The Prodigal Child by Irène Némirovsky

This novella, written in 1923 when the author was twenty, offers a fascinating glimpse of Némirovsky’s emerging literary talents. The Prodigal Child begins and ends like a biblical parable, but also has a dark fairytale quality: a boy from the ghetto discovers he has a gift for creating songs that move both vagabonds and princesses. But he becomes imprisoned by his own powers, which seem to vanish when he reaches adolescence.

Artwork courtesy of Kales Press

Despite its bleak ending, Sandra Smith’s elegant translation of L’Enfant Génial makes Némirovsky’s words fly off the page, with her frequently sensuous and lyrical prose echoing the poetic flights of its main character. The book also offers enjoyably down-to-earth descriptions of life in a Russian port at the start of the twentieth century. Némirovsky is concerned here with the nature of artistic inspiration, the dark side of being a child genius and adult reactions to it, which can begin to look a lot like child abuse.

10 year-old Ishmael Baruch is one of a large Jewish family living in a large trading port on the Black Sea in southern Russia. Life in the ghetto is hard but Ishmael loves the town and port, with its smells of fish and fruit and its exotic mix of people. He is drawn to “the unclassifiable riffraff that swarmed into the port, people from the Middle East who smelled of garlic, the tide and spices, swept up by the sea from every corner of the world and thrust there like the foam on the waves.”

Asked to sing by one of these tavern-goers, Ishmael finds that he is a natural: “the music worked like wine on all these coarse, dazed men; they listened, astonished by the new song.” The words and music he conjures up “come to life in him like mysterious birds to whom he only needed to give a little nudge.” As his fame grows Ishmael begins to make money, stops going to school, and becomes ‘lost’ to his parents.

By the age of thirteen Ishmael has already been taught how to make love by older women. He has got drunk on every sort of alcoholic drink, from Russian vodka to Turkish raki. He has been denied a normal childhood.

When he meets a rich nobleman and his ‘Princess’, they take him under their wing. She wants to ‘adopt’ him and have him sing to her alone. At first Ishmael resists “this woman who wanted to impose her will on his freedom.” But she is like a fairytale enchantress, with eyes ‘like a bird of prey,’ and he falls hopelessly under her spell.

Artwork courtesy of Kales Press

Soon he is living in luxury in an ancient mansion, “steeped in alcohol and money.” The Princess and nobleman often kiss and canoodle in front of Ishmael. “He seemed to breathe in their passionate love as if it were a poisonous flower,” and his own feverish love for her is making him ill. She even kisses him “on the lips, wickedly, tenderly, the way you bite into the pink flesh of fruit.”

When the Princess travels abroad Ishmael moves to a chateau in the countryside and grows to love nature. But the damage has been done. He has lost his artistic mojo. Now, when he tries to write he feels “a profound numbness, a sensation of emptiness … a kind of painful weariness.”

Reading his way through the books in the chateau’s library doesn’t help. He tries to copy the styles of other writers, then looks for answers in scholarly works of criticism and analysis. Students and blocked writers will nod in agreement as they read Némirovsky’s darkly comic description of Ishmael’s despair: “he was lost in the inextricable forest of literary criticism; he completely lost his mind.”

By the end Ishmael feels that there is no way out except death. The Prodigal Child’s ending seems to offer little in the way of hope, foreshadowing Némirovsky’s own terrible end in Auschwitz. But her own genius lives on, thanks in large part to the work of Sandra Smith, who has translated all the author’s work into English, including Suite Francaise, the WWII masterpiece that brought her to the world’s attention. Kudos to Kales Press, who have honoured Némirovsky’s memory here with a beautifully-produced new edition of one of her first works.

The French Dispatch

I really enjoyed Wes Anderson’s last two films, Isle of Dogs and Grand Budapest Hotel. But sitting through The French Dispatch felt like an ordeal and if there had been another story in this portmanteau collection I would have walked out of the cinema. By the end I felt queasy, as if I had eaten a smorgasbord of dainty snacks. It was too much. De trop, as they say in France.

Anderson’s visual style is always busy and inventive, charming and humourous. It usually matches his narratives in a coherent way. But here he throws the kitchen sink at us: we are bombarded by images, text, sounds and (he hopes) smells, randomly moving from monochrome to colour. We are asked to assimilate the stories of myriad characters in five different sections (if we include the intro and conclusion). It is the cinematic equivalent of trying to read a book written in different cases and fonts, with footnotes, doodles, diversions, instructions and cartoons. Fun for a while, but ultimately tiresome.

The French Dispatch starts with a wonderful tableau vivant of French town Ennui-sur-Blasé waking up for the day, its inhabitants going about their business. A beret-wearing Owen Wilson pedals around on his racing bike, giving us a guided tour of this quirky place. Anderson seems to be nodding his hat to the films of Jacques Tati (Mon Oncle; Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday) or Jean-Pierre Jeunet (Delicatessen, Amelie).

But this refreshing aperitif is soon replaced by a more indigestible main course. Arthur Howitzer Jr. (Bill Murray), editor of The French Dispatch, an ex-pat edition of the Liberty, Kansas Evening Sun, has just been found dead in his office. His eclectic team of journalists gather to discuss how best to honour his memory. In tribute, they decide to write stories full of the ingredients that he loved – art, politics, crime and food.

Story 1: The Concrete Masterpiece, in which a mad criminal painter (Benicio Del Toro) produces a series of abstract portraits of his guard (Lea Seydoux), who poses naked for him. These cause a stir in the art world and also inspire a prison riot.

More riots are on the menu in the second story, Revisions to a Manifesto, set during les évènements of Paris in 1968. A deadpan Timothee Chalamet, unruly hair à la Charlie Chaplin, sits in a bath smoking Gauloises, editing his list of youthful demands. He also sits in bed with an equally po-faced Frances McDormand.

Then we have The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner, in which a police chief’s (Jeffrey Wright) life is turned upside-down when his son is kidnapped. Half way through this story Anderson switches to cartoonish animation for the chase scenes, which adds more visual flair to the proceedings. Unfortunately, the score, with its annoying and relentless 2-note oompah organ riff made me feel sick.

Wes Anderson afficionados will no doubt return to The French Dispatch to discover things they missed first time around. The auteur has said that his film was “inspired by The New Yorker and the kind of writers they’re famous for publishing” (see the end credits for a list, including the likes of James Thurber). As a tribute to French cinema it is a bit hit and miss.

There is a speech by one character at the end in which Anderson tries to give meaning to what we have just watched. Something about life’s rich tapestry and inclusivity, the joy of writing about different people and places. But by then my brain was fried. I was all Wessed-out.

The Sparks Brothers

Music fans of a certain age will have Sparks’ electrifying 1974 Top of the Pops debut seared into their memories. This Town Ain’t Big Enough for the Both of Us was unlike any pop song we had heard before – operatic, cinematic, hypnotic and odd. But it was the keyboard player who was the talk of the school playground the next day. Ron Mael looked like a creepy android Hitler and the camera loved him.

This indelible memory is shared by many of the talking heads in Edgar Wright’s wonderful Sparks doc. Apparently John Lennon was so freaked out by what he’d witnessed that he rang Ringo and told him to turn on his TV: “Marc Bolan is playing a song with Adolf Hitler.”

In the film this mischievous anecdote is brought to life by animated puppets. Elsewhere Wright matches the Sparks brothers’ visual flair by using a variety of film media to illustrate their story. Apart from the monochrome talking heads and film clips from their long career there is a creative mash-up of cartoons, cut-and-paste and clay animation.

After nearly 50 years and 25 albums, the music of Ron and Russell Mael remains vital and relevant. Other musicians queue up to pay homage to their provocative outsider sensibility, their creativity and dedication to their art. Sparks are engaging company: playful, wise, funny and human. Wright’s camera follows them as they go about their daily lives and we warm to them even more when we learn about the hard times (“6 years of rainy days”) and the film projects with Jacques Tati and Tim Burton that got shelved.

