Hitch!
I think friday night was the most debauched I've had in a long time. It's difficult to put the finger on why exactly, but it did start with meeting up with Katharine (has no livejournal existence, so no link here)outside the London Review Bookshop, where the massed ranks of the bookish middle classes were excitedly waiting for the arrival of the journalist Christopher Hitchens.
Now, in my world, the idea of Christopher Hitchens turning up in a bookshop and talking for an hour or so is a lot like Jimi Hendrix popping into the local to play a few tunes. And then Janis Joplin turns up for the kareoke, and all the while Kurt Cobain is the weird bloke sitting at the bar tearing strips off the beer mats very very slowly with eyes that haven't blinked for, like, three hours.
Which is not to say that Christopher Hitchens is dead, or anything. Merely legendary. And it has been a little frustrating trying to describe to work colleagues who he is and why it was exciting/fun. But Katharine and I have had long conversations about Christopher Hitchens. And once decided to write a musical about him and his journalist brother, Peter. The fact that the brothers are on opposite sides of the political spectrum lends itself to a certain dramatic dynamism, we feel. Naturally nothing has happened on this front, but it is a great idea and you heard it here first. And if it never gets made it will definitely go into my pantheon of Lost Musicals of Late Capitalism, a pantheon that is incidently getting larger every day.
I think you could say we are fans. Not, perhaps, of his current political thought. This is a man who is certain that invading Iraq was inevitable and worthy of our support, for example - a contentious idea, one might say, to bring into a left wing bookshop. And it is in this very contention that Hitchens, or Hitch! as we like to call him(the exclamation mark is very important here, denoting the sheer dramatic intensity of the man) really turns us into drooling gibbering pools of adulation. The man is a walking, breathing (I told you he was alive) brooding whirling ball of contention.
And with him, everything is thought through and performed. He is a ham. But my what a ham. Like the prize fighter who thinks nine moves ahead, it is difficult to lay a punch on him, He's got all the moves, anticipated all the responses, and has responses for those responses. He walks the tightrope of luring in the audience, charming us, sweet talking us and then BAM! He's looking us all in the eye, putting forward a contrary point of view, questioning our lazy cozy left wing assumptions and daring us to contradict him.
We left the bookshop a little dazed. Katharine had actually asked him a few questions. Dared to contradict. Went a few rounds with the Champ. It was very nervy and exciting. Trying to pin him down, to land a blow. I was very impressed with her. It was a good contest. Hitch! not averse to throwing the odd low blow 'I think we know what it is you're trying to say there...' the reflex putdown giving himself time to gather his thoughts, Katharine being quite firm and standing her ground and not letting him mis-represent her.
And we went off to drink more white wine and talk excitedly about the 'gig', the world suddenly more charged, vivid, and immediate.
Perhaps I need to look up the exact definition of debauched. Till next time...
Now, in my world, the idea of Christopher Hitchens turning up in a bookshop and talking for an hour or so is a lot like Jimi Hendrix popping into the local to play a few tunes. And then Janis Joplin turns up for the kareoke, and all the while Kurt Cobain is the weird bloke sitting at the bar tearing strips off the beer mats very very slowly with eyes that haven't blinked for, like, three hours.
Which is not to say that Christopher Hitchens is dead, or anything. Merely legendary. And it has been a little frustrating trying to describe to work colleagues who he is and why it was exciting/fun. But Katharine and I have had long conversations about Christopher Hitchens. And once decided to write a musical about him and his journalist brother, Peter. The fact that the brothers are on opposite sides of the political spectrum lends itself to a certain dramatic dynamism, we feel. Naturally nothing has happened on this front, but it is a great idea and you heard it here first. And if it never gets made it will definitely go into my pantheon of Lost Musicals of Late Capitalism, a pantheon that is incidently getting larger every day.
I think you could say we are fans. Not, perhaps, of his current political thought. This is a man who is certain that invading Iraq was inevitable and worthy of our support, for example - a contentious idea, one might say, to bring into a left wing bookshop. And it is in this very contention that Hitchens, or Hitch! as we like to call him(the exclamation mark is very important here, denoting the sheer dramatic intensity of the man) really turns us into drooling gibbering pools of adulation. The man is a walking, breathing (I told you he was alive) brooding whirling ball of contention.
And with him, everything is thought through and performed. He is a ham. But my what a ham. Like the prize fighter who thinks nine moves ahead, it is difficult to lay a punch on him, He's got all the moves, anticipated all the responses, and has responses for those responses. He walks the tightrope of luring in the audience, charming us, sweet talking us and then BAM! He's looking us all in the eye, putting forward a contrary point of view, questioning our lazy cozy left wing assumptions and daring us to contradict him.
We left the bookshop a little dazed. Katharine had actually asked him a few questions. Dared to contradict. Went a few rounds with the Champ. It was very nervy and exciting. Trying to pin him down, to land a blow. I was very impressed with her. It was a good contest. Hitch! not averse to throwing the odd low blow 'I think we know what it is you're trying to say there...' the reflex putdown giving himself time to gather his thoughts, Katharine being quite firm and standing her ground and not letting him mis-represent her.
And we went off to drink more white wine and talk excitedly about the 'gig', the world suddenly more charged, vivid, and immediate.
Perhaps I need to look up the exact definition of debauched. Till next time...