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A Walk Up Fifth Avenue
Bernard Levin leads us along New York's most famous street, describing with a sharp eye and caustic wit the people and sights which litter its path from Washington Square to Harlem. In what other street could you encounter sword-swallowing unicyclists and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis; a bag lady in central park on minute and Donald Trump the next; descend into silent vaults of gold and climb above the clouds in skyscrapers that live up to their name? Where else could you go on a plat-eating expedition and find a subway system that uses cayenne pepper to deter fare-dodgers? With infectious enthusiasm, Bernard Levin captures the extraordinary variety, contrasts and excitement of New York.
- GenresTravel
256 pages, Hardcover
Published January 1, 1989
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About the author
Bernard Levin
42 books6 followersHenry Bernard Levin, CBE (London School of Economics, 1952) was described by the London daily The Times as "the most famous journalist of his day". As political correspondent of The Spectator under the pseudonym "Taper", he became "the father of the modern parliamentary sketch," as The Guardian's Simon Hoggart put it. He went on to work as the drama critic for The Daily Express and later The Daily Mail, and appeared regularly on the satirical BBC programme, That Was The Week That Was. He joined The Times as a columnist in 1970, almost immediately provoking controversy and lawsuits, and left when the paper was taken over by Rupert Murdoch.
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
May 10, 2022
I got almost halfway through and had enough. This book was written over thirty years ago and shows it. The author’s views are outdated and kind of on the snobby side of life! Yes, he interviews a window washer of the Empire State Building and talks with a New York subway journalist – that’s interesting. Less interesting was writing about diamond merchants and a furrier (do these still exist?). I cashed in when he walked into a store specializing in men’s skin care and fragrances. I couldn't care less!
It becomes at times like reading lifestyles of “the rich and famous” who happened to have a shop (should I call it a boutique) on Fifth Ave. It was like the author was on some kind of ego trip. There were only twenty pages on the Harlem portion of Fifth Ave. which takes up thirty blocks. Not enough high-end stores there for the author to dwell on.
It becomes at times like reading lifestyles of “the rich and famous” who happened to have a shop (should I call it a boutique) on Fifth Ave. It was like the author was on some kind of ego trip. There were only twenty pages on the Harlem portion of Fifth Ave. which takes up thirty blocks. Not enough high-end stores there for the author to dwell on.
September 19, 2020
Bernard Levin begins A Walk Up Fifth Avenue with three quotations from descriptions of New York City. These date from 1916, 1929 and 1949 and were written by Jane Kilmer, Theodore Dreiser and E. B. White respectively. Bernard Levin uses these vignettes to establish the reality, or perhaps unreality of a changing city, a superficially permanent edifice which really is in constant flux and is never more than a transient manifestation made concrete of the people, interests and activities it houses.
Bernard Levin’s 1989 book now becomes, itself, another such historical exhibit, since the twenty years that have elapsed since the publication of A Walk Up Fifth Avenue has seen major changes to New York’s skyline, economy and population. In 1989 Bernard Levin made scant reference to Arabs or Afghans, and hardly mentions Islam when referring to the city’s religious identity. In 1989, Russians, generally, were still in Russia, not the United States. The twin towers of the World Trade Centre appear in three of the book’s colour plates without remark, and nowhere in the book’s three hundred pages it took to walk the length of Fifth Avenue is there a single mention of the word “terrorism”.
For the targeted British audience of this book, the author, perhaps, symbolised something quintessentially English. An established columnist on The Times, well-known television commentator and latterly presenter of off-beat travel programmes, Bernard Levin was close to being a household name at the time, an instantly recognisable voice amongst the middle classes. But he was, himself, of immigrant stock, a Jew, and, at least originally, very much on the edge of the British establishment, no doubt knocking regularly on the its partially closed doors. Maybe this is why, in A Walk Up Fifth Avenue, he deals so informatively with the concepts of “new” and “old” money in New York. He describes beautifully how shady might be the origins of any kind of money, but the obvious class differences that the distinction engenders is keenly felt and wonderfully depicted in the book. Bernard Levin however, reveals that he is no fan of luxury for luxury’s sake, and clearly has little sympathy for any kind of conspicuous consumption.
He rubs shoulders with the better heeled at a New York party, but gently satirises the ostentation and the bad taste, perhaps being guilty of applying a new-world versus old-world, peculiarly British pomposity to place himself above an old money versus new money snobbery. It makes a fascinating juxtaposition of the author’s opinion and subjects’ assumptions. What makes the passages even more poignant for British readers, of course, is the Bernard Levin’s long association with satire, especially that aimed at the rich and powerful.