At nearly two and a half hours The Sparks Brothers might challenge the stamina of non-believers. But Wright’s chronological doc has a lot to fit in. By covering each of their records he aspires to the daredevil and dogged spirit of a band who decided to play every one of their albums, one after the other, on consecutive nights in London in 2008 (with B-sides for the encores).

The Mael Brothers had an idyllic childhood in sunny California, clouded only by the death of their father, an artist who introduced them to “cool music” and took them to Saturday matinees. From the photos, his Clark Gable pencil moustache might explain Ron’s life-long homage. Sparks’ “jagged sense of narrative in their songs” perhaps came from often arriving at the cinema half-way through a film and trying to make up the rest.

They also had a cool mom who took them to see the Beatles twice. There they are looking fresh-faced and excited in audience footage taken from a concert in Las Vegas. Many years later Paul McCartney returned the compliment by playing Ron, alongside his other musical idols, in his video for Coming Up.

When trying to sum up what makes Sparks special some fans mention their unusual closeness as brothers, “some kind of magical combination of brother blood.” In contrast to other brothers-in-pop (Kinks, Oasis, Bros) they enjoy a unique symbiotic relationship, united by a singular vision and passion for music.

I once saw Russell Mael while on holiday in California in 1981. We were driving through Beverly Hills gawping at the film star mansions. A man who looked like Jim Morrison’s sister drove past in a beautiful lime green convertible. “Look! It’s that guy from Sparks!” Russell gave us a genuine full-beam smile. Another indelible memory.

Summer of Soul

This documentary features exhilarating ‘lost’ performances from the 1969 Harlem Cultural Festival: Stevie Wonder dazzles on drums and keyboards; Mahalia Jackson and Mavis Staples take it to church; Nina Simone presides like a radical African princess; Sly & the Family Stone steal the show and leave us on a high. The cameras capture the party atmosphere, the excited faces of a joyous multi-aged crowd embracing Black culture.

Summer of Soul (…Or, When The Revolution Could Not Be Televised) is an uplifting treat for music fans and a fascinating piece of Black history. But why has it taken 50 years for this treasure-trove to see the light of day? It seems baffling that original producer Hal Tulchin was unable to sell his work to American TV networks. Instead, over 40 hours of videotape languished in a basement until Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson was approached to take on the responsibility of ‘correcting history.’

Commentators point to this so-called ‘Black Woodstock’ being overshadowed by its bigger, whiter upstate rival in the summer of 69. Perhaps Woodstock caught the mainstream hippy counter-culture zeitgeist in a way that Harlem, with its ‘older’ gospel, Motown and pop acts failed to do. For this reason, it might have been less marketable. Or perhaps political conservatism and racism informed this rejection. Either way, Summer of Soul makes for more compelling and eclectic viewing than much of the tedious Woodstock.

Director Questlove interweaves the music with late 60s American news footage, together with eyewitness accounts and the thoughts of cultural historians to give it context. In the summer of 1969 Harlem was the place to be, a‘safe and happy creative forest,’ in which 300,000 locals attended the free Festival. But it also had a heroin epidemic and a problem with the white establishment (‘it felt like the system had let us down’). The moon landings that amazed the world were not universally celebrated here: some felt the money could have been better spent getting rid of poverty.

As heralded here by a militant Nina Simone (‘Are you ready to smash white things?) and the ‘freedom music’ of African artists such as Hugh Masekela, a revolution in Black consciousness was coming: ‘1969 was the year when the negro died and Black was born.’

Times might have been a-changin’, but in Summer of Soul gospel continues to provide release and catharsis, the ‘therapy for being Black in America.’ Some of the most memorable performances and crowd reactions are inspired by gospel singers such as Clara Walker and Dorothy Moore. A duet between Mahalia Jackson and Mavis Staples erupts into a volcano of passion, as each tries to outdo the other in raw-throated testifying.

Image-conscious viewers will contrast gap-toothed Jackson’s make-up with the perfect teeth and sheen of a modern-day Gladys Knight looking back on her own contribution. Elsewhere hot pink gowns and dayglo orange-yellow suits and ruffled shirts brighten the stage. ‘We were suit and tie guys,’ says someone. ‘Then we saw Sly.’

The threads and funk of Sly & the Family Stone take us into psychedelic colour. They get the loudest crowd reaction, providing melting pot good vibes with Everyday People and Higher. The sound is excellent – crisp and integrated, with irresistible drumming (‘The white guy is the drummer? He’s not supposed to be able to do that’). Proto-Prince Sly leaves us on a high, after post-gig monochrome pics of a litter-strewn Park.

‘Nobody was interested in a Black show,’ says one of the film’s talking heads. ‘It felt like they threw it away.’ With Summer of Soul Questlove has reclaimed and restored a remarkable piece of history and given it back to the people.

Volunteering at CoFarm Cambridge

On a sweltering afternoon in July 2021 I was amongst the new volunteers welcomed to CoFarm Cambridge by Pete Wrapson. He is one of the two horticultural experts who have worked wonders to create the city’s first community farm – a ‘magic pop-up allotment’ near my workplace (Barnwell Road). Pete told us how, over the past year, this exciting co-operative enterprise had transformed bare land into a farm that provided a cornucopia of fresh veg to Cambridge’s 9 foodbank hubs. It is a rare Covid good news story, one that has given food, community work and hope to hundreds of local people.

I mucked in with the other volunteers, working on a variety of tasks: harvesting courgettes of all shapes and sizes (“you might find a zeppelin,” said Pete); hoeing weeds and thistles in the sweetcorn patch; loosening and picking beetroot, which is strangely satisfying. I had no idea that there were orange beetroots and ones that had pink spirals when you cut them open, like psychedelic lollipops. These were Chioggia, explained Pete.

We were advised to take it slowly on a sweltering July afternoon, so there were many opportunities to pause and marvel at the variety of crops, flowers and insect life. A buzzard patrolled the treeline. Green woodpeckers yaffled nearby. Dragonflies and bees buzzed past a row of thriving sunflowers. It was hard to believe that this oasis was only a stone’s throw away from the ring-road, or that it had only existed a few months.

I noticed a couple of fishing rods resting on the perimeter fence. Pete explained that they had kites on the end to deter scavenger pigeons. There was also a regular evening visitor who helped with this task – a fox who liked to lurk behind the potatoes and leap out to snare the more dozy birds.

CoFarm Cambridge has been such a huge success that Pete and his team are being encouraged to use their experience and knowledge to mentor similar groups and projects elsewhere in the UK. They also have plans to create an orchard and café on the Cambridge site, where invited groups will be able to cook recipes which include the veg they have just picked.

For further info, see their website:


Lee Isaac Chung’s quirky and charming drama follows a Korean family’s attempts to make their home in rural Arkansas in 1983. Based on his own childhood experience, Minari is a beautifully-acted and nuanced portrayal of the pursuit of the American Dream, one that gently moves, amuses and uplifts us, but never sugar-coats the realities of immigrants trying to find their place in a foreign land.

Minari is a Korean herb, also called ‘Japanese parsley’ and ‘Chinese celery’. In the film grandma plants it in a nearby creek and, with the right loving care and attention, it eventually flourishes. We hope that the Yi family can do likewise, but there are many obstacles in the way.

They have travelled from California in search of a better life. Jakob (Steven Yeun) is excited by how much land they now have and quality of the soil (“this is the best dirt!”) but his wife Monica (Han Ye-ri) is unhappy about their new trailer house-on-wheels (“this isn’t what you promised”). Their two children take things in their stride. When their parents have a row they write ‘don’t fight’ on paper planes and throw them into the room.

Jakob and Monica have jobs at a hatchery, sorting chicks by sex, but the work is tedious and soul-destroying. Jakob enlists the help of eccentric neighbour Paul (Will Paton) to plough their land and plant Korean vegetables. He dreams of supplying the 30,000 Koreans who emigrate to the US every year.

One of these is the wonderful grandma Soon-ja (Youn Yuh-jung), whose arrival creates new family tensions, but also brings delightful Korean traditions (and ‘smells’). She arrives bearing gifts but is not averse to swearing, cheating at cards or stealing dollar notes from the collection plate when it is passed round in church.

At the heart of the film is the relationship between David and his grandma. Initially shy of her, the boy is baffled that she can’t read or cook (“she isn’t like a real grandma”), and plays a nasty trick on her. Soon, though, they form a strong bond. As a fun-loving old rascal, Soon-ja treats David as an equal. She teaches him cards and encourages him to push himself, despite his serious heart condition.

When I first heard about Minari, I thought of Studio Ghibli’s My Neighbour Totoro. They are, of course, very different films, but they both feature the transforming influence of a mischievous free spirit, who brings fun and magic into the kids’ lives. They are both unhurried evocations of childhood summers in the shadow of illness. And Emile Mosseri’s yearning score evokes the widescreen wonder of Joe Hisaishi’s greatest hits.

Grandma is the comic star of the show (Youn Yuh-jung won an Oscar). She is sometimes like a Korean yoda, imparting homespun wisdom and funny phrases. “Pretty boy,” she tells David, as if he was a parrot. “I’m not pretty,” he replies. “I’m good-looking.” Helping break the ice, or just being insensitive (take your pick), she diagnoses his bed-wetting problem: “penis broken”. “It’s not called a penis,” says David, “it’s called a ding-dong.”

Jakob and Soon-ja offer their own ways of coping with the immigrant experience and family life in general. Both give us hope that, like them, we can cultivate our own gardens.


Nomadland is not your average Oscar-winner. This is a quietly poetic character study, an impressionistic road-movie with cumulative power that shines a light on a different kind of America – one in which friendship and community thrive away from the “tyranny of the dollar”. Writer-Director Chloé Zhao nudges us to see her nomads as part of an American tradition going back to the pioneers.

The film is based on a nonfiction book by Jessica Bruder (Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century) about the phenomenon of older Americans who adopted transient lifestyles travelling around the United States in search of seasonal work after the Great Recession (2007-2009).

One such outsider is Fern (Frances McDormand), forced to uproot home from company town Empire, Nevada, after the local plant closes and her husband dies. She packs what she needs into her customised white van, which she calls ‘Vanguard,’ and drives into an uncertain future.

Fern used to work as a substitute teacher and in HR. Now she temps as a packer at Amazon, a fast-food chef and a sugar-beet picker. Wherever she goes she makes lasting friendships and enjoys the great outdoors in Arizona, the Badlands of South Dakota, Nebraska and California, with its giant redwoods and rugged Pacific coast.

Nature and community are shown here to be the medicine for troubled souls, the things that make us more human. Freedom comes with the open road and not being a wage-slave saddled with a paralysing mortgage. “I’m not homeless,” Fern tells a friend, “but house-less. Home is something we carry within us.”

For all her independence and DIY skills there are times when Fern needs to ask for help, whether it’s with a flat tyre or to borrow money to pay for van repairs. It is almost a shock when she stays in her sister Dolly’s ‘normal’ home, where we get an insight into both her character and the downside of taking off – the people left behind: “you were braver and more honest than everyone else,” Dolly (Melissa Smith) tells her. “You left a big hole by leaving.”

Fern’s character is a long way from McDormand’s previous Oscar-winning role, Mildred in Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, though both roles are powered by grief. The nearest Fern comes to losing her temper is when her friend Dave (David Strathairn) accidently breaks a family heirloom. Dave clearly wants more than friendship, but Fern is not yet over the death of her husband and follows her dad’s homespun wisdom: “what’s remembered, lives,” conceding that “maybe I’ve spent too long remembering Beau.”

All the film’s drama is played out on the surface of Frances McDormand’s expressive face. Her crags and fissures take on a mythic Mount Rushmore quality; its long-suffering soulfulness bring to mind Dorothea Lange’s famous photo of a migrant mother taken during the Great Depression. “When you get old, you get personality”, says Fern’s friend Linda May.

Like its nomadic characters Zhao’s screenplay is peripatetic. We never know how long Fern spends in any given place. This restlessness keeps the audience on its toes and means that, like Fern, we take away a travelog of memorable images: the silhouette of a cactus as night falls; wild swimming in a mountain pool; stargazing in the desert.

We also take away the film’s message of hope. Nomadland is full of wonderful real people, nomads such as Swanky, Linda May and Bob Wells, and their humanity shines like a beacon in our troubled times.

County Lines

This powerful and moving debut from writer-director Henry Blake punches above its weight and hits its target. Sometimes County Lines is a tough watch, but it is an important film – one that shines a light on the murky and terrifying world of child exploitation by criminal drugs gangs in the UK. Last year it was shown in the House of Lords; hopefully these educational screenings will spark positive change and help safeguard potential victims in the future.

The term ‘county lines’ refers to the phone numbers, or lines, used by gangs trafficking drugs away from big cities. The film opens with a buzzing mobile. It belongs to 14 year old Tyler (Conrad Khan) who, we learn, is in trouble: “Do you know what acceptable loss is for your business?” asks his counsellor. “You are! You’re the acceptable loss.”

Six months earlier: in a London school canteen the camera locates Tyler in the corner of the frame. He is quiet amidst the hubbub, on the margins of things, the victim of bullying. At home he looks after his younger sister while his mum (Ashley Madekwe) works as a cleaner. They are a loving family, but money is tight.

After a man in a chip shop saves him from being jumped by a gang from school, Tyler sees him the next day sitting in a parked car. Simon (Harris Dickinson) persuades him to skip school. He buys him new trainers and food. “What do you do?” Tyler asks him. “Self-employed,” he replies. As ‘the man’ of his own house Tyler thinks this sounds like a good idea: he will be able to provide for his family.

The reality of what follows is squalid and depressing, involving trips out of town to drug-dealing ‘trap-houses’, running errands for strangers, seeing things that no 14-year old should have to witness.

The gathering gloom is reinforced by the film’s palette: dingy interiors in which only the orange glow of lamps offer any cheer. Even daylight feels as if it has been turned down by a dimmer switch. When Tyler sits by the sea watching the sun go down it should be an uplifting and poetic moment of escape. But we know it’s only a brief respite from his awful situation.

County Lines is elevated by naturalistic performances from its leads. Both Conrad Khan and Ashley Madekwe have been nominated for BAFTA awards (Rising Star and Supporting Actress, respectively). Khan imbues Tyler with a kind of invisible charisma, one that enables him to seem vulnerable, yet cool under pressure. He looks like a cross between Rami Malek and Thomas Brodie-Sangster.

As a former youth worker in East London, writer-director Henry Blake drew on his own experiences to create the film. During a Q&A conducted by the Cambridge Film Festival Youth Lab, he explained: “I felt compelled to try to author a story which showed the damage and the stakes of what could happen when a family and a young person become ensnared in county lines criminal networks.”

A caption before the credits spells out the reality: “Up to 10,000 children as young as 11 are involved in county lines across the UK.” So what can be done about this?

“From a safeguarding perspective … it’s important not to ignore the context of their vulnerabilities, to try to identify those vulnerabilities in whatever form they take, whether they be socio-economic, ethnic, physical, psychological or educational … they need to be identified as early as possible in order to create a larger picture … in order to created a more holistic support system.”

Politically, “punitive measures are not working … you need a political groundswell to bring in a harm-reduction approach – quite simply, that you’re not arresting drug addicts, you’re going to set up clinics to help them. For a lot of people that’s a problem to hear. We live in very conservative times … we’re becoming even more conservative in our mindsets and I think that’s a great shame. For me, the goal of County Lines is to take the sting out of the tail. The sting is the violence. And violence comes from the need to control the street markets.”

In Fabric

Peter Strickland’s comedy-horror In Fabric is memorably disturbing, funny and outright bonkers, like Mike Leigh on LSD. This tale of a killer red dress haunting a fictitious 90s English town (Thames Valley-on-Thames) is strong on style, atmosphere and music, and further confirms Strickland as one of our most exciting writer-directors. Like some of the film’s characters, we are often hypnotised by the audio-visuals and made more sensitive to the weirdness that follows. In Fabric has echoes of other films and TV shows, but Strickland weaves his ideas and influences into a cinematic tapestry that is uniquely his own.

When bank clerk Sheila (Marianne Jean-Baptiste, star of Leigh’s Secrets and Lies) buys a red dress at Dentley & Soper department store she gets more than she bargained for. Sheila has a put an ad in the lonely-hearts column of the local paper, which ends with “Laughter needed.” Life at home with teenaged son Vince (Jaygann Ayeh) and his “disgusting” girlfriend (an unrecognisable Gwendolyn Christie) is not much fun.

Sheila hopes that the dress and a new hairdo will impress the man who answered her ad. But the omens are not good. “What have you done to your hair?” asks Vince. “Looks like the council cut it.” In a scene that Mike Leigh would have been proud of, Sheila’s romantic date in a Greek restaurant is a dog’s dinner: ‘Adonis’ turns out to be rude and miserable. “What makes you laugh?” she asks him (his ad had said: ‘loves laughing’). “Funny things,” he replies, unsmilingly.

By the time Sheila finds a good man (Barry Adamson) she is increasingly disturbed by her red dress. It gives her a strange rash. At night, it shrieks from her wardrobe as if it is trying to escape its metallic clothes rail. It seems to move around the house when she’s not there. When she puts it in the washing machine it goes haywire. Even when unplugged the machine throbs and grinds violently and seems to attack Sheila.

The second part of the film follows the red dress into the life of a new owner, “solid average” washing machine repairman Reg Speaks (Leo Bill). He is similarly terrorised by it and cannot understand the mechanics of what it does to his own washing machine. In a couple of hilarious scenes, Reg explains precisely what is needed to fix it in torpor-inducing detail: “the plungers on the doors don’t align with the seal … the lid-switch and its actuator.” Anyone who has been on the end of plumber-speak will nod off in sympathy. Two other characters in the film seem to like being sent into a trance by Reg and ask him to recite his incantatory bollocks so they can get off on it.

Although In Fabric is set in the 1990s it has a retro feel: its’ collages of fashion catalogues and still photographs are straight from the 1970s. It features a disturbingly ugly mannequin that put me in mind of the Jon Pertwee-era Doctor Who story, Spearhead from Space (1970) which featured chilling shop window dummies that come to life.

Conscious or not, there are echoes of Hitchcock’s Vertigo, Halloween III (Season of the Witch), David Lynch and, stylistically, the Euro exploitation films (giallo) that Strickland is so fond of. After Berberian Sound Studio (2012) and The Duke of Burgundy (2014), which he has admitted were “steeped in genre tropes,” In Fabric is an attempt to make something more original.

Like those films it has a mesmerising soundtrack (Cavern of Anti-Matter) and heightened, sensual sounds that are intended to evoke in the listener an Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response (ASMR). Strickland has said “for me, it’s a response to certain tactile sounds – whispering, page-turning, pencil on paper … I had it since childhood without questioning what it was … I just assumed everyone enjoys those sounds.” On YouTube there is a whole world of ASMR artists who create tingle-inducing sounds.

Sathnam Sanghera: Empireland

Cambridge Literary Festival: Sathnam Sanghera in conversation with Kavita Puri

24th February 2021

For a one-off online Cambridge Literary Festival event novelist and journalist Sathnam Sanghera (The Boy With The Topknot, Marriage Material) talked to writer and broadcaster Kavita Puri (Partition Voices: Untold British Stories) about his new book: Empireland: How Imperialism has Shaped Modern Britain.

Kavita Puri:        Empireland went straight to number 2 in the Sunday Times Bestseller list. it’s an exploration of Britain’s legacy of its colonial past and I wish it was a book that had been around when I was growing up. The vestiges of Empire are all around us. I pass Liberty every day and had no idea about its origin until I read your book. How is that? How can it be the basis of so much of modern Britain and we just don’t know about it?

Sathnam Sanghera:        Empire is bloody everywhere. It’s in our language, businesses, museums; it’s in our psychologies, our multiculturalism and our racism. But we don’t really think about it. We don’t think of ourselves as the nation that had the greatest Empire in human history. We generally think of ourselves as the nation that won World War I and World War II – the nation that defeated the Germans twice, the evil and racist Germans. And what that does it helps us slightly forget that in the 19th Century we were wilfully white supremacists, sometimes genocidal.

The other view of Empire is that it erupts in this strange way. We have this balance sheet view of Empire where it seems to you can balance the negatives against the positives, the massacres against the railways, and come to the conclusion that it’s either good or bad. It’s always struck me that’s a very strange way of viewing 500 years of history. It’s just so complex … It’s like saying, ‘oh, I think biology’s good’, or ‘jelly’s good.’ No, it’s like trying to give a 5-star review to your own life. And it’s just impossible.

So, I had the idea that instead of engaging in that endless, tedious debate, writing about the modern legacies of Empire, because those are the things you can weigh up. Those are the things that matter, as they affect our lives now. And it was also a way of getting out of the toxic politicised debate around Empire.

Kavita Puri:        You talk about Jallianwala Bagh. That was the moment when you were making that documentary for Channel 4, when you were almost de-colonising yourself, weren’t you?

extract from documentary

Sathnam Sanghera:        It was going to Jallianwala Bagh – the centenary of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre in Amritsar –  that made me realise that I had to write this book. It wasn’t so much the event itself, which was shocking … it taught me that we have very little knowledge of Empire.

But it’s also the way that the Sikhs were dealt with in the British Empire, the kind of weird combination of indulgence and subjugation, made me realise that was the way Sikhs were treated in post-war Britain. We won the right to ride motorbikes with turbans on, to wear the kirpan, the sword, and we were considered a very successful immigrant community. And there’s always calls for us to have our own regiment in the British Army.

But at the same time when my parents came here they faced discrimination in employment. There was a massive colour-bar in Wolverhampton. Even now there are certain pubs you’ll go to if you’re brown and certain pubs you won’t go to if you’re white. There was racial violence. There was discrimination in housing. The Sikhs weren’t allowed to move into or buy council houses. That’s why they ended up buying a lot of slum housing. And that echoed for me their experience in colonial Britain and gave me the idea of writing something about the legacies of Empire.

Kavita Puri:        How did it feel, though, when you went to Jallianwala Bagh. It must have been quite an emotional moment for you, given what happened there?

Sathnam Sanghera:        It’s quite a weird place because it doesn’t feel like the site of a massacre … a lot of Indians coming to sing pariotic songs. Because the one thing you notice when you visit India and you talk about Empire is that the average man on the street is very informed. Because they teach it. It’s part of their national story. But it’s not part of our national story. So much so, that I realised that there was ignorance even among British Sikhs, about Jallianwala Bagh.

I told people I was making a doc about it and they assumed I was making a doc about Sikhs in 1984 because that’s what’s nationally more known about. Whereas in 1919 is not very well known … that, in itself, led me to the conclusion that British Sikhs themselves were actually created by Empire. Sikhism was on the decline. Then the Mutiny happened and the Sikhs took the side of the British and the British decided then that certain races were to be trusted and certain races weren’t to be trusted.

And they came up with all this weird pseudo-science, racial science, about Sikhs, that we were the martial race, and they wrote handbooks about us, that we had perfect-sized noses and eyes and ears and physiques to be soldiers. And those became such dominant ideas that they’re almost the prism through which Sikhs see themselves. That’s quite a profound thing to realise, that the way we see ourselves as a community actually goes back to the British.


Kavita Puri:        What I took from your book that I hadn’t grasped before, was that the tone and culture of Empire varied hugely. And also at different times you talk about the 1st stage and the 2nd stage …

Sathnam Sanghera:        They’re probably 500 stages, to be honest. It’s not like the Roman Empire that had a clear legal framework and a clear mission … British Empire came about for 1000 different reasons. At one point it was the East India Company mainly pushing imperialism. At another point it was individuals. And then the East India Company was abolished and the Crown took over after the Mutiny in 1858.

And the tone changed so much. At one point slavery’s a big part of the British imperial economy. Then we abolish slavery … we try to wipe it out across the planet. At one stage, missionaries are encouraged because it’s seen to be a good thing to spread Christianity. At another point they’re discouraged because they’re getting in the way of commerce.

Then there’s the whole thing about inter-racial relationships. There was a whole period during the early Empire in India when the officers of the East India Company were encouraged, almost, to have relationships with Indian women. And then, suddenly, the Victorians come, and it’s very much looked down upon. It could lose you your job.

So, the tone of Empire changed a lot. And also it was different things in different territories. You could argue that Empire was very different in Goa to Delhi at any particular time. So it was an incredibly complex thing to get your head around. And that is part of the reason why we don’t teach it. Because it’s quite hard to teach. Whereas WW2 is very easy to teach: 6 years; clear beginning; clear end; clear morality …

KP: You also go into detail about some of the atrocities. You’ve talked about Jallianwala Bagh and other atrocities that are certainly not taught in schools. I didn’t know much about the invasion of Tibet … that really stuck in my mind as one of the more horrific aspects … was that the case when you were studying it? Were you taken about by the extent of the atrocities?

SS: Yeah. That was one of the hardest things, in basically 2 years of going through the worst things Britain did – and the positives.

I found the Mutiny, the racial revenge of the British after the Mutiny. Indians committed atrocities too. But the revenge, the vicious revenge and people like Charles Dickens joining this bloodthirstiness to take revenge on the Indians. People being burned alive. Villages begin razed to the ground … quite brutal.

Then there was the Morant Bay Rebellion in 1865  – 400 Jamaicans killed.

Actually, for me, Tasmania – 4-8,000 Tasmanian Aborigines wiped out. And it was a genocide, in the sense that what happened there was used to help define genocide in international law. Sometimes people say there wasn’t a genocide during the British Empire. Well actually, there was. It was legally the first. And what they did was unbelievable … yeah, it was really hard.

I was reading a piece about whether historians get psychologically scarred by writing about violence. There was one famous story of a historian who killed herself after reading about the Japanese war crimes. And I can see why, because it really does take its toll.

Also, I’m British. I want to think the best about my country. So it was hard.

KP: Yes, I can tell you from studying Partition it is very draining. Do you think that the atrocities that were committed is the big reason that Britain doesn’t want to talk about Empire?

SS: I think there’s loads of different reasons. One of them is that Empires are very complicated. How do you even begin talking about it? It’s also really painful … when it comes to slavery it’s much easier to remember that we were the country that abolished slavery, rather than the fact that we also sent 3 million Africans across the Atlantic. That we paid £20 million compensation to the owners and not a penny to the slaves. I think you can remember all those things at the same time. But we don’t do it, do we? We basically remember abolition. There’s also all sorts of reasons why we struggle to remember this stuff …

The main reason is that we haven’t been invaded. Like France after WWII had to face up to what they did. Because Empire was always abroad. There’s lots of evidence that most people were oblivious to it throughout Empire … out of sight, out of mind. We’ve never had a moment when we’ve had to face up to what happened. I think it’s happening now. It’s happening because of Black Lives Matter, because of a new generation of people who are very animated about colonialism and they want to understand.

KP: Why now, though? Why 2021, if you think that the beginnings of the end of the British Empire was in 1947 …

SS: It’s hard to explain why BLM happened. I think it’s partly because of Lockdown. People on their phones, in their homes, seeing the same video again and again. And they’ve got the time to think about it and also become activists.

KP: But that doesn’t necessarily mean that they should draw the line with colonialism, though, does it?

SS: No, no, I can’t really explain. Also, it’s been weaponised by the far right and the right-wing part of the Conservative Party. I think it’s because Empire is basically synonymous with race. When you’re talking about the British Empire, you’re talking about white people conquering brown people. And you’re having different conversations about nationality. It encompasses every controversial subject there is. And suddenly all these different subjects are in the air. They all come together in the subject of imperialism.

KP: It feels like Empire is being talked about now. But when we were growing up it was never about Empire. And if you think that our parents were born as subjects of the British Raj … it was never part of the discussion … the direct line with Empire was never drawn. So, I wonder why now?

SS: I conclude in the book that the reason you and I are here, Kavita, is because of Empire. It’s a very basic legacy. We wouldn’t be here if a bunch of British people hadn’t invaded India in the 17th Century, right?

But there’s a very poor understanding of it in our community and in the black community. The reason people came on the Windrush was not to have jobs. They didn’t have jobs lined up. They came because the 1948 Nationality Act gave them citizenship. And we don’t really talk about that, do we? That’s why the Windrush scandal is such a painful scandal. They were citizens. Imagine if citizens of Britain were deported back to a country they didn’t know. That’s what’s happened.

It’s not just that we helped rebuild Britain after WWII, which is something that is said quite often, but we came as citizens because we have centuries-long relationships with Britain. Because we are British. We are connected in a really deep psychological way. And that has been forgotten. It was forgotten on purpose in Britain.

KP: People from South Asia has been here for hundreds of years because of Empire. You go into some of those quite fascinating characters in your book. Tell us about some of them.

Bloody Foreigners: The Story of Immigration to Britain by Robert Winder

SS: It was Robert Winder’s work in his amazing book, Bloody Foreigners, that really surprised me. The first Bengali in London was born in 1616. Elizabeth I was complaining about there being too many black people in the 1600s. And there’s this amazing guy, Dean Mohammed … he opened the first Indian restaurant in London … He became the first Indian to write a book in English. It’s a terrible book, but still, it was the first. Then he became this self-labelled shampoo salesman. He was basically a massage guy, right? He set up a massage parlour in Brighton and it became so popular that the king became one of the customers … He was hugely famous in his time. But like so many of these brown imperial figures he was forgotten almost immediately as soon as he died.

The same thing happened to a lot of slaves who were in Britain, became famous and then forgotten until recently. Another reason why there is this sudden interest is that brown communities are now a majority in some cities in Britain – Leicester, Slough. I think maybe there’s just the right amount of us that suddenly people are interested.

KP: The younger generation are really curious about their history … Looking at teaching in schools, we were never taught about Empire. What is so difficult about teaching it? It’s part of British history, a huge thing to omit. It’s 2021 – why are the kids not learning about it?

SS: It’s widely politicised. Just look at what’s happened in the last few years. You had Jeremy Corbyn saying that we should teach the crimes of colonialism. And then Michael Gove saying he wanted to teach the ‘triumphs’ of imperialism. And both of them I don’t think are the right way to teach it. This idea that we need to feel pride or shame in our history, it’s so bizarre … the thing is history doesn’t have feelings. History is about facts and there are ways to teach it.

Even though the National Curriculum is a mess and doesn’t really acknowledge how important British Empire is, not every school needs to teach it – academies can break free, private schools … and I’ve been really encouraged by the dozens of teachers who’ve contacted me and said ‘I’m teaching this already.’ The younger generation really want to know and they’re getting their education from the internet. There are some amazing Instagram accounts about colonialism … in that way I feel positive.

KP: We’re not the only country that grapples with our colonial past. I know you cite Germany as being a good example of a country that deals with its difficult past, but even Germany is not great at dealing with its own colonial past. But other European countries aren’t any better, are they?

SS: Imperial nostalgia is something that affects loads of nations. There was a recent poll that asked which countries felt most nostalgic about their Empires … we were number 1 – 27% of Britons said they still wished they had an Empire. So we’ve got the worst case of imperial nostalgia.

You’re right about Germany … but they are having conversations about repatriating some of the artefacts in their museums. France are having that conversation. They’re actually doing it. Macron is doing it. And New Zealand – they’ve completely changed their curriculum recently to reflect their own very difficult colonial history. So there are good examples to be found internationally. But we are not unique.

When it comes to imperial nostalgia there’s no one worse than the Sikhs. We had an Empire. And you will not find many Sikhs who go around saying the Sikh Empire was terrible. Everyone will tell you that is was a brilliant cosmopolitan Empire. It probably wasn’t was it? It was probably violent. So, I think it’s something in human nature that makes people want to believe the best about their heritage.

KP: It’s probably worth pointing out that, even at the time, there were critics of Empire and I thinks it’s important that people realise that the criticisms of Empire aren’t just now. It’s not a modern phenomenon. There were quite prominent people who thought what was happening, that some of the atrocities being committed were wrong.

SS: If there’s one point I want our nation to absorb from this book, it’s this one. Anyone observing anything negative about the British Empire is dismissed as woke nowadays. But if I’m woke, then so is William Gladstone, who spent large parts of his career railing against the jingoism of imperialism. Even Queen Victoria complained when Lord Kitchener wanted to bring back a skull from one of these battles and put it on display. George Orwell wrote incredibly well about the crimes of colonialism. H. G. Wells, E. M. Forster. Churchill said the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre was monstrous. If I went on tv and said that J was monstrous, as I did, I got days of racist hate mail.

The Ethiopian expedition where we got the Maqdala crown – it sits in the V & A now – Gladstone, at the time, said ‘I hope we can give this back’ … because the way we got it was morally wrong. We need to remember that: Empire was never unanimous. It was always the subject of debate in Britain.

KP: I know you don’t do balance sheets, quite rightly, but (the railways, no, I’m joking!) you do say that the anti-racist movement was born out of Empire and that’s a commendable thing.

SS: I argue in a chapter that our particular brand of racism in this country can largely be explained by Empire. But I do say … the fact that we abolished slavery created the model for social justice campaigns. It was followed by the Suffragettes, various trade union movements. So, I argue that we have a certain tradition of anti-racism in this country., which inadvertently comes from Empire. I had the book read by 5 or 6 historians and they all said I was mad … but I do believe it. That was a powerful tradition. Unfortunately they were drowned out by the imperialists.

KP: I suppose your most controversial argument is that the origins of Brexit lie in Empire nostalgia. Tell me about that.

SS: I almost wish I didn’t have to put that in the book because the reviews have been amazing. But the few negative ones have been from political writers who focused entirely on that, said ‘that’s ridiculous. Brexit wasn’t about imperialism.’ I wouldn’t expect everyone to agree with everything in the book. And that is the thing that’s least important … people voted for Brexit for loads of reasons. But one of them, a factor, was imperialism. This obsession with being ‘global Britain’. Even Liam Fox’s civil servants labelled it Empire 2.0. This obsession with being a great trading nation like in the 19th century.

In Boris Johnson and Jacob Rees-Mogg we have two of the most imperialism-nostalgic politicians we’ve ever had. Both of them in their spare time are writing books about Churchill or the Victorians. Very rose-tinted views of both phenomena. Johnson’s a man who goes on about ‘flag-waving picaninnies’ and ‘watermelon smiles’. He’s trying to read a Rudyard Kipling poem out in Burma. They’re both so steeped in imperialism that I don’t think they even know, that they realise what they’re doing. But I do think that Brexit is one of the consequences of that.

But there’s all sorts of consequences of Empire from Suez to the Royal Navy. Our mission is still to be global. Why do we, this tiny country, have a global navy? That goes straight back to Empire, I think.

KP: Do you think that nostalgia breeds racism?

SS: nostalgia succeeds because we have amnesia. You need amnesia for nostalgia to flourish. We definitely have selective amnesia. And we have nostalgia. And the nostalgia makes us forget the awful hundred years of willful white supremacy we had. Empire was proudly white supremacist. And someone like Cecil Rhodes would not have denied it. And yet you have people defending him now … that’s what he wanted to be.

KP: You also think imperial history inspires this sense of exceptionalism and that has resulted in dysfunctional politics and disastrous decision-making, some of which you cite as happening very recently.

SS: This exceptionalism isn’t an issue that’s particularly British. The Americans have it for a clear reason. They’re the greatest, most powerful nation in our times. We have a legacy of that because we had the greatest Empire of all time. There’s all sorts of manifestations of it, like the idea that English is the best language. We go round the world shouting English at people. That we have the best pop music, the best writers – we have Shakespeare. And that’s quite a prominent idea in our psychology that’s been, again, harnessed by Boris Johnson. It’s generally not harmful.

But it has been harmful recently when it comes to coronavirus. Because you have this obsession with being world-beating … we’ve had about 50 examples of politicians using the term ‘world-beating’ in the last year or so. It wasn’t just the Tories. Keir Starmer did a bit of it himself.

And what that does is creates this idea that we don’t need to follow the rules that everyone else is following. And thereby we have dysfunctional decision-making. If you think you don’t have to behave like everyone else you end up with the largest death-rate in the world from Covid.

KP: I’ve seen the stuff you get on Twitter and you’re quite upfront about it. You take the people who challenge you head-on. Were you apprehensive about what you were getting yourself into?

SS: Very, yeah. Mainly because I had a taste of it with the Jallianwala Bagh documentary on Channel 4 and, as you know, when you’re on radio and TV you get a whole different level of abuse. I’m used to it at times. I get quite a lot. It’s not just racists. I get Corbynites, trolling, cancelled by various groups over my career. But Empires is just a totally different level. I did an interview with Nihal (Arthanayake) on Radio 5 and both of us had 5 days of trolling. It got to the stage when I couldn’t tweet anything. I just couldn’t see the replies because it was just racism.

I interviewed the black actor David Harewood recently – he does a lot of programmes about race for the BBC – and he said he doesn’t look at his phone now before midday now. When he switches on Twitter there’ll be 20 messages saying he’s a black bastard and then his day’s ruined. So he either doesn’t look, or he leaves it until very late in the day. I’m kind of getting to that stage now.

KP: Do you think you get it worse because you’re British South-Asian and talking about Empire?

SS: Yeah, because not only is Empire a proxy for a debate about race … the imperial story has always been taught and told by white men. It’s always been a man of a certain age on BBC2 getting off a railway carriage in India talking about the gift that the British Empire gave the Indians. And it’s only now that we have brown people telling the story. So, we have David Olusoga, who gets much more crap than me. You have quite a few brown voices suddenly piping up and it’s a bit like that saying, ‘when you’re used to privilege, equality feels like oppression.’ People are so used to the white version of events having brown people tell the story and observe negative things feels like an attack on them personally, which is why you get such a vicious response.

KP: You’ve also got people like Corinne Fowler, who works for the National Trust, who has done very good historical research into the history of some of their houses, who gets a lot of stuff on Twitter as well. On the face of it, the National Trust researching its past shouldn’t be such a kind of flashpoint. It’s so raw for us to even talk about sensibly, isn’t it?

SS: That’s because the narrative is suddenly in the hands of the other side. But also, it’s been weaponised. You’ve got Conservative ministers writing columns saying: ‘this is disgusting.’ You’ve got the Chair of the Charity Commission saying that the National Trust needs to be investigated for the crime of publishing academic research. If someone else had said that they’d be calling it cancel culture because what they’re doing, essentially, is saying ‘we don’t like the conclusions of this research and we want it cancelled, please. I mean there’re just being total snowflakes. And I can’t wait for the day when our new Free Speech Czar takes on the ministers who are encouraging the cancellation of all this academic research. It’s a culture war, basically. The Empire is one of the most vicious of culture wars.

KP: Do you think that atonement needs to happen for what happened during Empire? And, if so, what does that look like?

SS: There is an active debate in America about reparations for slavery. But we’re nowhere near that. In Britain we’re still having a conversation about whether racism exists. I meet people all the time who are journalists and ask me ‘racism doesn’t actually exist, does it? You haven’t experienced any racism, have you, Sathnam?’ And this is a very popular view. How do you go from that to talking about reparations?

What we need to do is to understand our history. Without feeling positive or negative. Get rid of the shame. Get rid of the pride. Let’s just face the facts. And have an argument about what actually happened.

KP: It’s quite telling …what does it say about us as a country that we can’t do that? Empire shaped so much about modern Britain. How is it possible?

SS: Neil McGregor (no snowflake – he was the head of the British Museum, right?) famously said, ‘the Germans look at their history to understand themselves; the British look at themselves and they want comfort.’ I think that gets to the heart of it. We want to be comforted by history and that is dangerous because all sorts of crazy stuff happens.

This is why we’ve got to get rid of the emotion to do with history and understand what academic discipline of history actually is: which is, facts and argument. It’s not feelings. And it’s not bloody statues either. Cause, you know what? There’s this idea that by tearing down statues you’re deleting history. The history of Nazism wasn’t deleted by tearing down Adolf Hitler’s statue. So there’s a lot of dysfunctional modes of thought out there with history.

KP: William Dalrymple’s talked about the Museum of Colonialism. Is that something that you think is useful for our country in trying to come to terms with its past?

SS: When it comes to statues, I like the idea that we have a national day, you know like the Spanish, they throw tomatoes at stutues once a year. We should do the same. The people who hate the statues should throw tomatoes. The people who love them can celebrate them like they’re doing already. The statue thing distracts us from the real issues.

What matters more is that racism is caused by colonialism. That multiculturalism is a result of it. Those are much more serious things. This obsession with statues is a massive distraction. But I don’t want to object to a Museum of Colonialism. It’s not a bad idea. What we need more, though, is something we half-have, which is a Museum of Migration. Because our country is, like all islands, made up of migrants, and if we could understand that, as a nation, we could solve a lot of our problems.

KP: You talk in the book about things like the looting that took place in Madullah (?), the artefacts that are now in the V&A and the British Museum. As you know, the national museums cannot give these things back. They can only be given back on long loan. Manchester Museum, for example, has given back some Aboriginal artefacts. Are you in favour of that? Is that part of atonement?

SS: Absolutely. There’s an idea that if we start giving things back our museums will be empty. And that’s simply not true, mainly because the British Museum only has 1% of its artefacts on display. Even if it gives away 2%, that leaves a lot of stuff it can still display. If we start repatriating items, what you have is amazing scholarship, right? You have amazing exhibitions and you also improve your relationships with the rest of the world.

Because the odd thing is that even though we don’t see ourselves as the country of British Empire, the rest of the world, I think, does. In India they are very aware that our crown jewels contain the Koh-noor diamond, which came from the Sikh Empire. People generally see the British as a country which had an Empire. That’s why you see the British baddies in Hollywood films because they find it very easy to see us as evil. But we don’t. We see ourselves as the good guys, the country that won World War II and beat Adolf Hitler.

KP: If we’re so proud of Empire, why don’t we talk about it? If the Empire was a good thing, as the rationale goes, why on earth don’t we talk about it?

SS: This is another one of the profound contradictions. You’ve got loads of public figures now who are wilfully nostalgic for Empire. And I’m, like, ok then, if you’re really proud of Empire why don’t you join one of these many, many campaigns to promote a better teaching of it in our schools. And they don’t. It’s very revealing. If you’re so proud of it, why don’t you want it to be taught? You’ve got to the heart of one of the weirdest things about us. It’s very strange.

KP: Do you think in our lifetime we will see Empire being talked about in a way that isn’t so angst-ridden?

SS: That’s a good question. It’s going to take a bloody long time. I’m encouraged, despite the last few weeks, because I’ve got a real minister reading my book. He emailed me the other day. Savid Javid’s reading it. Baroness Warsi’s reading it. I got a message from our British ambassador for India – he’s reading it. It makes me think that maybe people are thinking about it on a leadership level.

But I don’t know how you solve our culture war because they seem to be entrenching. The columns that are being written: we had Oliver Dowden this week calling in the heritage organisations to lecture them, saying ‘you must not respond to woke people. Remember that we give you some of your funding’. And that feels like this game has been taken up a notch and the culture war is deepening.

So I have mixed feelings. I feel hopeful from the messages I’m getting from teachers and certain politicians. At the same time I feel utter despair reading what I read in the newspapers.

KP: Are you going to tell us who the minister is?

SS: I’m not going to, but it’s incredibly surprising. The only thing more surprising would be if Boris Johnson and Jacob Rees-Mogg were reading it. It’s the second most surprising after that …

KP: Do you think they’re passing it round the Cabinet table?

SS: No. But I’ve got hope in Sajid. And I’ve got hope in Rishi as well. I think about Rishi quite a lot.

KP: Yeah, me too, actually.

SS: It’s partly ‘cause we don’t really know him. He could be terrible. So we’re just projecting our feelings onto him. He has to look at the statue of Lord Clive every day. Lord Clive was a man who hated Indians. He said he didn’t have a single happy day in the country. When he killed himself he was said, by Samuel Johnson, to have done it because he was so full of shame for what he’d done to India. When that statue went up the Viceroy of India said it was needlessly provocative. He looks at that statue every day of his life. And I wonder whether he thinks about the historical issues.

KP: You need to send him a copy of his book, don’t you?

SS: He can read it as he drinks from his £180 mug.

KP: In his expensive top.  Just finally, Sathnam, the ebbs and flows of these things, we are now in the heart of a culture war. Can we, will we ever talk about Empire and it not be part of the culture war? Do you see this as a moment in our history, a post-Brexit moment or part of the Brexit moment? Will this pass? Do you feel it’s aligned to a particular government? Or do you think it’s deeply fundamental to who we are?

SS: We’re not the only country dealing with it, although we have the worst case of it. In India there’s a very similar thing happening with the BJP Party, railing against historians for being unpatriotic. Almost at the stage of burning books, which is, I think, the stage we are at now. And you have it in America too, in Donald Trump and the way they see the history of the Civil War.

So we’re not alone. There’s a greater movement of nationalism bringing up this history and it does fill me with despair. But, again, it’s the younger generation … the culture they produce. A film like Black Panther that is the 9th most popular film ever made – it’s so radical in what it says about race and Empire and colonialism. It gives me hope that a popular movement for greater understanding is possible.

KP: We talk so much about Empire being divisive, the teaching of Empire can also be the opposite. It can actually bring us together because we see how, for our families and British families, our history is absolutely connected and goes back hundreds of years. So actually, it’s quite important for a cohesive society, you could argue.

SS: Totally. A lot of people ask me, ‘did this 4 years of research make you hate Britain?’ I say, no, it’s given me a deeper sense of myself and this country. I’ve learned that the Sikhs took the British side during the Mutiny. That they fought in huge numbers in both world wars. I’ve learned that they travel across Empire when given the opportunity. It makes me feel more deeply entrenched in this country than I did before. And that’s why I think understanding this history is not just important for brown people. It’s important for all Britons to have a healthy understanding of why we’re a multicultural society.

Questions from the audience

KP: Everyone wants to know the name of the minister …

SS: You could work it out if you know the biographical details of where I’m from. I’ll leave it at that.

KP: This from Joe: Does entrenched national identity inevitably breed racism?

Shedworking: Middle England by Jonathan Coe: a shed review

SS: No, I don’t think so. The point in my life at which I felt proud to be British was the 2012 Olympics. And there’s an argument that that depiction of Britain as a diverse cosmopolitan society made people so angry that we had Brexit. I think Jonathan Coe basically makes that argument in his book, Middle England. They’ve been times in recent history when I’ve felt proudly patriotic and it hasn’t been about racism.

KP: Ruth asks: can we become an anti-racist society without understanding Empire? And if not, how can we enable entire generations to learn more?

SS: In my book I argue that you need to understand Empire to understand racism. It’s not just in this country. Around the time of the Black Lives Matter marches, I turned on the News at 10, and there was a 10-minute report about how the British Empire caused the racism in America. I said, ‘what the hell?’ Because obviously they’d introduced their ideas of race to America. So you could argue it spreads much beyond Britain. And I’ve now forgotten your question …

Yeah, well they are learning, like I said, the teachers … another positive thing I’ve experienced is that I thought that the generation above us were beyond hope, that they had their established ideas. But they’re not. I had so many messages from people older than me saying, ‘you know what, I didn’t know anything about this. It has completely changed my mind’. And so you’re never too old to learn.

KP: Leila asks, ‘can you speak to the connection between the need for development assistance and the relationship to Empire?’

SS: I don’t know much about that apart from the way it’s played out in popular culture, so with Comic Relief, the ‘white saviour’ thing. And there was that massive controversy when Stacey Dooley was filmed going to Africa and cuddling a black baby. Why is she regarded as racist for doing that? Ultimately, Comic Relief concluded that they weren’t going to do that anymore. I think that’s a healthy thing.

When you look back at Band Aid now it’s unbelievable, isn’t it? The assumption … the lyrics of Band Aid are incredible, the white saviour act. I think there’s elements of imperialism in the way the voluntary sector works. And definitely in the way in which foreign correspond journalism works. I was on the FT and they had a massive cultural thing, the way foreign correspondents behaved in Africa and India went back to Empire. There’s a whole proxy type of society.

KP: Question from Jan: ‘why do we need to be the best at everything?’

Heroic Failure: Brexit and the Politics of Pain: Fintan  O'Toole: 9781789540987: Books

SS: Yeah, that’s my point about exceptionalism – why do we need to be best? I think it’s a deep-seated psychological response to the fact that we were the best. In the book I also go on about an idea that co-exists with that – heroic failure. Even though we’ve got a good case for saying we’re the most successful nation in human history, we also have this tendency to celebrate our failures. So we obsess about Gallipoli, Passchendale. Our football song has a lyric about ’30 years of hurt’. We like to dwell on the times we’ve failed. Fintan O’Toole has written a whole book on this called Heroic Failures. And why is that? One of my theories is that we can’t face up to what we did, it’s A too big and B too painful. So it’s much easier to think of the time when we screwed up and we failed nobly.

KP: You say that, but there were a lot of people who were running the Empire – they’re dead. It’s a long time ago.

SS: But it’s also painful to remember that you lost something, isn’t it?. We were the greatest Empire in human history and now we don’t have it. If that was a person you’d be in deep therapy for the rest of your life.

KP: We’re in the therapy bit right now, aren’t we?

SS: well yeah, involuntary therapy with you and me, but …

KP: Not us, but as a nation.

SS: It’s the weirdest form of therapy, but I suppose so. But yeah, that’s quite a thing to get your head around. What the hell happened, man? We were the largest Empire in history and look at us now! Christ!

KP: Prathima asks: ‘Is development assistance a means of atonement or reparation?”

SS: I’m not sure I can answer that, but I do go into this in  the book, in the sense that we have an incredible history in terms of our foreign policy and our involvement in development around the world, which I think goes back to Empire too. And it’s not always bad, in the way that Empire wasn’t always bad. It’s complicated, isn’t it?

But you could say that the other side of that is getting involved in certain wars, like Iraq and Afghanistan, that we shouldn’t be getting involved in given that we’re a tiny island nation off Europe.

KP: Sinead asks: ‘what are your thoughts on the Commonwealth and monarchy?’

SS: It did take over from the Empire. We had something called Empire Day which celebrated Empire and kids were given half a day off school. It was replaced by Commonwealth Day, which is still celebrated, interestingly. And I’ve had people write to me asking if the Empire was so bad, why were all these countries asking to join the Commonwealth? Well, when they signed up I don’t think they were agreeing to the same thing … Britain made and effort to make sure they weren’t signing up to Empire 2.0.

KP: Mark has a good question: ‘are we, as a nation, just too steeped in grandiosity and hubris? And can we learn to be more humble and kinder?’

SS: Well, we’ve got the problem of Brexit … but I do argue, in a weird kind of way, that Brexit is going to force us to go out into the world. It’s going to force us to have new relationships with India, with African countries and America. And I think what we’re gonna have to learn, possibly painfully, is we’re not viewed the way we think we are. And maybe that experience is going to force us to be more humble. So, maybe, in and inadvertent way, Brexit is going to lead to that humbler and kinder person. We can dream.

KP: Kenneth asks, ‘do you think the lack of understanding about Empire has fed into Western ignorance about Islamic fundamentalism and Islamic culture, which contributes to huge problems with relations with that region today?’

SS: I don’t really know enough about Islam and Muslims and I feel I’m not qualified. But the question about culture is very interesting because one of the most powerful books I read was Edward Said’s book, Orientalism, and that was one of the biggest moments for me, writing the book: it was realising that I had been colonised. That even though I supposedly had this brilliant education, I’d been taught to prize the western novel, the western film over Bollywood, English over Punjabi – that my entire view of the world, because of my education, was western. And I was designed to look down on my culture and anything I knew about India came through Western writers. That was an amazing moment for me, to realise I’d been colonised. I was a bit sceptical about that idea of decolonising curriculums and decolonising your mind. But it’s a thing. It’s a real bloody thing. So, yes, is the answer to that question.

KP: Joe cites you saying you can’t apply modern ethics to the past. How do you reconcile racism and morality? Where do you draw the line?

SS: It’s hard when you’re reading all this stuff not to apply ethics and not to feel shame. But we’ve got to fight it, otherwise we end up in the situation we’re in now where you’ve got a bunch of people screaming at each other, saying ‘I’m proud to be British,’ or ‘I’m ashamed of being British’. And it makes no sense. And it gets us absolutely nowhere.

Hopefully what I have done in the book is to approach all of these difficult subjects with a certain amount of intellectual dispassion. And it’s hard. I had to teach myself. There were times when I felt physically sick. But I forced myself to read lots of stuff that I knew that I wouldn’t agree with. And I think we need to rediscover the ability to tolerate viewpoints we aren’t going to agree with.

Jan Morris is one of those. I quote her more than anyone else. I don’t agree with her. I think she’s insanely nostalgic about Empire, but equally I would recommend her book, Trilogy, as the best single thing you could read on Empire.

Because I think people are intelligent. You can read those books and still learn a lot, filter nostalgia. People have brains. People can read things that we might find difficult. And not just read stuff that reinforces your point of view or your prejudices.

KP: To what extent is amnesia about the Empire driven by the desire to think of ourselves as the plucky underdog facing down bullies in Europe?

SS: This idea of the underdog goes into that idea of heroic failure, that basically we’re England playing Germany yet again in the semi-finals: that’s the way we like to see ourselves, isn’t it? … You see it in someone like Lewis Hamilton when he races – he likes to think of himself as the underdog ‘cause it helps him win. If he feels like the world is against him it focuses his mind and then he wins, even though he’s been world champion for 7 years. I think something similar might be going on for us.

KP: If there’s one thing that you want people to take from your book, what is it?

SS: Apart from the balance sheet and reading things you disagree with, I think mainly it’s the balance sheet – getting rid of that view of Empire. Even people who understand it’s ridiculous keep coming back to it. … History is not a cuddly toy you bought on Amazon that you’re going to give a 5-star rating to. It’s much more complex. So, if people accept the complexity, then we’re on the way somewhere.

Partition Voices: Untold British Stories: Kavita Puri: Bloomsbury Publishing

Also, read Partition Voices by Kavita Puri because it’s a brilliant book. She’s too self-deprecating to talk about it but it’s doing such important work on a forgotten history. And that, also, is dealing with the remnants of Empire. So read her book, it’s incredible.

KP: Very kind.