Sebastian Gillies – WRITER

Question Time was in Norwich a few weeks ago and was discussing the root cause of the increasing sexualisation of children. In this clip, Peter Hitchens puts the blame on the 1960's, the decade when Britain either became more socially open, or permissive depending on your point of view. It was interesting that he described what he saw as a sex saturated society as 'post-chatterley', fixing on the famous moment in 1960 when nine men and three women decided that Lady Chatterley's Lover was not an obscene article. Do we really owe our current sexual manners and morals to that decision? 

Pre-1960's Britain was not a model of Christian sexual morality, for all the social rules that were in place. There was certainly a higher value placed on discretion, dignity and a fear of disgrace. An effect of this was to associate sex with shame, something secretive and dirty that had to be covered up through a snigger, a nudge, innuendo and a wink. By refusing to draw the curtain over Connie and Mellors, Lawrence aimed to dispel the emotional immaturity surrounding sex by gazing frankly at 'It' and infusing what were popularly called 'the dirty bits' with such inflamed spirituality as to elevate them into something tender and sacred. Richard Hoggart used the word 'puritanical', in the sense of being intensely responsible for one's conscience, to defend the book's depiction of sex.

Perhaps neither the socially liberal or conservative sides have quite taken the right message from Lady Chatterley's Lover and the obscenity trial. It may have sparked, or been symptomatic of greater openness and honesty, but Lawrence would have rejected how sex has become exploitative, debased and commercialised. Lawrence would not have shared Peter Hitchens' Christian view of sex either, but he didn't present Connie and Mellors as casual, depraved, irresponsible, or obtrusively pleasure-seeking. What they sought was wholeness, in body and soul. The root cause of the sexualisation of children lies in the market seeking to capitalise on the 'glamour of grown ups' that fascinates us all when we're young, not with Lady Chatterley. 

The Royal Court Theatre, 23rd June 2011

This was my first experience of Arnold Wesker and against my expectations I enjoyed myself. The period and concerns of the play (Jewish East End Socialism between 1936 – 1956) weren't ones that had interested me much. How relevant could they be after 53 years? The U.S.S.R. may be history and the 21st century may belong (temporarily) to the contentedly consumerist West, but lost causes are always fascinating to look back on. It can be like looking back on our younger selves in middle age. How passionately naive we were, we think. How much we have changed in a few years of maturing. But the play carries a deeper resonance about belief in an ideal, in a cause that gives life impetus towards a vision. Sarah Khan (played by the excellent Samantha Spiro) is untouchably pure and unshakeable in her ideals of socialist brotherhood, which she dispenses along with endless cups of tea and cake. Sarah holds on, while her family sell-out, become disillusioned, physically weaken, or simply prefer to stay in watching their new televisions instead of wearing themselves out marching. We see that Sarah is on the wrong side of history, but for her to abandon her beliefs would be the same as giving up breathing.Today we are wary of such people, having seen what the fruits of their fervour can be, but we still half-admire them for a strength of conviction that is lacking in our more contented, inward looking selves.

Wesker extends his sympathy and understanding to all his characters. We can understand how Sarah's family succumbed to the passing of time, or to the needs of their own families. People grow. People change. That's life. But we also feel sympathy for Sarah. Life may be complicated, but how complicated does it really need to be? Things are not painted in black and white, but we all have moments when we feel they should be. Has belief made Sarah blindly obtuse, or stoical and clear-sighted? Does she deserve admiration, or pity? Like most things, the answer depends on who you ask.

Riverside Studios, 10th June 2011

You don't normally associate Alan Ayckbourn with ghost stories, but his typically crafty crafting makes for an effective thriller. Composing prodigy Julia Lukin ('Little Miss Mozart' to the tabloids) was found dead in her student flat at 19 of an 'accidental' overdose. Ten years later, her father Joe has bought up the property and turned it into her memorial, with Julia's attic room recreated as a heritage space. He brings her ex-boyfriend, Andy, along to see it, but his intentions soon become clear – he has always had doubts about the verdict of accidental death, all the more so now that he believes Julia is trying to contact him. Andy is sceptical, but Joe has brought in a psychic to help him answer the question that haunts and pains him; why did she die? 

It is typical of ghosts to reside in attics, but recreating Julia's attic bedroom as a shrine, down to her favourite teddy, adds an interesting angle. It is a dead place, but hauntingly lifelike in appearance. The door is ajar and though a brick wall has been built behind you grow to dread it being opened as things become more unnerving. The flickering lights, the riveting silences, the swelling tension and the sudden noises are all present, correct and effective, but the characters are not ghost story stereotypes. Richard O'Callaghan's Ken is comically down-to-earth about his psychic gift, while Christopher Timothy's Joe is sturdily matter-of-fact. Dominic Hecht's Andy tries to rationalise the situation, but only to protect Joe in his grief. Their ordinariness makes them believable, making their explanations for what is going on credible, leaving the state of things ambiguous and all the more spooky. Their ordinariness also gives the ghost story a solid emotional base. Each of the three men labours under the guilt of not having been there for her when they should have been, Joe most of all. Did the pride he feel in her talent (both a blessing and a curse to the young) smother her to the point of wanting to kill herself?

CAST: Joe: Christopher Timothy, Ken: Richard O'Callaghan, Andy: Dominic Hecht, Woman: Louise Kempton, Director: Andrew Hall 

The film Anonymous, directed by Roland Emmerich, takes as its text the theory that Shakespeare’s plays were, in fact, written by Edward de Vere, 17^th Earl of Oxford. Two stumbling blocks are the fact that Oxford was happy to publish inferior work under his own name and the fact that he died in 1604. That doesn’t deter Emmerich; “I don’t think there’s a problem if you say he started writing earlier.” As a filmmaker he has chosen Oxford’s story because it has the greatest intrigue with which to fashion a good story, though for some reason it is also necessary to credit Oxford as being the bastard son and incestuous lover of Elizabeth I. We know little of Shakespeare’s life and where evidence is absent, conspiracy thrives and where there is conspiracy, there an audience will be. However, Shakespeare in Love crafted a good story without needing to discredit Shakespeare as a writer.

The plot of Shakespeare in Love is fictional, but it nailed where Shakespeare’s talent really lay. Whether we are in 1590, or 1990, we have all fallen in love with someone whom we can’t have, whether because they are out of our league, already taken, or because they sprang from our only hate. Shakespeare, the ‘upstart crow’, had the education to know where to find a good plot and the talent to fashion something new out of them. He didn't need to have the class, or the money to visit Verona, France, or Egypt. It is his imagination, his way with words, his understanding of emotions and his ability to connect with feelings that draw audiences to experience his plays. Emotions don’t change over the centuries and are the same in the breast of both commoner and aristocrat. 

In a PC version of 'Frosty the Snowman', James Finn Garner describes how Bobby and Betty fashion a 'person of snow'. Bobby wants it to have a pipe and a top hat, on account of its being a snowman. Betty objects to Bobby's 'phallocentric world view' – and anyway, Marlene Dietrich wore a top hat. Once alive, the 'person of snow' observes that their argument seems rather pointless since they have neglected to fashion any private parts. Betty counters that gender is a primarily a cultural issue, but the 'person of snow' decides to keep a non-gender specific identity, on account of the bitter arguments that gender seems to provoke amongst people. Similarly in The Nutcracker, Uncle Drosselmeier unwittingly reinforces gender roles by giving niece Clara a doll and nephew Fritz a nutcracker soldier. 

These stories seem to chime with the situation of four-month old Storm, child of Kathy Witterick and David Stocker, whose gender identity has been deliberately concealed in order to provide Storm with the necessary space in which to discover his, or her own gender identity. Ms. Witterick has written that the idea that "the whole world must know what is between a baby's legs is unhealthy, unsafe and voyeuristic." Ironically, by making their stand they have got the world far more hooked than it would have been if they had simply declared Storm's gender in the usual manner. But why should we care when Storm is obviously healthy and cared for by two parents? Are we not more than the sum of our parts? It's not as if being either male or female would make Storm superior, or inferior to anyone else, but if that is true then why do Storm's parents act as if having a single gender at all is bad? I'm no fan of parents who try to, for example, 'make men' of their sons by forcing machoism down their throats, but in their determination to avoid this extreme have Storm's parents perhaps swung to the opposite extreme, leaving their child, in a sense, incomplete? There is a dignity in positively naming ourselves as a 'he', or a 'she', instead of an 'it', despite the danger of these names being turned into negative labels. Storm's parents say that their decision was made as a 'tribute to freedom'. I hope Storm will be happy being free, but it may get lonely at times too, being a small neutral island between the two warring continents of Male and Female. 

Tomorrow, a short ten minute play of mine will be performed at Theatre503 on Battersea Park Road. Along with three other writers, the work will be a response to the current production 'Sold', by Suzi Miller.

Government jobs in Britain were once the preserve of a small pool of aristocrats. Already wealthy and titled, for them to serve as Prime Minister would have been fairly incidental. The office has since gained importance in government, but it has also become more exclusive, as the pool of candidates has widened. It has become the ultimate career peak, with an aura that clings to the holder like a curse. Even if they return to being a private citizen, they are part of history. It is a similar situation for the Oscars; what should be an annual prize giving has turned into film's ultimate award, a potential career peak. In light of this, why were Gordon Brown and Tony Blair not invited to last month's Royal Wedding? Plenty of people could give reasons, but does their omission, as Philip Collins suggested in The Times, demonstrate the contempt in which we hold our former leaders?

