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Telegraph
20-07-2025
- General
- Telegraph
I pity people who have no interest in culture
The first edition of the Oxford English Dictionary, published almost a century ago, defines 'hinterland' only in a literal sense. It is from the German hinter, meaning 'behind', and Land, meaning, unsurprisingly, 'land'. Thus, the dictionary says it is 'the district behind that lying along the coast (or along the shore of the river); the 'back country'.' It found no use earlier than 1890; but new scholarship has turned up a usage from 1879. Lexicographers have also found that a book on psychoanalysis from 1919 used the word in a figurative sense, in the excellent quotation 'unexplored territories full of mystery and danger in the hinterland of their own minds'. D H Lawrence, shortly before his death in 1930, wrote that 'we are mostly unexplored hinterland'. Almost exactly 10 years ago, I started writing the weekly 'Hinterland' column for the Telegraph's Saturday Review in which, throughout the decade since, I have sought to 'explore' aspects of culture that enrich one's existence. It has often entailed re-reading books, or re-watching films, or returning to look at buildings, or listening again to music that I first encountered 30, 40 or 50 years ago, and evaluating them afresh before sharing my findings with readers. Few things have benefited me more in life than being told by a teacher or friend that I should read, see or hear something that will enlighten me or make me think; I hope my column has provided a comparable service. The feedback from readers has been highly intelligent, and I am sincerely grateful for it. We do not always agree but, if the columns have stimulated thought and triggered curiosity, they have achieved their purpose. I think of 'hinterland', for the purposes of the column at least, as the region of my mental life that contains those enlightening and engaging aspects of culture that have pleased or, sometimes, provoked me. Occasionally one meets people, even highly educated ones, with no interest in culture. That may be because they are workaholics, or they lack intellectual curiosity or artistic sensibility. I feel intensely sorry for such people, but would reassure them that it is never too late to begin the expedition. We are all victims of our upbringing. My parents loved music, and my father was a competent pianist. He read extensively, inspiring the habit in me to such an extent that I now have about 11,000 books. Now, I mostly read non-fiction; earlier, I ran through the poets, the 18th-, 19th- and early-20th-century novelists, and some dramatists. We all have weaknesses, and theatre I find difficult, and idolatry of Shakespeare much overdone. Enoch Powell, a great textual critic, once told me 'he' had to have been written by a committee as no one man could possess the range of styles in which he wrote. I simply don't know, but I felt Powell had a point. I was lucky to grow up in the middle of nowhere on the Essex marshes, one of the oldest settled parts of this old country. Medieval churches, many with Saxon foundations, were all around me. The second oldest church in England, St Peter-on-the-Wall, at Bradwell on the Blackwater estuary, was a few miles away. It was the chapel of a long-vanished monastery, all built by St Cedd within the walls of the Roman fort of Othona in 653. I recall staring at this strange, barn-like building about 60 years ago, as a little boy, and my father saying that the sight before us, of the chapel in front of the sea, hadn't changed for about a thousand years. Now, the panorama includes a distant wind farm. Like many children of the 1960s, an early acquaintance with beautiful music was the Berceuse, or lullaby, from Fauré's Dolly Suite, It was the theme music of Listen with Mother, broadcast daily on the radio by the BBC and designed to soothe toddlers for their afternoon nap. It gave me, as doubtless many others, the awareness that music could summon up specific associations. If I hear the Berceuse now, I am again three or four years old, and sitting comfortably waiting for the story to begin. But my real obsession with music – which, of all the arts, is to me the most indispensable – came at school. In those enlightened times, my state primary made every child learn the recorder. My father quickly taught me to read music, and the recorder is the only instrument in which I achieved any competence. We learnt to play tunes, mainly English folk songs such as were the staple of the BBC schools' programme Singing Together, which ran from 1939 until 2001, though predictably ruined from the 1980s by relentless dumbing-down. By the time I was 11, I had soaked up the English folk-song tradition; and not long afterwards, at my grammar school, I heard Vaughan Williams 's Sixth Symphony for the first time, and my life changed for ever. It became, and still is, the piece of music I would take to the proverbial desert island; and as I explored that composer's music in my teens, I went on to explore his contemporaries (notably Holst), his teachers and predecessors (including Parry and Elgar) and his pupils (Butterworth, Bliss, Moeran and, eventually, Ruth Gipps and Stanley Bate). No avenue of British music remained unexplored, with my discovering Walton, Britten, Arnold, Finzi and John Foulds, the last of whom has a claim to be the only musical genius this country has produced apart from Britten. There are some who still think of us as a land without music: they are wrong. I love European music – especially Ravel, Beethoven, Wagner, Respighi, Tchaikovsky and Janáček – but there is something in British music that speaks directly to me, doubtless because of all those folk songs as a child, but also because of associations with landscapes and society. I am a professor of British history, and my devotion to my academic discipline is shaped by my cultural interests. My father told me that if you wanted to understand the history of a locality, you started with its church: and although the difference between Saxon, Norman, Early English, Decorated, Perpendicular, Tudor, Baroque, Georgian and Victorian had been instilled in me by the age of 10, the exploration of a church or any old building is always a revelation. My mother loved what even then were old films, and I caught that bug. I think most of us are particularly fascinated by the period before we were born. My own interest in the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s was fuelled by films, including those made in France and America. I am not a brilliant judge of acting or cinematography, but I know a good story and I understand the context: and the films of those decades now seem to me first and foremost historical documents more than entertainments. All culture, whatever its other intentions, gives us a clearer idea of where our country and indeed Europe and the world have come from, and why we are where we are. Having a hinterland means having a permanent opportunity for enlightenment. That, as well as the joy of the cultural experience, is why it is so important.
Wall Street Journal
04-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Wall Street Journal
Not Santa Fe. Not Taos. Why Albuquerque Is the New Mexico Trip to Put on Your Bucket List.
In 2001, when I told friends I was quitting my job to move from New York City to Albuquerque, I got some quizzical looks. Wasn't that where Bugs Bunny made his wrong turn? For most visitors to New Mexico, a stop in Albuquerque has long been a necessity not a choice: The city's 'Sunport' is the region's primary air hub. Destinations with cachet lay farther north—tony Santa Fe, the state's rhinestone-cowboy capital, or Taos, the high-desert outpost famous for luring boho legends like D.H. Lawrence and Dennis Hopper. Albuquerque ranks low on most travelers' to-do lists, even after its starring role in the series 'Breaking Bad' and hundreds of millions of investment from Netflix, including a 108-acre production facility.
Harpers Bazaar Arabia
03-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Harpers Bazaar Arabia
The Ultimate Guide To The Amalfi Coast
Known for its romantic fishing villages nestled among cliffs, creative culinary scene and impressive collection of luxury hotels, there's good reason why the Amalfi Coast tops many a traveller's honeymoon bucket list While Rome may have its museums, Milan its high fashion scene and Puglia its rustic beauty, few Italian regions set the scene for romance quite like the Amalfi Coast. A place that novelist John Steinbeck called one of the 'most beautiful and dramatic coastlines in the world', where D.H. Lawrence wrote Lady Chatterley's Lover, and where the likes of Reese Witherspoon, Kim Kardashian and Anna Paquin have all honeymooned, this 50km coastal stretch spanning the towns of Positano to Vietri sul Mare is the epitome of post-wedding la dolce vita. As the busy summer season sets in, Bazaar Bride escaped the heat of the Middle East to venture to the slightly less intense heat on the southern edge of Italy's Sorrentine Peninsula – the perfect setting for newlyweds looking to unwind and toast to their new chapter together. Amalfi The coast's namesake charming town that comes steeped in history, Amalfi is ideal for loved-up couples looking to wander hand-in-hand through its winding lanes dotted with boutiques, bars and cafés. At its heart lies Piazza Duomo, where a grand staircase leads to the striking 12th-century Cathedral of Sant'Andrea, while the town is also renowned for its centuries-old papermaking tradition and vibrant lemon cultivation. Follow the lively Via Lorenzo D'Amalfi to discover the Paper Museum and the Amalfi Lemon Experience, where local limoncello and ancient lemon groves await – an idyllic excursion for two. Where To Stay: Anantara Convento Di Amalfi Grand Hotel Perched high above the town's sun-soaked port, Anantara's cliffside sanctuary was once a Capuchin monastery, paying tribute to its history by blending 13th-century serenity with five-star flair. Sitting quietly removed from Amalfi's swirl of scooters and camera-toting daytrippers, yet still easily accessible from town (shuttles run every hour, or guests can book private transfers on request), enjoy the same moments of reflection once reserved for its resident monks through its peaceful, bougainvillea-draped Monk's Walk which, stretching the full length of the property, is a stunning spot to soak in views that span the Gulf of Salerno, spritz in hand. Home to 52 extravagant rooms and suites scattered across multiple levels in what was once the monks' living quarters, while their vaulted ceilings, original tiles and cloister-facing windows remain, they now come complemented by sleek Italian furnishings, Carrara marble bathrooms and modern luxuries like Nespresso machines and Aqua di Parma amenities. Some suites have private terraces with hot tubs perfect for honeymooners, one even hides within its own lemon grove. As to be expected from the renowned Anantara brand, dining here is most certainly anything but an afterthought, showcasing the region's bounty in simple yet delightful ways. Take your pick from gourmet restaurant Dei Cappuccini, where chef Claudio Lanuto draws from the hotel's gardens and trusted local suppliers to dish up the likes of grilled lobster, lemon-laced pasta and just-caught seafood served al fresco, while La Locanda della Canonica is all about traditional wood-fired pizzas courtesy of Naples maestro Gino Sorbillo. Come morning, breakfast is a lavish affair on the terrace, accompanied by a live harpist and sea breeze – you can burn some of it off at the open-air gym if you're that way inclined. As for its seemingly-endless amenities, there's an Instagram-ready infinity pool overlooking the azure waters and an intimate spa complete with hammam, two couple rooms with saunas and steam room (we highly recommend booking in for the Citrus Massage Experience, which uses a combination of citrus oils to harness the natural benefits of the Italian lemon), while guests can also book Vespa rides, boat trips to Capri and private history tours including a fascinating walk through the property's historic chapel and cloister with local friar Marcus. Be sure to experience them all. Don't Miss The recent Netflix adaptation of Patricia Highsmith's 1950s novel The Talented Mr. Ripley may have sparked a surge in tourism to a quaint seaside Italian town Atrani but, just a short 10-minute walk from the centre of Amalfi, it is still a stunning spot to escape the chaos complete with characteristic scalinatelle (stairways), quiet beaches and a plethora of cafes serving up refreshing lemon granita. Romantic Ravello is also just a 20-minute drive away, home to exquisite 800-year-old villas and the most breathtaking views of the region. Capri Located just off the Bay of Naples, Capri is perhaps the most exclusive of all towns in the Amalfi Coast, and arguably the most romantic. Not only is it where the Roman Emperor Tiberius came to live, but you'll find wealthy European and international jet setters in their droves enjoying aperitivo on terraces long after the last ferry returns to Naples or Positano, taking the crowds with it. Blanketed with Mediterranean shrubs, blooming Broom flowers, Bougainvillea and lemon trees (you'll be forgiven for thinking lemons are its entire personality), it's also worth retreating to Anacapri on the other side of the island which, once derided as rustic and uncultured, offers couples a slower, more soulful side of island life, still within a stone's throw away from the designer shops and restaurants of Capri proper. Where To Stay: Capri Palace Jumeirah Tucked into the quieter folds of Anacapri, high above the island's glittering coastlines and beyond the thrum of the Piazzetta, Capri Palace Jumeirah feels worlds away from the jet-set circus below. Think whitewashed architecture, museum-worthy art collections and a mood that is far from rustic but never showy, the hotel occupies a commanding perch with views across the Bay of Naples. Under the wing of Jumeirah, a luxury name we are all familiar with, since 2019, the property has introduced subtle design updates without disturbing its soul, the most recent being its five new suites by architect Patricia Urquiola that opened this summer. All terracotta and marine blues, sculptural plaster walls that ripple like waves and custom pieces that blur the line between furniture and form, they are a playful contrast to the resort's other suites, which come complete with soft sun-bleached tones, minimalist furnishings and a restraint that lets the sea view take centre stage. Wellness is also a serious affair here, with its famed Capri Medical Spa focusing on circulation, detox and beauty. Its Leg School treatment is a must try, with its three-part ritual of medicated mud, cooling bandages and hydrotherapy promising lighter steps and smoother skin, ideal after long days of travel. As for the food, be sure to linger over an expansive breakfast by the pool before heading down to lunch at Il Riccio Beach Club, where Dior-branded parasols and dishes including