Not a daily Mail reader

(Originally posted on 13th July 2007)

Today I finished The Road Home by Rose Tremain and I do think it's possible that I've just read this year's Man Booker Prize winner. It's the story of Lev, an eastern European immigrant to Britain: his wife has died and he has come to Britain to try to make enough money to improve the life of his daughter, who now lives with his mother. I'd not read a Rose Tremain before, but until now she's been best known as an historical... no, I don't care what Fowleresque edict I'm contravening, a historical novelist, and I'm rarely tempted by those. But she has an elegant, unfussy style which works its magic quite discreetly.

I've no doubt that Lev's story is not typical of the immigrant experience in Britain. He has the benefit of good fortune a little too often and his suffering at the hands of British prejudice is infrequent and relatively benign. But I'm not sure that's a valid objection. Rose Tremain is telling Lev's story and it is asking a little too much to ask him to represent everyone with a similar backstory. If Lev and the supporting cast were nothing more than stereotypes, it would be an issue. But Lev, his family and friends at home and his new acquaintances are well-rounded, the sort of characters one has no difficulty imagining outside the confines of this narrative.

Reading it reminded me of Ripley Bogle by Robert McLiam Wilson, a novel I loved when I read it about ten years ago. Ripley Bogle is homeless, but quite the street poet, with dandyish artistic sensibilities. But he is such a vibrant, vital creation that one soon sees how irrelevant any accusation that the author has romanticised life on the streets would be. And I met a man not unlike him at Crisis one Christmas: Brian was as well-read, knowledgeable and erudite as any Islington dinner party guest.

Earlier in the week, when I was only a short way into The Road Home, The Daily Mail took advantage of the conviction of the 21st July would-be bombers to emblazon their front page with a characteristically nasty headline: 'Bombers on benefits: How four refugees taking sanctuary in Britain betrayed us'. No doubt further stories about the dangers of the amoral foreigner invasion will follow and it will become even harder for anyone with the slightest tint to their skin - creosote-hued celebs not included - to step outside without being subjected to stares of hatred and suspicion.

Whenever I come across these examples of The Daily Mail's revolting agenda, I always think about an interview in The Guardian a few years ago with the Jennifer Griffin, daughter of Nick Griffin, the abominable leader of the abominable British National Party. She'd decided that she wanted to set up a BNP equivalent of the Young Conservatives (or Conservative Future as they rebranded themselves at a time when it seemed like the Tories had none, before Tony Blair contrived his legacy of making them look electable again). Challenged to defend her views on 'white flight' and Britain's being 'full-up' - clearly just a parroting of those of her father, who presumably spouted racist propaganda at her in lieu of bedtime stories - she said, "'The Daily Mail seems sure that illegal immigration is causing terrible problems across the country." You can read the article at http://politics.guardian.co.uk/elections2004/story/0,,1217914,00.html - it's bloody scary.

Having spent most of this post damning the Mail mentality, I must confess to, erm, buying The Mail on Sunday today: I couldn't resist the giveaway of Prince's new album. I was very curious to see what the lascivious composer of Sexy MF, Dirty Mind, Gett Off, etc. might possibly have to say to middle England.

Not, it would seem, a lot. He rocks out competently, warbles along to some jazzy lounge stuff and generally provides an excellent soundtrack to a cheesy evening of clumsy seduction. Meh, which I believe is the expression of indifference de nos jours.

The Mail on Sunday lived up to expectations though: every page made me shudder.