Iain Dale has just finished his latest book, Guide to Political Blogging in the UK (buy here, or download here). It’s a good read, with contributions from Francis Maude (Tory Chairman), Adam Boulton (Sky’s political editor), David Milliband (uber-loyal Blairite minister), and the political editor of the Daily Mail to name but a few. As well as being released to the general public, it’s also going to be distributed at the party conferences to raise awareness of blogs amongst politicians.

In one section of the guide, Iain rates the Top 100 Non-Aligned Political Blogs. As you’d expect, Guido quite rightly claims the number one spot. More surprisingly, I’ve somehow parked up at number 29.

Just to put that in context, ex-politician and author Jeffrey Archer is at 68, the Daily Mail’s star columnist Melanie Phillips is at 69, and The Times’ David Aaronovitch is at 80. I’m at 29. That’s five places down from the BBC’s Political Editor, Nick Robinson. How the heck did that happen?

As if that wasn’t enough, I feature at number 69 in the overall list of political blogs. The 69th best political blog in the country. I think that’s pretty impressive for a medical student with zero political experience writing on a blog where a high proportion of the posts are not remotely related to politics.

So thank you, Iain, for your support. 🙂

A book I’ve mentioned before on the site, enormously enjoyable, is now available to download free in PDF format. It actually has been available for a while, and I’ve been meaning to post about it on here for ages, but never quite got round to it… Until now.

For those of you wondering why Mr Adams has decided to give it away for nout, I shall blatantly steal the explanation from the above link:

Frankly, this is the hardest book in the world to market. When it first came out in hardcover, booksellers couldn’t decide if it was fiction or nonfiction. Was it philosophy or religion? It’s a religion/science book written by a cartoonist, using hypnosis techniques in the writing. It’s a thought experiment. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever read. How do you sell something that can’t be explained?

Nonetheless, the hardcover version of God’s Debris was a solid success. I lost count of how many people e-mailed me to say it was the best book they’ve ever read. By way of comparison, I’ve published over thirty Dilbert™ books, two of them number-one New York Times best-sellers, but I’ve never gotten the kind of excited responses that I did from readers of God’s Debris.

Still, God’s Debris is emphatically not for everyone. Although there’s no sex or violence, I don’t recommend it for readers under fourteen unless a parent has screened it. And if you don’t like to have your perceptions challenged, this book isn’t for you. However, if you like a good book-induced buzz now and then, I think you’ll agree that the price was right.

It’s free because it’s designed to be discussed with people who have also read it. I’m confident that some percentage of the free e-book readers will be inspired to buy a physical book for friends or for their own collection. And if you like it, you might want to try the sequel, The Religion War, available only in hardcover. At the end of the e-book you’ll find some links to Amazon.com for your impulse-buying pleasure.

And for those of you wondering what it’s about, let me enlighten you via the same method…

Imagine that you meet a very old man who—you eventually realize—knows literally everything. Imagine that he explains for you the great mysteries of life—quantum physics, evolution, God, gravity, light, psychic phenomenon, and probability—in a way so simple, so novel, and so compelling that it all fits together and makes perfect sense. What does it feel like to suddenly understand everything? God’s Debris isn’t the final answer to the Big Questions. But it might be the most compelling vision of reality you will ever read. The thought experiment is this: Try to figure out what’s wrong with the old man’s explanation of reality. Share the book with your smart friends then discuss it later while enjoying a beverage.

Now go download it (or, if you prefer, buy the hardback), read it, and think about it. You will enjoy it.

This is the follow-up to the previously reviewed Never Hit a Jellyfish with a Spade, and follows the same format as its predecessor: It is a collection of Browning’s How to… columns from the Grauny’s Weekend magazine. Hence, if you don’t like the columns, you won’t like this book. And there’s also a fairly high chance that you’re not human.

Never push… is one of the few books I’ve read in a long time that’s genuinely laugh-out-loud funny which, whilst good for me, is perhaps not such a good thing if you happen to live with me – unless, of course, you like the sound of apparently inexplicable hysterical laughter at random moments, and public book readings from some seemingly crazed idiot. This is why it’s so crucial that you buy this book now, before anyone else you know gets their sitcky mitts on a copy – it loses all humour when read aloud by someone who can’t stifle their continuous giggling.

It is a truly excellent book, absolutely first class standard, thanks to Browning’s wonderful sense of wit. It also happens to be perfect for reading now and again in odd moments, because each ‘How to…’ is only 500 words or so long, and so only takes a couple of minutes to enjoy. Though stemming the laughter can take longer. But, in terms of reviewing the book, it’s difficult to know whether you‘ll like it, because I don’t know you and your sense of humour. Having said that, the vast majority of people I’ve inflicted my copy on have loved it. But, as a service to you, dear reader, here’s an extract so you can decide for yourself whether it’s your kind of thang…

How to… use a lift

Calling a lift is easy. Simply press the button and wait. And then press the button again. Many lifts work on the pressure you exert on the call button, so hitting it a hundred times will make it arrive a lot faster. Before you get into the lift, it’s as well to check whether it’s going up or down. There’s nothing more embarrassing than saying confidently to a packed lift ‘Ground floor please’ and then feeling the lift rocketing upwards.

Getting into a crowded lift is like entering a mini party. Everyone’s already settled in there and when the doors open they all look at you as if to say, ‘You’re not coming in here.’ Just take a big breath, step in and then say something to break the ice such as, ‘You’re probably wondering why I called you all here.’ This difficult entry moment explains why even when the lift is the size of your living room and there’s only one small lady in it, the tendency is to wait for the next one. If the same lady is in the next one, it could be her job to operate the lift, so just get in and stop being so silly.

In a crowded lift it’s very bad manners ever to face anybody head on. You should always try and be at least 90 degrees to your neighbours so that an aerial view would look as if you were all finding your way around a particularly tight maze. Never talk to someone in a lift unless you know which button they’ve pressed and you can tailor your conversation to the exact second. Restrict yourself to saying ‘Morning’. In a lift it’s acceptable to say this at any time of night or day, because you’re in your own little world without daylight. The other word everyone wants to say in a lift, especially when the little bell pings, is ‘lingerie’. Don’t say this unless you’re with people you know and love or you’re absolutely positive the other person is getting out.

You’re allowed to look at a stranger in a lift a maximum of once, then you must look elsewhere for the duration of your trip. That’s why it’s a relief when everyone gets out and leaves you alone in the lift. You’re then free to pull faces in the mirror, say ‘lingerie’ loudly and pass wind extravagantly. Often at this moment you’ll discover that the little lady is still in the lift with you.

Being in a lift means invading someone else’s body space. This can be quite exciting when two people are attracted to each other. Passions often ignite in lifts and are sometimes even consummated. This can be awkward for the other passengers, even at 90 degrees.

I’d highly recommend the little handy-sized number that is Never Push…, because I enjoyed it loads. Thanks, Guy!

Update: Minor formatting corrections

Culture Vulture notes a Times of India article which claims that Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince contains pornographic double-entendres, including these particular favourites of mine:

‘You see?’ Dumbledore said quietly, holding his wand a little higher. Harry saw a fissure in the cliff into which dark water was swirling. ‘You will not object to getting a little wet?’ ‘No,’ said Harry. ‘Then take off your Invisibility Cloak… and let us take the plunge.’

Lupin burst out laughing. ‘Sometimes you remind me a lot of James. He called it my ‘furry little problem’…

Realistically, is there any book in the world that you couldn’t extract quotes from and put them in a completely different context? Well, perhaps the newly bought Very Hungry Caterpillar.

Perhaps more amusing still is one commenter’s observation on the Culture Vulture website:

hagrid had a giant mother and a human father, If you think that’s hard to fathom, be thankful Rowling didn’t make it the other way around.

Well, that had never occured to me before…

Guy Browning writes his How to… column for the Guardian’s Weekend magazine each week, and Never Hit a Jellyfish… is a collection of those columns. I think it’s absolutely hilarious – one of the few books I’ve read that is genuinely laugh-out -loud funny, and I would personally highly recommend it.

The Amazon reviews, however, appear to show that this book has something of a polarising effect:

I like a book that makes me laugh, but they don’t usually have the same effect on my family when I read them extracts, that is until now. Even my 17 year old son a very reluctant reader, was drawn in by this books short snippets of hilarity.