George Washington sought to invest the newly created office of President with the classical ideal of modesty, countering its power with plainness of appearance. The title of 'Mr. President' was chosen for simplicity and humility, but former Presidents today are honoured with the title of 'Mr. President' for life and are automatically on the guest list for future national events. Considering the demands of the job such privileges seem the very least that a country can do in return, but allowing former incumbents to have continued use of 'Mr. President' lends it an air of exclusivity at odds with its original meaning. If an excessive aura of reverence begins to cling to an elected office, then it runs the risk of attracting those who intend to use public office for personal profit. We are often told that if we want the best people then we have to entice them with appropriate salaries and rewards. Such a view wouldn't have sat well with Washington, though his America was very different and he could afford to let public service be its own reward thanks to his large plantation. Nevertheless, Harry Truman, on leaving office in 1953, refused to join corporate payrolls and turned down offers for commercial endorsements, trying to avoid compromising the integrity of the office he had just left. With no personal savings, his only income on retirement was his old army pension ($112.56 per month). 

We ought to respect our former leaders for their experience and the wisdom they have gained from it. We should give them their due out of gratitude, but no more than either the role, or the holder deserves. Philip Collins wonders at the reverence granted to an institution with such limited power (the monarchy) and the disdain given to the position that really matters (the prime minister). But it is precisely because the position does matter that it is treated with such little consideration. It is safe to give reverence to a ceremonial monarchy, but not to an elected office. To do that would be to devalue the humility that keeps tyranny and despotism at bay, though humility need not extend to humiliation. It is the paradox of leading a democracy that you have power, but are answerable to the people who entrusted you with it. To be elected should not mean being numbered among the elect.

A. C. Grayling has edited The Good Book: A Secular Bible, a collection of non-religious wisdom ranging from the origin of the universe to kindness in everyday life. Contributors range from Classical Greek philosophy, Confucius, Ancient Rome, India and Arabia to Renaissance and Enlightenment Europe and the modern, scientific world. Like the Bible, the collections of chapter and verse can be read as a narrative, or dipped into. 

I wonder if using the word 'Bible' in the title is a mistake, since it has become shorthand for being an authority on a subject (e.g. 'Fashion Bible', 'Bible of Lesbianism'), containing all that you need to know. Grayling's collection is not intended to rival the Bible, rather it is "modestly offered as a contribution to the conversation of mankind". It also cannot be called authoritative because "the humanistic view of ethics is that no one is in a position to tell others how to live. You can give them advice and exhort them to think about their moral lives, but not in a goody-two shoes Mary Whitehouse way." Instead of Thou Shalt Not, it is I Would Not Advise. Such humility means that there is no danger of snobbish self-righteousness, but if no one has moral authority because we are all human, then to whom are we morally obligated? To whom do we feel accountable for our actions? It may be towards each other on the basis of our common humanity, but if we each possess the trump card "who are you to judge?" then we are free to reject the advice we are given. Of course, a religious person can disregard man's judgment by claiming to answer only to God, just as a secular person can disregard man's judgment precisely because they are not God. Despite its humble intentions, Grayling's book may yet acquire an authority over time (as the Bible did), if no other book with the same goal appears to better it.

As for the Bible itself, it is not a guide as to how to live a 'Good Life' as we have defined it today, despite being called 'The Good Book'. It is a record of God's Covenant with his people and (for Christians) reveals the Way, the Truth and the Life. Its concern is holiness and salvation, not the happy fulfilment that we are now content to aim for. 'God Book' would be a more accurate name than 'Good Book'. 

Elizabeth Taylor (1932 – 2011) will be remembered for many memorable roles (as well as for her seven husbands and for her AIDS foundation), but there is one, rather infamous role that will always be able to out-glitter the rest: the title role of Cleopatra (1963). Whatever your opinion of such a heavyweight spectacle, it brought together two female icons. Both had enough adventures to fill multiple lifetimes, both could command commanding men and both had memorable love affairs. Modern scholarship believes that Cleopatra's achievements owed more to brains than to looks, but it is the story of enrapturing and ultimately destructive beauty that people want to hear over and over again.

The worlds of Ancient Egypt and Hollywood's Golden Age can still cast a spell, their very names evoke gorgeousness and exoticism. The discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb in the 1920's sparked a renewed interest in Egypt that coincided with Hollywood embarking on its Golden Age. Such worlds of spectacular imagery were, of course, made for each other. And now, just as Cleopatra's famous exit marked the end of Ancient Egypt, so Elizabeth Taylor's passing marks the loss of another link with the Golden Age of Hollywood. The commercial failure of Cleopatra also marked how Hollywood cinema could no longer rely on big budgets, sets, wardrobes and casts to tempt audiences away from television. 

Shakespeare added his own talents to Cleopatra's ongoing afterlife and a line from Act V of Antony and Cleopatra makes a fitting epitaph for both the Queen and for Taylor, who made her own contribution to the enduring legend of both Ancient Egypt and Hollywood: "Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies a lass unparallel'd"

Libraries have been praised from the beginning:

'Libraries: the medicine chest of the soul' – inscription from the ancient library of Thebes

'If you have a garden and a library then you have everything you need' – Cicero 

'There is not such a cradle of democracy upon the earth as the Free Public Library, this republic of letters, where neither rank, office, nor wealth receives the slightest consideration' – Andrew Carnegie 

'A great library contains the diary of the human race' – George Mercer Dawson

'I have always imagined paradise to be a sort of library' – Jorge Luis Borges 

'Perhaps no place in any community is so democratic as the town library. The only entrance requirement is interest' – Lady Bird Johnson

'Libraries are reservoirs of strength, grace and wit, reminders of order, calm and continuity, lakes of mental energy, neither warm nor cold, light or dark… In any library in the world, I am at home, unselfconscious, still and absorbed' – Germaine Greer

'A truly great library contains something in it to offend everyone' – Jo Godwin

The John Rylands Library in Manchester bears a striking resemblance to a Church, with its gothic architecture, statues and stained glass. Such surroundings and the hushed atmosphere elevate rooms of mere bookshelves and reading desks to a holy sanctum. The rich and powerful always translated their money into grand, private libraries, showing honour and reverence to books by housing them in palaces. It was something to show off to visitors, even if the books stayed on the shelves, for wealth was impressive, but accumulating knowledge gave it credibility. Judaism similarly honours the written law by housing it in a beautiful 'Ark'. 

Public Libraries may be more serviceable in appearance, but we regard them as a precious part of a citizen's rights, emblems of civic virtue and philanthropy and outward signs that we treasure the knowledge we have inherited. Instead of Buy and Sell, you Borrow and Share. Now, because they are held to be in decline, inaccessible, unwelcoming and unwanted, around 500 are threatened with closure as part of council cut backs, despite opponents arguing that ignorance is the only real poverty. It's the old balloon debate of evaluating what is essential and what is expendable in order to survive, the conflict between the tangible profits you can put in the bank and the intangible profits that transform our inner selves. 

The situation of Public Libraries is similar to that of the Railways in the early 1960's. Though a vital service for many people, the network was losing money to car ownership and to lorry transport. To the horror of Sir John Betjaman, hundreds of branch lines and rural stations were closed on the basis of a report by Dr. Richard Beeching. Public Libraries, like the old branch lines, may be slightly anachronistic, but they remain popular. They may not be very efficient, but they are loved. We may not use them much, but we still want them around for what they represent and because they have the ability to charm us, quite apart from their intended use. We demand efficient public services, but delight in organic and valiantly old fashioned services with a human touch. If someone proposes closing such things down they are castigated as another 'Dr. Beeching': a heartless, soulless, number-crunching, bean-counter, deaf to poetry and romance, while their opponents are dismissed as nostalgic, sentimental and impractical.

Just as the trains lost their passengers to car ownership, so Public Libraries suffer from the changes wrought in us by technology. Downloads, Kindle, ebooks, tablets, smartphones, laptops, Nooks and e-readers mean that everyone can quickly build their own private libraries, storing thousands of titles for little cost on a piece of metal and plastic that's no bigger than your hand. Public Libraries provide access to knowledge, but so does the Internet, if you have it. Public Libraries have music collections, but you can store a far bigger one on an ipod. However much we all appreciate their lofty civic ideals, a Public Library has no use if the public loses interest. They have to stock what is popular, even if that means low brow fiction. Their shelves can't carry dead weight, even if all books are precious. 

The technology of the printed page is now being overtaken by the screen, just as petrol and electricity overtook steam power. In the moment of transition there is always something to mourn, counterbalanced with fresh possibilities, but we cannot predict the long term results of transition. Which view of the Public Library will ultimately be vindicated?

With the Railways, opinion remains divided as to whether Dr. Beeching was right, but there is wider agreement that in the drive to make the Railways pay their poetic essence was lost, along with our ability to delight in them as we once did. Fifty years on, the more idyllic view of Sir John Betjaman has been vindicated in the statue erected to him at St. Pancras International, a Victorian masterpiece adapted for the 21st Century. Betjaman championed the social and cultural value of the railway, the poetry of the branch line. The poetry in motion was the point and the profit. Many old branch lines survive as heritage trains run by volunteers. Will Public Libraries will survive in the same way?