He has to make a decision: take revenge or turn away?
In a startling odyssey of fear, black comedy and the surreal, Jack Randall discovers that the choice has already been made. The demons in him take on the demons without, and all he can do is stand back and see who wins.
]]>`Into Politics' begins in 1973 with Clark's selection as Tory candidate for Nancy Astor's old seat in Plymouth (rival candidates included future Conservative luminaries, Michael Howard and Norman Fowler) his election to the Commons in the 1974 general election. His years as a backbencher coincide with Edward Heath as PM, his downfall and the arrival of Margaret Thatcher. This volume ends with the inside story of the Falklands War. In his private life Alan and his wife Jane and their two young sons take over Saltwood Castle (previously the home of his father Kenneth (Civilisation) Clark). His enthusiasms for the estate, skiing, fast cars and girls are never far away.
For the hundreds of thousands of readers who were enthralled by the first volume, `Into Politics' will be an event.
]]>If Mr Toad hadn't predated Alan Clark by some 21 years--The Wind in the Willows was published in 1908 and Clark born in 1929--you could make a good case for Clark's having been the model for Kenneth Grahame's daredevil, outrageous but loveable rogue. Conservative MP, historian, man about town, notorious womaniser--and at the same time fiercely loyal husband and father--Clark, who died in 1999, was the son of Lord (Kenneth) Clark, the art historian and broadcaster. He bought his first car, a six-and-a-half litre vintage Bentley, while he was still at Eton and only 17--it was typical of the stylish flamboyance he soon made his trademark.
Many a Jaguar, Rolls Royce, Porsche, Buick and Chevrolet followed. So did old Citroens, a VW Beetle and latterly a beloved and "totally reliable" Discovery. He was a collector, par excellence, who was addicted to the buying and selling of cars all his adult life. Every garage and enclosed space at Saltwood Castle, the family home in Kent, remains full of Clark's cars. Clark's son James writes in Back Fire that "Outside the family, I truly believe, cars were my father's greatest love". But he didn't approve of over-enthusiastic restoration. When he drove his 1920 Silver Ghost, of which there is a photograph in Back Fire on the 1993 Rolls Royce Enthusiasts Alpine Commemorative Run, a fellow competitor remarked, to Clark's amusement, that "if he can't afford to maintain his car properly he shouldn't be allowed on the event".
Whatever else Clark was or wasn't he was never dull and he was certainly a writer. "What do we want a classic car for? Showing off, of course. Nothing wrong with that; they are more idiosyncratic than beach jewellery." The prose hums along as expertly as the cars. --Susan Elkin
]]>Such is the sheer vigour and perception on display here (not to mention the disarming candour--none of that famous "economy with the truth" in these unbuttoned pieces), that it's a considerable cause for regret that this is the last we will have from the late politician. In the great tradition of such diarists as Pepys, Clark delivers a fascinating picture of an era and his place in it. Just a few words of Clark on (for instance) Tony Benn displays Clark's from-the-hip observations: "His mind is so quick and versatile--but the loony prejudice just beneath the surface... the motivation that keeps him active." All those anodyne politicians' memoirs, which strove to be as unrevealing as possible, look even paler next to a document as forceful as this. Whether or not your name is in the index, this is absolutely fascinating reading from a flawed politician who nevertheless makes most of his colleagues--in and out of the Tory party--look uninspiring figures indeed. --Barry Forshaw
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