I bought this book off the back of some of the other reviews I read, plus I must admit I found the title quite amusing. However, I can’t stress enough how disappointed I am with my purchase. The small stories/challenges are, in the most part, dull. There is the occasional line or comment which causes a small chuckle, but they are rare. It is mostly mindless rubbish, which may work as a small column in a newspaper where people only read one a day/week, but reading them in a book (more than one a day) will send you to sleep.

This must be one of the funiest books I’ve read in ages, just about every observation Browning makes is spot on, with most of the chapters reducing me to tears of laughter by the second paragraph, annoying anyone close by no end. A perfect gift for anyone in danger of taking life a bit too seriously.

The stories are only mildly amusing, I found it a bit of a struggle to read, maybe you need to enjoy this type of humor. Each mini story follows the same format in terms of tone and structure; as a result the book gets a little monotonous.

In cases like this, it’s difficult for me to say anything other than that I liked it, and if you like Browning’s style, you might well do too. Perhaps try looking through some of his previous columns, and see if you like those. I’ve been an avid reader of the column for some time, so it’s hardly surprising that I should like the book.

So, to summarise: I certainly enjoyed Never Hit a Jellyfish…, and would highly recommend it to anybody who likes the How to… columns.

After months of speculation and waiting, the sixth book in the Harry Potter septology has been released. And now I’ve read it. And hence, this review might contain spoilers. Though I’ll try to avoid them. But no promises. So look away now if you don’t want to know what happens.

The sixth book has a lot to live up to. The first five (or perhaps just the marketing craze surrounding them) had sent large sections of the population – and not just the younger members – into something of a frenzy. I didn’t really see that there was much that was terribly special about the first five books in all honesty, but perhaps that’s because I wasn’t reading them closely enough. After all, if I’d gone through and listed every occurance of the number twelve in the books (as has one dedicated fan), then perhaps I’d have got more out of them. But for me, they were never anything more than something to read. Once.

Book six, though, is quite a different kettle of fish. I’m almost embarrassed to admit it, but I thought it was absolutely excellent. It’s a very different book to the first formulaic five, which all follow the same pattern of an event-filled year at Hogwarts, with Quidditch matches and lessons described in mind-numbing detail, followed by some huge battle with Lord Voldemort at the end of the school year and, hence, the end of the book. Book six sticks loosely to this framework, in so far as it is set in a year at Hogwarts, with a big action-packed bit at the end, but no more are the every movements of Harry and friends described in quite such detail. Instead, the book has very little action, but more discussion and exploration of the things that have happened in the previous five books, and the reasons behind them.

This is where the true mastery of the writing of the books hit me. Being the cynic that I am, I wasn’t entirely convinced that JK Rowling had indeed plotted out all seven books in her head, and felt that she was rather making them up as she went along. But the explanations in book six show that this clearly wasn’t the case – everything had a reason, from the smallest reference to the biggest events, leading up to the biggest (and most emotional) event yet at the end of the book, which provides the spur for Harry to go off and complete the necessary tasks laid out for him for the seventh book. Never previously in the series has it been clear from the previous book what is to happen in the next – hence my suspicion – but the path is now clearly laid, complete with the required motivation for completing it. Effectively, the story so far is wrapped up, in preparation for a huge ending in book seven. (Assuming, of course, that book seven is published as a single book, and that the publishers don’t try and squeeze every last penny of profit out of the franchise by releasing it in several parts.)

So, this book is effectively one long gear-change in the story of Harry Potter. It explains all that has gone before it, and sets the scene for the finale to come. And hence, it could have been mind-numbingly boring. But luckily for me, I found it not to be so, not least because the tone (although not the mood) is much lighter in this book than the previous one, in which Harry seemed to be constantly bad-tempered. However, I think a lot of the younger readers – JKR’s target audience, after all – would be both confused and bored by the book. There’s so much background to get to grips with, and so much double-double-double-crossing, that some adults, let alone kids, found it hard to keep up with which people were goodies, and which baddies. I also think that younger kids would have difficulty getting to grips with some of the humour in the latest installment, as – with the various romances involving the three central characters – it’s not quite the same kind of humour as in the earlier books. I’d imagine that children would prefer more action, as in the earlier novels. But who am I to speak for the under-twelves of today? And how many of the readers are really children, and how many are actually adults? With an increasing number of the latter, they have to be catered for. Or perhaps not, because they might well buy it anyway. Who can say?

Let’s be honest: Am I really going to complain that this book was rubbish because other people might not like it, when I thought it was excellent? Am I really going to rubbish a book because it’s supposed to be kids literature, and I haven’t thought the books so far have been particularly spectacular? No. I am, however, going to say that I thought it was excellent, and I’m quite looking forward to book seven – which, rumours appear to say, is already written, and will probably be released in a year or so. There we go, I’ve said it. Now I just have to prepare myself for the huge Pottermania which will no doubt accompany the publication of the last book. And read something else in the meantime.

Bloomsbury spent £1,000,000 advertising the latest Harry Potter book.

In the first 24 hours, it is thought that they have sold 10,000,000 copies, with an RRP of £16.99. Including – I have to admit – one to me.

Now that’s good business. What other product sells 10,000,000 units in 24hrs?

But is it good literature? Well I’ve not read it yet, so I can’t really comment. But I think it’s fair to say that it’s getting an awful lot of children reading, and that can be no bad thing, as long as they move on to other books. Literature is a fantastic gift, but we shouldn’t be celebrating that kids are reading this one series, as that gives no representation of the wider literary scene. Going on the form of the first five books, Ms Rowling doesn’t provide the best literary experience, as she – frankly – isn’t the best writer in the world. She’s been quite successful so far, though, so I don’t really think it’s for me to criticse. Of course, the Daily Mail, in its role as official criticiser of all modern trends, made something of a lacklustre attempt to crticise the novel yesterday, but – unusually for the Mail – it was clear that their heart really wasn’t in it. That particular column appears not to be online, but this piece, confidently declaring that the sixth novel would be called ‘Harry Potter and the Mudblood Revolt’, is online. Well, at least they got the first three words right.

One thing that has surprised me about the latest Potter book is the huge differences in high street prices – wandering down my local high street this morning, I saw prices varying from £8.99 to £11.99, and it would appear that, had I looked more closely, I could have found prices varying from £4.99 to £16.99. That’s a difference of £12. I would have expected all the shops to have been charging largely similar prices – why would anyone pay £16.99 for a book they could pick up for £4.99 just metres down the road? Yet many people were. Perhaps it’s one of Harry’s spells.

I’m sure I’ll be publishing more about Harry when I’ve read it – whenever that might be. But, for now, I’m off to reflect on how much richer JK Rowling is tonight than she was last night, and wonder how that must feel for her. Oh, and maybe read a bit of Harry Potter, too.

I’ve just finished reading this book – I’ve featured the paperback version, which comes out in a month’s time, on the right, because that’s much cheaper than the hardback edition which is currently available. Anyway, on with the review…

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It certainly provides what it promises to (“A Short History of British Journalism”), but Marr manages to deliver this with humour and panache. He mixes in lots of his own anecdotes – some longer and more developed than others, but all entertaining – and passes judgement on developments in the media world, as well as informing us that they occurred. It’s certainly a very personal history for Marr, and that helps to involve the reader much more than the normal style of books written by journalists, which tend to read something like extended newspaper features.

Anybody remotely interested in British journalism would be well advised to read a copy of this book – which certainly is no chore – as it provides much background on how newspapers are put together, and how this has changed over the years. It even provides some history on the rivalries between newspapers, looking at (as an example) how The Mirror‘s sales declined at the hands of The Sun, and how Marr’s own Indy set out to be different from everyone else.

This is not intended to be – and nor is it – a detailed history of the development of the British media. Instead, it’s an enjoyable romp through the subject, stopping off at points of interest – particularly recent ones, and many of which you’d have thought he may have liked to avoid. He goes into some detail about Hutton and the problem with modern journalism, making convincing arguments for his point of view – which is, in part, critical of the BBC which pays him. It’s very clear from his writing that he’s experienced as a journalist, not just because he lists his many and varied jobs, but also because of the detailed insight he is able to deliver, and the apparent wisdom of some of his comments.

Certainly, this is a very easy-going enjoyable read, from a political editor who comes across as an affable kind of chap, and a book which I must highly recommend.

Nobody can claim that I haven’t given Dan Brown a fair crack at entertaining me. I’ve read The Da Vinci Coda, Angels and Demons, as well as Digital Fortress. And, at least as far as I can see, the best complement I can give the books is the one I first gave them: ‘irritatingly gripping tosh’.

Just like the other two, Digital Fortress is by no means deep, considered, or erudite. It’s a quick story, completely lacking depth, and riddled with predictability. The most irritating part of Digital Fortress was the final thirty pages, where the solution to the whole problem of the book was glaringly obvious, and yet apparently the most accomplished cryptographers in the world were unable to work it out. And, despite having earlier demonstrated an intimiate knowledge of other obscure chemicals like freon, they are unable to recall basic facts about the most famous of all elements. And for a miliatary organisation, there’s an awful lot of insubordination.

And why on earth would one build a dome to house a top secret computer that had both a see-through glass roof to allow any passing spy satellites to have a close look, and given that this computer could melt-down at any time, have no effective emergency exits? And why would a department housing the most accomplished cryptographers have physical security barriers protected with passwords rather than keys? It’s all a little bit bizarre. There are so many gaping plot holes, I often wondered if I was about to plunge into one never to be seen again.

Brown has clearly tried to throw in a little bit of interpersonal relationships into this novel, trying to give us confused signals about who loves who, and what’s going on in various romances. Instead, the whole thing ends up looking freakishly incestuous. And yet that angle is completely ignored.

The problem with the novel is that it is genuinely gripping, because you want to carry on reading to find out where the characters are finally going to catch up with the obvious. Have they not realised that every passing observation they make later plays a key role in a Dan Brown novel?

There’s really very little to recommend about Dan Brown. Unless you happen to be fans of both cryptography and the Catholic Church. Because even in a novel about NSA cryptography, there still has to be a moment of high drama in a Catholic Church. It feels like Brown is desperately trying to avoid dragging the church into it, but can’t quite resist. The only other thing to recommend is that it is extremely easy reading. You don’t need to engage your brain, there’s no complicated moral or philosophical puzzles posed, no deep meanings; you just let the words wash over your eyes. And try to resist the urge to scream out in frustration.

As I hope you’ll have gathered by now, this isn’t a book I’d particularly recommend. It’s not even an author I’d particularly recommend. But if you do feel the urge to read it, you can buy it ‘cheap as chips’ using the links on the right.

I’ve categorised this as a review, but it’s not strictly one… More of a preview, really, and an update on what I’ll be reading over the coming weeks and months.

I’ve just embarked upon the journey that is reading this tome. At almost 1100 pages of small type face and reduced margins it’s easily the longest book I’ve read in my life to date, and I have no desire to even contemplate tackling it all in one go, as I think I’d probably go insane attempting to do so.

But it’s certainly a case of ‘So far, so good’ at this point: The bit I’ve read of it so far appears to be absolutely excellent – the second chapter is possibly the best, most accurate, and most linguistically skilled chapters of any book I can remember.

For the near future, as my first interruption to Infinite Jest, I intend to give my brain a rest and Dan ‘dull and predicable’ Brown another chance to attempt to impress, as he so utterly failed earlier this year with Angels and Demons and the now ubiquitous The Da Vinci Code. I’m almost hoping it will be another ‘450 pages of irritatingly gripping tosh’, as I’m just feeling ready for something like that right now.

We’ll see how this all plays out.

In the mean-time, if you want to buy a copy of Infinite Jest at a very competitive price (very possibly the best on the ‘net), then you know where to click. For a gentle reminder, move your eyes to the right, slightly. It might seem quite expensive, but you have to remember that it is (by my guestimate) almost two-and-a-half inches thick. So it’s not going to fit through your letterbox, just to warn you in advance.

You can expect a review of one of the above a few weeks from now, and the other a few years from now – or so it seems – so keep your browser firmly locked on to sjhoward.co.uk