burrata, lobster, oysters and super fresh catch of the day make for a stylish, sun-drenched lunch. As for dinner, choose from sushi and DJs with the style set at the rooftop Zuma, or candlelit Campanian dishes at L'Olivo, a critically acclaimed restaurant helmed by chef Andrea Migliaccio. Don't Miss You can't visit Capri without getting out on the water, and the best way to do that is via a luxury private charter, where you'll be able to get close to Casa Malaparte (the Italian Modern masterpiece built in the late 1930s after Adalberto Libera's designs), which is otherwise closed to the public. There are companies galore, however, so it's best to contact your hotel concierge ahead of time to see which service they recommend. Positano The glitziest gem of the Amalfi Coast, Positano has long been a favourite among honeymooners since the a modest fishing village, its transformation began in the 1950s, helped along by author John Steinbeck, who famously described it as a 'dream place' in a 1953 Harper's Bazaar article titled Positano Bites Deep. Where To Stay: Le Sirenuse A recurring entry in The World's 50 Best list, Le Sirenuse was opened in 1951 by Neapolitan siblings Aldo, Paolo, Anna and Franco Sersale, and has been run by the Sersale family ever since. Just a five-minute walk from the port, guests can enter discreetly via a private staircase meaning not only can you arrive stress-free, you'll also avoid the throngs of crowds vying to get a glimpse of this iconic hotel, which comes is among a cascade of picturesque homes clinging to steep cliffs that plunge toward the sea. Home to just 58 rooms and suites defined by hand-painted ceramic tiles, private patios and Carrara marble bathrooms, Le Sirenuse is so much more than just a luxury hotel, blending the worlds of fashion, culture, gastronomy, mixology and wellbeing in one fell swoop. Case in point? The scenic La Sponda restaurant, informally glamorous bar-bistrot Aldo's and the chic little Pool Bar showcase this southern Italian region's authentic seasonal produce, each offering candlelit corners and sweeping views made for romance. Its contemporary spa comes designed by architect Gae Aulenti, where a range of signature treatments are available alongside a fitness area with two total-workout Megaformer machines, while guests can enjoy an impressive array of all-inclusive weekly activities including trekking on some of the Amalfi Coast's spectacular mountain trails, fitness classes, hotel flower tours, sunset cruises and even breakfast on the Sant' Antonio boat. As to be expected, art also takes pride of place – the hotel's décor was assembled over decades by antique collector Franco Sersale, with a growing site-specific contemporary art collection featuring talents of the calibre of Martin Creed, Nicolas Party and Swiss artist Caroline Bachmann. Don't Miss Praiano may be known as Positano's quieter and quainter neighbour, but that's not the case at One Fire Beach, which is perhaps the most stylish beach club in the region. A short 10-minute boat transfer from Positano port, this is a place that takes the meaning of 'fun in the sun.' Be sure to stay until at least 4.30pm, which marks the Insta-famous 'watermelon show', a lively spectacle led by the enthusiastic samurai-sword-wielding staff.
Irish Times
03-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
Homework by Geoff Dyer: Airfix models and Action Man dolls
Homework: A Memoir Author : Geoff Dyer ISBN-13 : 978-1837261987 Publisher : Canongate Guideline Price : £20 To discover that Geoff Dyer has reached the memoir-of-his-childhood years is to be abruptly mugged by the passage of time. Surely Geoff Dyer can't be, as Wikipedia solemnly informs me that he is, now in his middle sixties? Not Geoff Dyer, of all people? Surely he's still thirtyishly slacking his way around Benares, subsisting on daal and magic mushrooms, or haplessly seeking out transcendence at a rave in Stuttgart? By this I suppose all I mean is that Dyer is the sort of writer whom many readers discover in their twenties, and that he is the sort of writer who seems to tell you important things about what life could, or should, be like. His books seem to suggest that you can indeed get away with it: that you can mooch around foreign cities taking drugs and having sex, and that when you emerge from this pleasant matrix of not actually doing anything, you will have written a string of good books about what it means to be alive. [ Did nobody actually read this book before it went to print?: The Emperor of Gladness by Ocean Vuong Opens in new window ] But the pleasant matrix of not actually doing anything isn't really what Dyer's books are about. Dyer's recurrent postures, on the page, of thwartedness, laziness and incompetence (in Out of Sheer Rage, he famously wrote a book about failing to write a book about DH Lawrence) bely the iron will, and the distinctively literary intelligence, that have now helped him to create an extensive shelf of books. Comic self-deprecation, in its various modes, is simply the prose method that allows this sunny enthusiast to get at his true subject, which is preoccupation. Dyer is the laureate of preoccupation. His books have ostensible subjects: the first World War in The Missing of the Somme (1994), slackerish travel in Yoga for People Who Can't be Bothered to Do It (2003), photography in The Ongoing Moment (2005), Andrei Tarkovsky in Zona (2012)… But their actual subject is a preoccupation familiar to anyone who has ever developed a consuming interest in a niche subject – an obsession, that is, of the kind we half-damn and half-praise by calling 'nerdish'. READ MORE Dyer has long since grasped that such preoccupations might look like distractions but are actually the most basic stuff of consciousness itself: what we like to think about when we think about what we like. Homework, Dyer's 19th book, is therefore not just an account of his childhood and adolescence but an account of his childhood and adolescent preoccupations: Airfix models, toy soldiers, collectible stamps included in packets of Brooke Bond tea, Action Man dolls, a Dawes Red Feather racing bike, Chelsea FC paraphernalia, the albums of Yes and Hawkwind, fantasy paperbacks by Michael Moorcock… The material furnishings, that is, of a postwar English childhood. 'Material' is the key word. Homework begins with an epigraph from Raymond Williams, the great theorist of postwar English life and its material changes. 'Great confusion is caused if the real childhood memory is projected, unqualified, as history,' this epigraph ends; it tells us what Dyer is up to in his book. His hobbyist anatomy of childhood obsessions – wearisome at points – adds up to a metonymic account of postwar British history; confusion is welcomed, as confusion always is in Dyer's work, as closer to the truth than clarity. Dyer – born to working-class parents in 1958 – grew up in Cheltenham, in an England still shaped at all levels of experience by the war. Cataloguing his toy guns, Dyer notes that 'Everything which is wartime had been metal was, in our version, remoulded in plastic' – and this is also an account of the England of the 1960s. 'Airfix offered a complete childhood vision of war on land, sea, and air,' he writes; the model kits 'represented in miniature a much larger process of reproduction and representation of war that dominated our childhood.' [ Kevin Power: I took a deep dive into Irish literary magazines and would do it again without hesitation Opens in new window ] Homework – the title evoking school but also the basic dialectic of working-class life at that time – follows the course of maturity itself by starting with toys and taking gradual cognisance of parents. Dyer's father served in India during the second World War but never spoke about it; in Dyer's account, the privations of wartime left his parents with a deep sense of secrecy, thrift and defeat, a kind of 'subsistence existentialism'; they were 'citizens of a psychological GDR'. Dyer's parents are movingly memorialised, here. But it is difficult not to feel that Dyer's programmatic hedonism, in life and in art, is a refutation of his parents' anhedonic thriftiness – and thus of the shadow of the war. In the book's closing pages, Dyer discovers literature, studies hard, gets into Oxford, and begins the painful process of becoming something other than a postwar working-class kid from Cheltenham – a process that ends, of course, with him writing this book about being a postwar working-class kid from Cheltenham. Out of Sheer Nostalgia? No. More like Out of Sheer History.
New York Times
19-06-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Stephen Fry Knows He's Become a Middle-Aged Cliché
By email, the actor and prolific writer (three memoirs!) apologized, sort of, for outgrowing D.H. Lawrence. SCOTT HELLER Who is your favorite fictional hero or heroine? Jo, the crossing sweeper in 'Bleak House,' is the character who has the most powerful effect on me whenever I return to that peerless book. (Incidentally, Miriam Margolyes's reading of the audiobook is one of the wonders of the age.) Jo is a minor character really, not a hero, but he literally sweeps across the different worlds of the novel. And Dickens's authorial voice denouncing the society that let him die is a masterpiece of fury and despair. Your favorite antihero or villain? Tom Buchanan in 'The Great Gatsby' stands out. There are so many Tom Buchanans in the world now. Running it. Or — to change a letter — ruining it. In 2021, the Times described you as an 'avuncular public intellectual.' How do you feel about that label? Oh my lordy lord. Avuncular gives me great pleasure. But I disavow 'intellectual,' just as I disavow 'artist' (not that quite so many call me that). I am, I think, an entertainer, impure and simple. But I love the company of real intellectuals. When were you first exposed to Greek mythology? At prep school, which in Britain means aged 7 to 13. I instantly fell in love with the juice, energy and fierce delight of them. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
