will (and the reason I was inspired to re-read it).
As others have mentioned, he's a pretty unpleasant character - his brother Colin once described him as Mr Toad, which seems about right. There are far better political diaries available (Bernard Donoghue, Wedgwood, Woodrow Wyatt etc), so to use a phrase from Tropic Thunder, he needs to go full shit.
I'd love to learn more about his relationship with his father (Clark financed his life by selling his pictures without asking), his siblings (rarely even mentioned), why he decided at the age of 30 to marry a 16 year old etc. Maybe a new version is needed.
September 15, 2022
Ugh I don’t know, it’s just painful having to read about a self obsessed, far-right rich man moaning about how ‘poor’ and old he is when people in his time were actually suffering… some funny gossipy moments and it’s amusing to read about famous Eighties politicians popping up like side characters in a play, but otherwise this is a bit of a teeth-gritter. Really makes you think - if even being this wealthy and powerful, doing little but going to endless dinner parties and coming up with quips, can make you this unhappy … then what’s the point??
The best bits are the unexpected ones, like the time when he hits on a young woman and takes her for tea, believing she’s really into him when she probably just fancied a trip around the HoC, and it ruins his week when she understandably declines a second date. That and the constant Thatcher simping, assuming everything she does is ‘coquettish’ (lol). You can start to understand how she kept ahold of power so long with these guys around…
The best bits are the unexpected ones, like the time when he hits on a young woman and takes her for tea, believing she’s really into him when she probably just fancied a trip around the HoC, and it ruins his week when she understandably declines a second date. That and the constant Thatcher simping, assuming everything she does is ‘coquettish’ (lol). You can start to understand how she kept ahold of power so long with these guys around…
October 17, 2022
Different kettle of fish from the latter diaries, with the first half or so more about Alan's personal life, the financial struggles of a blackjack addiction, owning a castle and not being able to buy and maintain a fleet of vintage cars - Alan is back in all his hypochondriac, hyperbolic and indisciplined glory. There's one amazing scene where he cites the nazi singing scene in Caberet as inspirational - batshit stuff and of course, great fun.
July 13, 2023
It is odd to see the word 'spastic' in print (the diaries were published in 2000) but refreshing to see an outsider comment on the mechanisms of Parliament and constituency politics. Very good on The Falklands (though he is a slightly biased source, he WAS a military historian) and on fatherhood. Excellent explanatory notes on cast of characters from Ion Trewin, this will stand as a source on politics in the era of 'The Lady'.
June 17, 2019
He was more lively when younger (nudge nudge, wink wink) but perhaps had less time to write a good diary, so this, while enjoyable, is not as good as the other 2 volumes.
June 1, 2025
Alan Clark started the recent push for political diaries in the 1990s. They were gossipy, seemingly unvarnished, and gave the reader an insight into the writer, and what was going on in Parliament at the time.
In Power, Clark’s first published diaries presented him as a bit of an aging lothario who knew where he’d end up politically (not at the absolute top of the heap), but knowing how to get things done(?).
In this book, he’s presented as lacking in money (he always seems to be meeting his bank manager about his overdraft), but desperate to become an MP (and later a minister, or at least a senior backbencher). As a result this book, while illuminating, reads sadder. There’s little attempt to bed women, which is good (it probably doesn’t stand up to modern scrutiny), but there’s less of the swagger we saw in the first book too, and readers might miss that.
In Power, Clark’s first published diaries presented him as a bit of an aging lothario who knew where he’d end up politically (not at the absolute top of the heap), but knowing how to get things done(?).
In this book, he’s presented as lacking in money (he always seems to be meeting his bank manager about his overdraft), but desperate to become an MP (and later a minister, or at least a senior backbencher). As a result this book, while illuminating, reads sadder. There’s little attempt to bed women, which is good (it probably doesn’t stand up to modern scrutiny), but there’s less of the swagger we saw in the first book too, and readers might miss that.
March 12, 2008
Reading Group selection. Good argument!
June 17, 2013
Fascinating reading. The Old Right and all that. If Dennis Skinner were a randy, rich Old Etonian. Sort of.
July 28, 2011
great book, the only Tory of any human worth that I can think of. not to deny he was a bastard too.
Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews