The Watchers, by Neil Spring

Warning: spoilers ahead for both The Watchers and Neil Spring’s previous novel The Ghost Hunters.

Neil Spring, author of the best-selling The Ghost Hunters, a novel about psychical researcher Harry Price, has returned with another doorstop.  The Watchers draws on the 1977 UFO flap in Pembrokeshire which included a close encounter at Broad Haven Primary School, where some of the children said they had seen a spacecraft land and a sliver humanoid emerge.  Mixed in is conspiracy theory; Cold War apprehension and the fear of nuclear annihilation; secret government operations; and covert American military activity on ‘Airstrip One’ with little or no oversight by the British establishment.  It’s the sort of milieu that was mined superbly by Troy Kennedy Martin in Edge of Darkness.

Against this uneasy background, Robert Wilding (Wildling according to the back cover) is an assistant to the Member of Parliament for Pembrokeshire, Paul Bestford.  More importantly Bestford is chairman of the Defence Select Committee and Wilding is using his boss for his own agenda: damaged psychologically because of a traumatic childhood, he wants to uncover what happened to his mother during a peace protest at an American air base in 1963 which left her blind in one eye and with severe memory loss.  In this effort he is being fed information by a retired admiral, Lord Hill Bartlett (the name a nod to Lord Hill Norton, an admiral of the fleet who developed an interest in UFOs).

Wilding’s search for the truth takes him back to Broad Haven, where he grew up with his unsympathetic grandfather after his parents’ untimely deaths there.  Strange goings on suggest it is a hot-spot for alien visitors, and in the process of investigating their meaning Wilding discovers things about himself from his childhood he had suppressed.  Eventually he reveals a sinister conspiracy run by the local Rotarians, one with a supernatural dimension that could mean the end of civilisation as we know it.  The bulk of the book comprises his first-hand testimony as he gets to grips with recalcitrant locals in his search for answers to mysteries past and present and finds out who his friends are.

The story is reminiscent of Nigel Kneale, mixing science fiction and horror tropes, Spring’s silvery aliens actually expressions of a demonic effort to break through from another dimension and take control of our world.  That reverses the premise of Quatermass and the Pit, aliens misidentified as demons becoming demons misidentified as aliens.  It’s an endearingly corny idea, though the special effects will require a more substantial budget than that allocated to the period drama of The Ghost Hunters when Spring sells the film rights.

Surprisingly, despite dissimilar subject matter, The Watchers is actually a companion piece to The Ghost Hunters, with a returning character, Dr Robert Caxton.  His appearances in The Watchers are marginal for most of the narrative, though they include extracts from his book The Mind Possessed: A Personal Investigation into the Broad Haven Triangle, which are interleaved with Wilding’s first-person account.  Both novels too are structured with a frame: in The Ghost Hunters the frame is 1977, looking back to the 1920s; while that in The Watchers is 1979, looking back to 1977.  Another connection: we find out at the end of The Ghost Hunters that Caxton’s father is Harry Price, and although Price’s name is not mentioned explicitly in The Watchers, there are oblique references, until we learn in the denouement – from Prime Minister Mrs Thatcher no less – that Price’s work was funded by the British government before the war. 

Unfortunately there is confusion in the chronology for anyone who reads both books.  The Ghost Hunters begins in October 1977 with Caxton visiting Senate House Library.  But the main events in The Watchers occur in February the same year, and one would expect as traumatic an experience as that undergone by Caxton in Wales to have had more of an impact on the mildly sceptical academic who opens The Ghost Hunters.  But there is an even closer relationship between the two books, with The Watchers directly foreshadowed in The Ghost Hunters.  At the end of the first book, Caxton is shown a letter, dated 6 March 1977.  It was written from Broad Haven where his mother, who had given him up for adoption as a baby, was living.  The writer, Vernon Wall, says that children at a local school had recently ‘witnessed something most bizarre’, and suggests that it needs an expert to dig into it.

This of course links to the action in The Watchers, except that by 6 March events had moved on from children having a weird experience in a playground because complete mayhem, including an extremely high body count, had descended on that corner of West Wales.  How can Caxton be investigating something in February he didn’t hear about until March?  Another, minor, problem in reintroducing Caxton is that there are now two individuals with the same first name.  Spring gets round this by not referring to Caxton in The Watchers as Robert, always calling him either Dr Caxton or just Caxton.  We are only told that his first initial is R.  When he writes to his wife (on 7 and 11 February) he signs the letters ‘Caxton’, a rather odd thing to do when writing to one’s spouse.

The ending of The Watchers looks forward to another significant real-life UFO mystery, that of Rendlesham Forest in December 1980.  The government, Mrs Thatcher explains to Wilding’s and Caxton’s horror, plans to attempt to harness the power which manifested at Broad Haven.  The date for the experiment is December 1980, at RAF Bentwaters and RAF Woodbridge, near Rendlesham Forest.  Wilding protests that these forces cannot be controlled, but he and Caxton are effectively blackmailed into assisting in the project (as we are still here it must have worked).  A possible hook to a further novel, or a television series, is Mrs Thatcher’s comment to Wilding and Caxton that while they are waiting for December 1980 to roll round, ‘we have need of your experience elsewhere.  There have been reports of…sightings, all over Britain.  And abductions.’

The Watchers’ epigraph, uncharacteristically ungrammatical, is by the late Ralph Noyes, described simply as a ‘former MOD official’ (coincidentally he retired from the Ministry of Defence in 1977).  As well as being involved with UFOs in an official capacity, he was also for some years the Hon. Secretary of the Society for Psychical Research and its self-appointed éminence grise.  He would not have been impressed to read a reference to the SPR, coming out of nowhere in an extract from Caxton’s book, which begins: ‘After the scandals caused by the Society for Psychical Research’s poor quality control in certain high-profile investigations, anyone operating in this field [presumably meaning UFOs, not a field with which the SPR has been much concerned] is compelled to act in accordance with the highest professional standards…’  What these scandals and high-profile cases are is not specified, but the implication is that the SPR through its ineptitude has made life difficult for other investigators, though why anybody should be ‘compelled’ to act in accordance with the highest professional standards is hard to see.  There is no reason for this puzzlingly gratuitous attack on the SPR to be there.

Leaving aside problems of chronology The Watchers is well constructed but suffers from flat writing and never manages to attain the tension a thriller requires, even when it looks like an ‘ancient evil’ is about to be unleashed at the climax.  With The Ghost Hunters one senses that Spring is really enjoying seeing Price come alive, and while there are infelicities that could have been rectified by an editor, it is an entertaining read.  The Watchers has fewer basic errors (though the page number of one of Dr Caxton’s book extracts jumps backwards) but the author’s emphasis on working out the intricacies of the plot means that Wilding, Caxton and the rest do not lift off the page.  As a result The Watchers does not quite deliver on its promise.  It probably won’t do much for the Pembrokeshire tourist industry either.

'The SPR and ASSAP: Time to Merge?' by Tom Ruffles and C J Romer

Introduction

The Association for the Scientific Study of Anomalous Phenomena (ASSAP) was founded in 1981 as the result of dissatisfaction felt by a few members of the Society for Psychical Research (SPR).  This is ancient history and it is not the present intention to rehearse the issues which created that rupture.  Suffice it to say that the two organisations have existed in parallel for over thirty years, attracting different, though frequently overlapping, memberships but generally standing aloof from one other.  Now that aloofness is dissolving, with each promoting the other’s activities on social media, and there is more interaction than has been the case in the past.  With this improvement in relations, the time has come to ask: why not merge to form a single body?

The first response might be to wonder why they should merge when they have such strong individual identities and do well on their own.  The answer is that they have strengths which are complementary, rather than antagonistic, so that both sets of members would gain from unification.  Another question is that if some members were dissatisfied with the SPR in 1981, could the same happen in the future, leading to yet more friction and possibly a fresh split?  The answer to that is that the current SPR is a long way from its 1981 incarnation, and fully aware of how traumatic such a rupture is in the life of an organisation.

The following sections attempt to answer some more of the questions that will naturally occur in a discussion of the merits of bringing ASSAP and the SPR together.  It is to be hoped that these will generate debate, which may produce further questions.

What are be the benefits of a merger?

The obvious one is a bigger combined membership, with economies of scale and greater resources.  A larger size should increase its punch and authority, both within the field and among the wider public.

The SPR has dedicated premises and a paid full-time administrator which would improve the ad-hoc administration experienced by ASSAP members.  The volunteers who run the latter do a tremendous job, but a dedicated office function has to be more efficient.  ASSAP members would have access to the range of benefits already enjoyed by SPR members.  These include four numbers of both the magazine Paranormal Review and the peer-reviewed Journal (and occasional Proceedings); free access to London lectures, reduced rates to bi-annual study days and the annual conference; a permanent library, archives of international significance, and free access to an online library of publications back to 1882.  ASSAP officers could be brought into the SPR Council structure by means of co-optation.

In terms of research, ASSAP has an energetic and enthusiastic membership, and this injection of energy would be welcome in the SPR.  ASSAP’s spontaneous case network would reinforce the existing SPR Spontaneous Cases Committee and its emphasis on training would be useful in stimulating interest in investigation among SPR members.  A larger combined membership, and therefore increased income, would enable an expansion of the amount given to fund research activities.

Education, a core function for both the SPR and ASSAP, would be improved as well.  Integrating the libraries and archives would provide an enhanced resource (the new SPR premises, bigger than the previous rented accommodation, providing the required space for ASSAP’s books), and ASSAP’s records would find a permanent home.  A single set of periodicals, with a larger circulation than either achieves singly, would attract a wider range of writers.

There would also be benefits in geographical reach: the SPR is often seen as London-centric, whereas ASSAP is successful regionally.  With a combined membership around the country there would be motivation for regional activities, enabling members outside London to participate in their localities.  This is an opportunity to decentralise some of the SPR’s functions, with more grassroots involvement.

What about differences in scope?

The subject-matter of the two organisations is not identical, that of ASSAP covering a wider area than that of the SPR.  ASSAP members might legitimately complain that a merger is likely to squeeze out particular interests, such as ufology, earth mysteries and folklore.  This is not necessarily an impediment, even though such topics in general fall outside the scope of the SPR.   In these days of easy electronic communication it is straightforward for sub-groups to pursue their interests.  The new SPR website will make it possible for members to keep in contact with each other easily, so that even though say ufology is not a significant element of psychical research, those with such an interest can still interact, while enjoying the benefits of their SPR membership.

Membership fees

A stumbling block is that ASSAP’s fees have always been significantly less than the SPR’s.  The standard membership rates are noticeably different, with ASSAP’s being a quarter of that charged by the SPR.  This reflects the different set-ups of the organisations, ASSAP’s lower volunteer-based costs compared to the SPR’s permanent paid staff and building expenses.  ASSAP members would hopefully consider the broader range of benefits enough to justify an increase, but perhaps there could be a transitional arrangement, with incremental rises over several years for existing ASSAP members to bring the two sets into line.  The SPR membership rates are very reasonable, and ASSAP members would hopefully see that the increase was justified.  It is most unlikely that there could be any reduction in the SPR rates to bring them closer to ASSAP’s.

Events

On the other hand, ASSAP members would undoubtedly baulk at the costs of the SPR conference and study days (as do some SPR members).  With ASSAP’s expertise in mounting economically priced study days (notably the extremely popular ‘Seriously…’ series), there is no reason why these could not continue, augmented by the presence of SPR members who had never attended an ASSAP event before.  The status of some of these, such as conferences on vampires and witchcraft, would be problematic under the SPR banner but these could be run in collaboration with other organisations, such as the London Fortean Society; the SPR has participated in joint events with the Scientific and Medical Network so there is precedent for such an approach.

A concern which has to be acknowledged is that the desire to organise events might diminish, with those who had previously volunteered for ASSAP not wanting to make the effort on the grounds that conferences of all kinds should be arranged at the centre.  It is doubtful that the SPR office would be willing to shoulder the extra administrative load.

What about the name?

The name could be a sticking point for ASSAP members.  There is no easy way that the names SPR and ASSAP could be combined, and there would be overwhelming resistance within the SPR to altering an internationally-recognised name that has been in existence since 1882.  The most likely outcome is that the SPR would retain its name, but with ‘incorporating The Association for the Scientific Study of Anomalous Phenomena’ on its literature – something that might not appeal to ASSAP members whose first loyalty is to that organisation.  This could be a major obstacle, but one that might be overcome if ASSAP members were convinced that the advantages outweighed the loss.

Mechanisms for reaching an agreement

This article has set out some of the pros and cons of a merger.  Bringing the two together would not be quick as there are a number of steps before that could happen.  In addition to a general debate among both sets of members there would have to be an initial discussion by the officers within the two organisations; a formal process of consultation with members; meetings between the two sets of officers to resolve any contentious issues; then there would have to be a vote, with a criterion for a yes vote agreed in advance.

Conclusion

This long after the event, most of those interested in our subject are not bothered about why ASSAP came into being.  What they want to see is a thriving organisation or organisations that can deliver the means necessary for them to pursue that interest.  Many join both with no sense of conflict, and a number of those who established ASSAP continued to take part in the SPR’s activities, clearly seeing no contradiction in belonging to both.  There is no doctrinal reason why the respective memberships should not combine and work together, and the practical difficulties could surely be overcome with goodwill on both sides.  In delivering their services the two organisations are capable of existing independently, but their combination would strengthen the voice for psychical research.  If that is our aim, then the case for coming together to our mutual benefit, and that of the field, is a strong one.

This article is being published jointly on the authors’ blogs, and publicised on social media, in the hope that it will generate a constructive exchange of views.  The authors are both members of the two organisations, but are not writing in any official capacity.  They welcome feedback of all types, which should be sent to tom.ruffles[at]yahoo.co.uk, in order to gauge levels of support for and opposition to the proposal.  This has to be a bottom-up process, with all opinions aired.

Tom Ruffles and C J Romer

10 October 2015

Update 31 October 2015:

On publication I linked this article to the SPR’s Facebook page and Twitter feed, while CJ Romer put a link on ASSAP’s Facebook page and later added the text to his ‘Polterwotsit’ blog.  Neither of us received any private communications, nor did the SPR Facebook page and Twitter links produce any feedback, suggesting a degree of indifference by those whose primary interest is the SPR, whether members or not.  However, the link on the ASSAP Facebook page generated a large number of comments.  These were uniformly negative.  It seems that there is still a considerable degree of mistrust by some ASSAP members towards the SPR, and one comment referred to the rift in the 1980s as ‘an unhealed scar’.  Not one person indicated a willingness to even consider the benefits of a merger.

A major concern in the Facebook debate was the greater resources and longer history of the SPR, which would cause ASSAP’s identity to be submerged.  Another issue, as I suspected it would be, is the difference in scope between the two organisations, particularly the lack of a focus on ufology within the SPR.  The fear was that more fortean activities would be marginalised (though despite it cropping up frequently in the discussion, I haven’t actually seen much evidence of members pursuing ufology with any vigour through ASSAP), and the creation of special interest groups discussing issues online was considered insufficient.  In fact, it was felt that the more limited scope of psychical research was a driver for the creation of ASSAP.  There was a feeling that it would make more sense for the SPR to merge into ASSAP than vice versa, or for the SPR to first change the ‘P’ in its name from Psychical to Paranormal, and expand its remit accordingly.

It was suggested that should the SPR and ASSAP combine, a significant rump would immediately split off to form ASSAP Mark Two; there could even be an exodus from the SPR, leading to three separate bodies (unlikely in my view).  A proposal was put forward that some form of networking between the two organisations, along with others which share a similar outlook, would assist greater collaboration while allowing each to retain its own identity.  It was generally agreed that greater cooperation is a good thing, though it was not specified what form that cooperation might take, apart from participating in each other’s conferences, and the counter-argument is that increased bureaucracy would lead to a loss of interest, making any gains short-lived.

The myth that membership of the SPR is expensive was impossible to eradicate, but then some ASSAP members think that £15 is a bit steep, so it is a matter of perspective.  A strand of the discussion focused on the higher overheads of having a building and paid staff, which does not occur if the administration is done from a volunteer’s home office.  It could be that ASSAP members like to think that SPR membership rates are exorbitant because it reinforces their belief that ASSAP is superior.  There was no acknowledgement of the benefits of SPR membership and its value for money.

A common argument was that ASSAP is in good shape and has no need of the SPR.  I learned that ASSAP’s funds are healthy, whereas I had assumed that they are parlous.  Even so, my main concern has not been the amount of money it has in the bank but organisational failures caused by a reliance on volunteers and erratic direction by its officers.  These deficiencies are now being rectified with an injection of energy (not least C J Romer taking on the task of producing its publications) but there are still problems, and some of those with the loudest voices on ASSAP’s Facebook page are not involved in the management structure and merely assume that ASSAP is strongly placed to face the future.  My suggestion that it might be in long-term decline did not go down well.

Writing the article was a useful exercise, but ASSAP’s core members are fiercely loyal and the conclusion that has to be drawn from the debate, which was generally conducted on respectful terms with minimal snark, is that a merger is unlikely.  There would be net benefits in my opinion, but the obstacles are too great.  The situation could arise at some point that ASSAP has to wind up, but probably not in the short to medium term.  If it does collapse the SPR will be able to offer a home to its members, but there would be no ASSAP to merge with and those subjects that fall outside the SPR’s primary area of interest, such as UFOs, would have to find a home elsewhere.

Tom Ruffles

The SPR: Making the Most of the Enfield Effect

Poster for The Enfield Haunting

The President’s letter from Prof. John Poynton and the article by John Fraser in the Summer 2015 issue of the Society for Psychical Research’s (SPR) magazine Paranormal Review together show many positive aspects to the SPR’s current situation.  Poynton notes that the substantial Buckmaster legacy is allowing it to fund an online encyclopaedia and improved website, and the financial situation is much sounder than it was a decade ago.  Research and publications in the field are buoyant and the SPR’s image is generally good in an intellectual climate which is increasingly receptive to the issues raised by psychical research.

Fraser points specifically to the ‘Enfield Effect’, the upsurge in membership applications and spontaneous case enquiries which followed in the wake of the recent television dramatisation based on the Enfield case, one linked to the SPR by the figures of Maurice Grosse and Guy Lyon Playfair.  Yet there is a fly in the psychical ointment.  Both Johns highlight a largely uninterested media, Poynton as an example citing the vigorous campaign to make the press aware of Dr Barrie Colvin’s 2010 paper on poltergeist raps, an effort which was unsuccessful; Fraser to an overall lack of impact by the SPR, at a time when local groups have proliferated and media coverage of the paranormal has actually increased.

Fraser suggests two possibilities that may allow the SPR to capitalise on the Enfield bounce in the longer term.  One is to appoint a media officer, the other to reinstate the long-dormant position of investigations officer.  The latter would be paid, to avoid having to rely on volunteers.  These are both useful ideas though personally I do not think they go far enough.

There used to be a media officer in the form of the immensely energetic Monty Keen.  One of his initiatives was to draw up a list of publications across all relevant subjects, and divide them among Council members who would keep an eye out for negative comments that could be countered, and opportunities for generating publicity.  In the event neither of these tactics proved effective.  Media indifference is not a new phenomenon.

The landscape has changed enormously since then and media enquiries are occasionally received through the website, but while welcome, their general impact seems fairly small.  Coverage often focuses on the early days, which simultaneously tells people the SPR has done noteworthy things while suggesting that these days it is irrelevant.  That is the situation which has to be changed, to show that the SPR still has something valuable to say.

An investigations officer would be beneficial, especially someone with a broad range of skills that encompass both experimental and spontaneous areas, who would be able to dedicate more time than volunteers can and be able to work up the results that could then be publicised.  Again though the impact might be limited, with no greater success with sophisticated material in breaking down the barriers than was the case with Colvin’s raps paper.

In the absence of such a post it should still be possible to conduct meaningful research with the resources available.   Admittedly it is difficult for individuals with other commitments to be able to undertake extended projects, but after all the SPR’s Spontaneous Cases Committee has a large number of individuals on it so there is no reason why it should not be effective in undertaking and promoting research.

At one time John Stiles, as Honorary Liaison Officer for Spontaneous Cases, kept a list of suitable SPR members to whom incoming cases could be referred, depending on location, which he would then follow up.  But he complained that the numbers of cases was getting smaller each year and the position lapsed when he retired from Council in 2003.  With numbers of cases on the rise such a mechanism to draw on members’ expertise would augment the SCC’s numbers and aid its efficiency.

These initiatives alone would probably still not be enough to prevent the surge of interest identified by Messrs Poynton and Fraser from receding.  The core problem underlying the SPR’s inability to overcome media inertia and reach a broader swathe of the sympathetic public I believe is rooted in its approach to research.  The odd high-profile activity (Enfield, the 1999 Scole Report) is not enough to gain the necessary momentum.  The SPR needs a sustained programme of research that is identified with the SPR rather than only the individuals carrying it out.

In the early days of the Society’s existence the undertaking of projects by senior figures in the Society was clearly defined, but nowadays it is likely to award grants to researchers at other institutions whose work is then associated with that institution rather than with the SPR.  It has mainly become a mechanism for administering grants and publicising the work of others rather than promoting work undertaken under its aegis.

Instead of this hands-off approach there is a case for having the SPR’s name closely linked to research, while maintaining its lack of corporate views.  Fraser refers to the Scole Report as achieving an unusually high profile outside the Society, but it is notable in recent years for being closely associated with the Society, rather than a project that was undertaken by a trio of investigators who happened to be members of the Society but were not identified with it.  The SPR needs to encourage researchers, whether funded by it or not, to associate themselves with the organisation in the same way.

Emphasising such linkages was part of the thinking behind the formation of the Research Activities Committee in 1992.  Prof. Bernard Carr outlined its remit in the January 1999 issue of Paranormal Review.  Of its various aims, he said that ‘the RAC's main task is to commission and foster promising research projects, rather than to undertake corporate research itself, although in some cases the Committee has encouraged “in-house” research.’  Unfortunately over the years the committee became moribund until it was wound up in early 2014.  That it was unlamented when it was put out of its misery is suggested by the lack of any reference to its termination in the Society’s 2013-14 Annual Report.

That is a shame because a body like the RAC could act as a focus to stimulate research while closely connecting those researchers to the Society.  It would nurture a symbiotic relationship, with the Society providing the funding (and attention should additionally be turned to increasing the relatively small amounts of money available) while, and this is the key point, the researchers emphasise that their primary affiliation is to the SPR.

That relationship would have a number of mutually reinforcing outcomes.  It would demonstrate the Society’s continuing relevance to the public, the media and other relevant organisations (not least the Parapsychological Association, the parapsychologists’ professional body); it would strengthen the network of researchers in the field and encourage them, whether SPR-funded or not, to publish in its magazines;  its Journal and annual conference would be able to attract the best research in the field; it would encourage membership growth; it would assist the SPR’s educational work, which is part of its charitable obligation; it would encourage passive members to become active and even conduct their own research; and the media might take notice of such a vigorous level of activity.

So the answer to the question in John Fraser’s subtitle – ‘Is the Recent Increased Interest in the Society for Psychical Research a Temporary Blip, or an Unmissable Opportunity?’ – is that the Enfield Effect has been a splendid opportunity which will ripple for a time but will eventually fade into the background.  A single bounce is never going to be enough, however significant it is in itself.  There are initiatives that will help to maintain the SPR’s profile in a sustainable way, notably the online encyclopaedia.  Social media plays a positive role, and an improved website will generate interest.  But more is needed, research that is relevant, done by SPR members who are not afraid to be seen primarily as SPR members and who are happy to promote that affiliation.

Perhaps this approach can be summed up by arguing that the SPR needs to position itself as a research institute as opposed to a learned society.  Whether that is possible will depend on its ability to project confidence in its potential alongside pride in its past achievements.  Above all it needs to possess the self-belief that it can match the heady days of its youth, rather than jog along in the lengthy shadow cast by its founders.  If it can do that it will be said with justice that there is a tide in the affairs of the SPR which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.

References

Carr, Bernard, ‘Research Activities in the SPR: New Initiatives’, Paranormal Review, issue 9, January 1999, pp. 3-5.

Colvin, Barrie, ‘The Acoustic Properties of Unexplained Rapping Sounds’, Journal of the Society for Psychical Research, vol. 73, April 2010, pp. 65-93.

Fraser, John, ‘The Enfield Effect: Is the Recent Increased Interest in the Society for Psychical Research a Temporary Blip, or an Unmissable Opportunity?’, Paranormal Review, issue 75, Summer 2015, p. 30.

Keen, Montague, Ellison, Arthur and Fontana, David, ‘The Scole Report’, Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, vol. 58, 1999.

Poynton, John, ‘President’s Letter: A Tide in the Affairs of Men’, Paranormal Review, issue 75, Summer 2015, pp. 4-5.

Second-hand books: Reasons not to be Annoyed

The Christmas Companion, 1939

Luke McKernan has written about second-hand books, specifically those aspects he finds annoying, and has come up with a list containing 19 things that to a greater or lesser extent irritate him.  Some of these I agree with, but on others I have to take issue (of a fairly mild sort; this isn’t going to turn into a flame war).   The heart of my disagreement is that Luke sees a second-hand book ideally as something which floats free of its context, whereas I embrace that context and approach the book as an object with a history.  This may contradict the point I made some time ago, in response to another of Luke’s blog posts, about it being the words that count, not their container, hence my general lack of sentimentality about the vehicle that delivers them; but I added that I am most definitely a bibliophile, and that means a deep affection for books as objects.  I can melt at the sight of a fine binding with the best of them, but also find pleasure in what Luke sees as warts.  So, what does he say, and how do I feel about those 19 things that so vex him?  I’ll run through them in reverse order (shortening the longer ones).  His comments are italicised.

19. Library stamp – a book stamped as belonging to a library is no longer a real book. Ditto school books

No longer real?  Well, there may be some subtle metaphysical issue here, but how can a library stamp affect the utility of a book?  There are occasionally sound reasons to avoid such volumes – the information inside may be redundant, or they may score high on the yuk scale (thank you the inventor of anti-bac spray for helping with grime and germs), but stamps might be of interest.  Knowing that a discarded book came from Croydon Public Libraries in the 2000s might not set the pulse racing, but if it started life in (to use a random example of my own) W T Stead’s Borderland Library, that to my mind contributes an extra layer.  School books are real too, but may well fall into the redundant category and be off the yuk scale altogether.  On the other hand my copy of Kennedy’s Latin Primer is identical to the one I had at school, with the exception of the cover, and would not be a jot different if it had a school stamp in it.

18. Faber paperbacks – so badly bound; the publisher seems never to have considered how the books were to be opened. Stick to the hardbacks.

A bit harsh; I don’t find Faber’s paperbacks significantly better or worse to read than other publishers’.  At least they remain intact.  What is annoying is glue that disintegrates so that pages loosen, and acid paper that becomes brittle.

17. Vanity publishing – the puzzling this is, who acquired them in the first place before disposing of them?

It depends on the content.  Vanity publishing is a term that has become somewhat looser with the advent of digital self-publishing and an expansion of the ways an author can get a book before an audience.  The difference is that a vanity publisher takes a huge chunk of money for doing the job, usually badly, and there is an element of exploitation of the author.  That doesn’t necessarily mean the book is worthless, though as with self-publishing the chances are that it is less polished than it would be had it undergone proper editorial scrutiny.

16. Book society reprints – all those book society reprints sold as special offers through magazines … I know they look exactly like the real thing, but they’re not. I know I’m being snobbish about it, but the simple fact of the matter remains. Sorry.

Yup, snobbish.  There may be more scholarly editions available, but as reading copies there is nothing wrong with them.  Societies have played a huge role in the past in increasing the number of titles available to those with limited incomes and their role should be celebrated, not dismissed.  I have quite a few Science Fiction Book Club hardbacks that I picked up second hand, and welcome them as opportunities to acquire books that I probably wouldn’t otherwise come across.  One cannot say the same of Reader’s Digest abridgements, which have always struck me as undermining the integrity of the original.

15. Folio Society – presumably there are people out there who purchase Folio Society books and think they look good on the shelves. Then they realise their mistake, dump them in the second-hand shop, where no one ever touches them again.

I suspect there is a market in second-hand Folio Society editions to judge by their prices, but possibly more among collectors than readers.  I have a few myself, but in general I prefer editions with a critical apparatus to nice illustrations.  They are so big in their slipcases as well, taking up valuable shelf space.

14. Missing volumes in a series – argh, how I going to find the missing one? Even if I found the same edition, it still wouldn’t fit in properly.

On the plus side there is the thrill of the chase, on the minus side it is frustrating to have gaps that are difficult to fill.  There is also the problem of duplicating classic novels issued by different publishers because I can’t decide between them.

13. Underlining – I tell a lie, finding that someone has written in the book is worse ….

On the whole I agree, with exceptions.  My pet hate is highlighting using a fluorescent pen, which renders the words unreadable, with underlining a close second.  Sometimes though marginalia can be illuminating: I once had a copy of a book that had been owned by the renowned psychical researcher Molly Goldney which was full of her annotations, but was in poor shape.  I sold it when I acquired a copy in better overall condition, and still regret having done so.

12. Food stains – nothing can disfigure a book more.

Definitely – that’s one element of its history I can do without. What sort of person uses a book as a coaster?  Even worse is the idea of employing a rasher of bacon as a bookmark; thankfully not a common practice.  I do like finding (clean) objects, old receipts, bus tickets and the like.

11. Foxing – the book is dying, and there is nothing I can do about it.

It’s a cause for sadness rather than annoyance.  Digital reproduction can extend their lives as well as making them widely accessible, but it’s not the same as holding a piece of processed wood in your hands.

10. Faded jackets – don’t leave your books in the sun, dear previous owner.

I totally agree, though unless said previous owner is rigorous about pulling the curtains during the day it’s hard to avoid completely, at least on the spines.

9. Books put aside that someone else then buys – how can this be? …

I know that feeling when you are not sure, change your mind later and return, only to find it’s too late.  On the other hand I also know the feeling of buying hastily and repenting at leisure.

8. Books I already have – a special sort of annoyance, in that I really would like to buy the book, yet it would be absurd to do so. Maybe it is a compulsion to repeat a successful past action.

Yes, this is a most odd phenomenon that I too have experienced.

7. Over-priced – of course I know the correct price for any book ever published in whatever condition, and will huffily put back on the shelf anything that does not match my perfect estimation.

Sometimes you bend, sometimes not, depending on how much you want it.  You have to learn to be strong enough to walk away, but it still rankles.  I find it helps to have a wife who is happier than I am to haggle with dealers.

6. Pages missing – and it’s only after you’ve bought the thing and got to page 200 that you find out …

It does happen, but rarely.  The overall condition is an incentive to check carefully and find whether bits are missing.

5. Split spines – there has to be a special circle of Hell for people who break the spines of books to make them easier to read. Such people should never have been allowed to learn to read in the first place.

No argument.  Pure evil.

4. Cut corners – all those books with the price removed from the jacket so that the grateful recipient would not know how much had been spent on them. Bad manners masking as good manners.

You don’t see this as much nowadays, perhaps indicating that books are less likely to be given as gifts, or because the price often appears on the back with the barcode.  It is annoying because the original price is part of the book’s history (see below), and clipping affects the book’s monetary value.

3. Ex Libris and ‘This Book Belongs to’ labels – how ludicrous to have a personalised label and to stick it in the books that you own. How many perfectly books have I come across and had to spurn because someone before him had stamped their ownership on it forever? …

I tend to agree, unless the owner is famous or the book is from a significant collection.  I did once receive a box of personalised bookplates with a nice Aubrey Beardsley-esque cat design, but frankly they were a pain to get straight.  I was also given an embossing stamp as a present but the results weren’t visible enough.  There is no reason to spurn a book for having a label, even if the labeller was of modest background.  In particular I rather like books which have been given as prizes – the bookplates can be attractive, and they supply some context that would otherwise be lost.  I have a few that I received as prizes for various achievements in the Boys’ Brigade and I will always keep those even when I have obtained a better edition.

2. The donor’s name written on the flyleaf – equally so those books with loving messages from a relative who did not realise that their gift would handed in to the second-hand shop as soon as Christmas was over. …

It’s a bit sad to see loving inscriptions dating from last year.  You wonder at the callousness of the recipient when someone has gone to the trouble of buying the book for them.  They could at least hide it at the back of a cupboard and get rid of it when they come across it again, to put a respectable distance between gift and disposal.  I agree such additions are pointless, unless the signature is that of the author, or associated with the subject in some way (I was pleasantly surprised recently to find that a 50p charity shop purchase on the 1943 RAF bombing raids on Germany had been signed by the author and a couple of members of those bombers’ crews).  Those I like, though book signing is a bit of an industry these days; Kazuo Ishiguro autographed so many copies of The Buried Giant that I thought the hardback would probably be worth more without it (‘oh look, here’s one he missed!).

1. The owner’s name written on the flyleaf – ugh, what sort of fool is it who wants to write their name in a book – and then give it away?

I’ve left this until last because here Luke and I part company completely.  I have written my name in books, usually neatly in the corner in a small triangle, since I was a teenager.  Antiquarian volumes are exempt, at least until my signature becomes a means of enhancing rather than diminishing their value.  So why put my name inside?  Probably to begin with it was in case I lent the book, to remind the borrower that it was mine.  Later it was to show that it had a history; I liked to see old signatures, and to speculate on them.  I frequented the Kirkdale Bookshop in Sydenham when I was at school and in my twenties, and over a period bought a number of books that had come in a job lot.  The previous owner of these was a G C Pearson and I wondered who he or she might have been, and why the address given with the name was c/o Mrs Rudling of 18 Venner Road, Sydenham SE26.  The inclusion of a name to me imparted something more than an anonymous book would have, and I thought I should like to be part of that chain of ownership.

Vanity perhaps, but I was intrigued once when talking to someone who sold books in King’s Lynn when he said that he had been in London and had come across an item with my name in.  You send them off into the world for whatever reason, and you don’t know where they go, but there is still a link.  Some time ago I bought a paperback with a Book Crossing label, which in theory enables a book to be tracked to its various destinations.  When I replaced that copy with a hardback I too logged the details into the Book Crossing website, but heard no more.  I had however also put my name inside as well, so hello The Holmes Affair, wherever you may be.  G C Pearson is doubtless long dead, but in a sense lives on for as long as those books he or she wrote in exist.

One he missed.

I am surprised Luke didn’t mention sticky-back plastic.  It is marginally acceptable on reading copies of paperbacks, and looks better than a dog-eared copy, but it is a dreadful substance generally.  I went through a phase of using the stuff a long time ago, and was recently embarrassed when I donated a rare pamphlet to the Marx Memorial Library that I had covered (and it had to be me because my name was written in the corner underneath it).  I apologised profusely for being so daft.  What I do like are ex-library hardbacks that are covered in removable plastic.  Even if the book is ratty, the dust jacket can still be pristine under its scuffed shroud, and I have been known to swap covers to get the best combination.

To conclude, Luke says: ‘I’m always in pursuit of an elusive ideal – the pre-owned object that by some magical transmutation becomes mine and mine alone.’  It is not merely elusive, it’s an impossible ideal because that book can never be yours alone: it had a previous owner, and unless your stewardship is disastrous, it will have subsequent ones.  What I think he craves is a second-hand book that is indistinguishable from a new one.  That is fine, but a second-hand book has so much more to offer if viewed in the right way, and in reality there is very little to get annoyed about.

The Chinese Photobook, The Photographers’ Gallery, London

China is a large country with a complex history, so it is not surprising that photography produced there should reflect that complexity.  The Chinese Photobook, a small exhibition at the Photographers’ Gallery in London, is a welcome, if cramped, opportunity to examine its photobook production over the last century.  Some of images, for example from the Cultural Revolution, will have an air of familiarity, but there are many that will be new to the non-specialist, making it a valuable peek into a world little known to most in the West, or known largely through the prism of cliché.

The exhibition is co-produced by the Aperture Foundation and Les Rencontres d’Arles.  It is curated by Martin Parr and the Dutch duo WassinkLundgren (Thijs groot Wassink and Ruben Lundgren), Parr’s involvement originating from an interest in propaganda and Socialist Realist photography.  Most of the books the three have collected were purchased either from flea markets or online.  The exhibition is partially supported by the soft-power China Art Foundation, which shows that current political interests cannot be disentangled from aesthetic and historical issues.  A chunkily handsome but rather expensive illustrated coffee table book, The Chinese Photobook: From the 1900s to the Present, has been published by Aperture to accompany it.

Covering the period from 1900 to the present day, the images chart in a condensed form the trajectory of China from an agrarian feudal society to the second largest economy in the world.  In addition to display cases and framed sheets, there are videos showing someone flipping through photobooks, giving the viewer the opportunity to see how the pages relate to each other.  These were fascinating, but clumsily turned, and a better method would have been to have scanned the pages and shown them as a slide show.  At least there is more to see than in static volumes under glass.

The exhibition is divided into six sections: ‘From Empire to the People’s Republic of China (1900-1949)’; ‘Manchuria and the Sino-Japanese War’ (1931-1947)’; ‘The Image of a New China (1945-1966)’; ‘State Publishing: The Cultural Revolution and Beyond (1966-present)’; ‘The Renaissance of Chinese Photography’ (1979-present)’; and ‘Global Perspectives on China’ (1949-present).

The years 1900-49 were hugely eventful, beginning with European photographic pioneers taking advantage of the commercial and military penetration of the country.  Photography soon caught on among affluent Chinese, and amateur photography flourished.  In a period that began with a rigid imperial regime and ended with the establishment of a rigid Communist state, it was inevitable that photography would serve many purposes, not least pornographic, as the country struggled to establish a new identity.  In this the growth of mass media and improved printing techniques assisted the dissemination of photography, which both reflected and shaped the discourse of nationhood in a changing world, while acknowledging China’s rich artistic heritage.

‘Manchuria and the Sino-Japanese War’ focuses on photobooks published by both the Chinese and Japanese, including in the puppet state of Manchukuo, featuring competing narratives of the war and its legitimacy.  Japanese products were often designed to spin a story to its own citizens and those of its occupied territories in which conquest was depicted as harmonious cooperation and the Japanese presence benign.  Naturally the Chinese themselves had a different perspective on the Japanese invaders, highlighting the brutality and despoliation.

Pictorial Review of the Sino-Japanese Conflict in Shanghai, 1932

The next section covers the defeat of Japan, the civil war between the Nationalists and Communists, the foundation of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, and the development of Mao’s personality cult.  Photography played a vital role in propaganda, uniting people and party in a common effort within the ruling ideology to present a positive image both domestically and internationally.  As that programme suggests, the photographs (government managed rather than privately made) tended to be carefully composed and lacking spontaneity, in order to show the heroic strides the country was making in leaving its troubled past behind and forging a new social order, symbolised by the Great Leap Forward from 1958.  Bright cheerful groups gather to praise the wisdom of Marxism-Leninism-Mao Tse-tung thought and denounce the imperialist machinations of the running dogs of the fascist bourgeoisie.

1966 was a key turning point, with the institution of the Cultural Revolution which had such a devastating effect on the lives of ordinary people.  State control over publishing, both text and images, was centralised and guidelines were rigorously enforced.  Possession of unauthorised material was an offence.  As in the Soviet Union individuals fell out of favour, and publications featuring them had to be retrospectively censored.  One of the most fascinating displays is a number of books which have had pictures of unpersons (often the disgraced Lin Biao) scored out by their owners.  A change came with Mao’s death in 1976 and Deng Xiaoping’s liberalising influence, China beginning to look outwards more as it sought to become a major player on the world stage, projecting a modern technological image.

Chairman Mao is the Red Sun in Our Hearts, 1967

Socially, massaged optimism was replaced by a sense of realism, and photography followed suit.  As part of this change there was toleration of more diverse expressions of individual views.  From the late 1970s publishing outside the official structures occurred, such as photobooks documenting protests following the death of Zhou Enlai in 1976.  Individualism crept in as the country progressed economically and there were increasing opportunities for free expression (though as Tiananmen Square – still taboo – attests, there are limits).  It comes as a surprise to see openly gay photographs, and these are an indication that however clandestine, and however far it still needs to go, there is now an element of liberalism in China unknown in previous decades.

As a consequence, photographers were able to engage in a more spontaneous, and often critical, depiction of their lives, and as well as sharing these with fellow citizens were also able to present them outside China through international distribution channels, helping to integrate Chinese photography into the global art trade.  Chinese travellers turned their lenses on the rest of the world; at the same time foreigners scrutinised China, seeing the country with fresh eyes, just as those European pioneers had at the start of the twentieth century.  China is still far from being an open democracy, but it has come a long way from its previous insularity.  There is even space for out and out weirdness, notably The Hairy People of China (1982), which balances, not very well, cool scientific scrutiny with idle voyeurism.

Wasskink, Lundgren and Parr have done a valuable job in collecting and publicising the wealth of photography in China, undoubtedly acting as a stimulus for further research, but overall the displays feel like a taster for the exhibition book.  This is a show that could have justified the use of another floor of the gallery, and the contrast between the expansiveness of China and the smallness of the allotted space is very evident.

The exhibition is at the Photographers’ Gallery from 17 April to 5 July 2015.