Levin is also clearly not a fan of commercialism. The appearance of Ronald McDonald in a Fifth Avenue parade promoted Levin to describe the character, somewhat sardonically, as “a true hero of our time”. It prompts the reader to reflect that Father Christmas, as we know him today, is largely the product of an erstwhile promotional campaign for Coca Cola and his default red and white is not much more than a corporate trademark. And perhaps even the practice of giving presents on a day other than the Three Kings was an American invention, driven more by marketing than generosity. One wonders whether a century from now children will sit on a burger clown’s knee to receive their annual schooling in consumerism.
A Walk Up Fifth Avenue is much more than a travel book. It’s considerably less than a history, and never attempts analysis. It is an informative, slightly random mixture of whatever caught the fancy of an observant, vaguely jaundiced British journalist as he tried to probe the heart of one of the world’s greatest cities. It’s an uneven read, but doubly rewarding, since the book not only takes the reader there, it also now offers evidence of its own justification, because it catalogues change and invites us to reflect on our current, equally tenuous, impermanent status.
Bernard Levin’s 1989 book now becomes, itself, another such historical exhibit, since the twenty years that have elapsed since the publication of A Walk Up Fifth Avenue has seen major changes to New York’s skyline, economy and population. In 1989 Bernard Levin made scant reference to Arabs or Afghans, and hardly mentions Islam when referring to the city’s religious identity. In 1989, Russians, generally, were still in Russia, not the United States. The twin towers of the World Trade Centre appear in three of the book’s colour plates without remark, and nowhere in the book’s three hundred pages it took to walk the length of Fifth Avenue is there a single mention of the word “terrorism”.
For the targeted British audience of this book, the author, perhaps, symbolised something quintessentially English. An established columnist on The Times, well-known television commentator and latterly presenter of off-beat travel programmes, Bernard Levin was close to being a household name at the time, an instantly recognisable voice amongst the middle classes. But he was, himself, of immigrant stock, a Jew, and, at least originally, very much on the edge of the British establishment, no doubt knocking regularly on the its partially closed doors. Maybe this is why, in A Walk Up Fifth Avenue, he deals so informatively with the concepts of “new” and “old” money in New York. He describes beautifully how shady might be the origins of any kind of money, but the obvious class differences that the distinction engenders is keenly felt and wonderfully depicted in the book. Bernard Levin however, reveals that he is no fan of luxury for luxury’s sake, and clearly has little sympathy for any kind of conspicuous consumption.
He rubs shoulders with the better heeled at a New York party, but gently satirises the ostentation and the bad taste, perhaps being guilty of applying a new-world versus old-world, peculiarly British pomposity to place himself above an old money versus new money snobbery. It makes a fascinating juxtaposition of the author’s opinion and subjects’ assumptions. What makes the passages even more poignant for British readers, of course, is the Bernard Levin’s long association with satire, especially that aimed at the rich and powerful.
Levin is also clearly not a fan of commercialism. The appearance of Ronald McDonald in a Fifth Avenue parade promoted Levin to describe the character, somewhat sardonically, as “a true hero of our time”. It prompts the reader to reflect that Father Christmas, as we know him today, is largely the product of an erstwhile promotional campaign for Coca Cola and his default red and white is not much more than a corporate trademark. And perhaps even the practice of giving presents on a day other than the Three Kings was an American invention, driven more by marketing than generosity. One wonders whether a century from now children will sit on a burger clown’s knee to receive their annual schooling in consumerism.
A Walk Up Fifth Avenue is much more than a travel book. It’s considerably less than a history, and never attempts analysis. It is an informative, slightly random mixture of whatever caught the fancy of an observant, vaguely jaundiced British journalist as he tried to probe the heart of one of the world’s greatest cities. It’s an uneven read, but doubly rewarding, since the book not only takes the reader there, it also now offers evidence of its own justification, because it catalogues change and invites us to reflect on our current, equally tenuous, impermanent status.
July 4, 2013
This book was written by the Levin accompanying a UK Channel 4 TV programme of the same name. He wrote it in 1989 so things may have changed a tad since. I'm looking forward to meeting Mayor Koch when we arrive later this month. It may have been written just as the legendary journalist was developing the first symptoms of Alzheimer's disease (that was to claim him in 2004) but the quality of his observation and clear love for New York shine through. He adores the Frick collection even though Frick was a hoodlum and thinks Frank Lloyd Wright was having a big joke with the Guggenheim.
Finished this on July 4th. How appropriate.
"Surely his hand must have trembled, as he began to draw the Guggenheim Museum? ... Is it possible that the Guggenheim is an even bigger joke than the joke on the art establishment? That he actually meant it as a helter skelter?"
Finished this on July 4th. How appropriate.
January 16, 2016
There was so much more to learn about New York City than I would ever have imagined. And Levin managed to hit all areas of interest. The pictures were an unexpected bonus, though I would have enjoyed seeing more, particularly of the Guggenheim and most especially after Levin talked about it so much.
Good book all 'round though.
It was worth the read just for the subway revelations
Good book all 'round though.
It was worth the read just for the subway revelations
Read
March 23, 2019i Hvw two differenz editions.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews