the absence of good but as a positive force her father loathed and detested lawyers. and ceremonies. She is more a Vatican II
– Evil against Good – which for me is the Her chronicle is unsparing both of him Catholic, as she puts it, than was Jennifer
only explanation of the power (in their and of herself. Paterson.
time) of Soviet Communism, Nazism, Despite this background, she also writes Oddly, her account of her time of great-
Islamic terrorism, to mention but a few. movingly and lovingly of much of her child- est fame with Jennifer Paterson is told
That said, this is a challenging book that hood and she is set on a potentially suc- with a curious lack of warmth, although
every thinking Christian should read. And cessful career when it all falls apart. She too they were clearly enjoyable times. Jennifer
with John Humphrys as its author it is of is brought low by drink. She drank a vast Paterson had her own close relationship
course full of humour. This too might be amount of alcohol every day. She fell deeply with the bottle and she does not always
a persuasive argument for God, for we are in love with another alcoholic. The grief at appear here in the most attractive light. Yet
the only creatures in nature with a sense of his death and that of her mother sent her they worked well together and brought a
humour, and we are the only creatures said spiralling out of control. Her father’s death distinctive presence to the screen. It has
to be made in the image of God. left her unmoved and she remains unblink- given Miss Dickson Wright a continued
George Austin
ingly glacial about him, while understand- and valued presence in the media, even if
ing him better, having gone through her the ghastly apparatchiks at the Lubianka of
own dark night of the BBC criminally undervalue her.
the soul. This vivid account of a life that is at once
SPILLING THE BEANS Her career rackety and noble, amusing and agoniz-
Clarissa Dickson Wright screeched to a halt. ing, public and private, is compulsively
Hodder and Stoughton, 336pp, The substantial readable and sobering in its graphic self-
hbk inheritance was revelation. I cannot, in honesty, say that it
978 0 340 93388 6, £18.99 squandered on the is light reading for Christmas but it speaks
highest of living. of important things; of redemption, of the
When it was suggested that I She was embroiled power of love and transformation, of cour-
might abandon the arid world in lawsuits with rela- age, of triumph through suffering.
of reviewing ecclesiastical his- tions. She lost her
Edward Benson
tory and recommend a book home. She found
for Christmas, I was enthusi- temporary lodgings
astic. I looked to enjoy a light with friends or in
read, be amused, be enter- increasingly unsatis- THE MEDIEVAL FLOWER BOOK
tained, not to be overly taxed factory accommoda- Celia Fisher
by the prose or the content. tion. She picked up British Library, 128pp, hbk
When it was further suggested men in the Kilburn 978 0 7123 4945 1, [£20]
that I should review the autobiography of area, as the index has it. She slept rough on
Clarissa Dickson Wright, my heart leapt, a few occasions. She damaged her adrenal This well-produced, full-colour book is
my spirits soared, my enthusiasm was kin- gland irreparably through a surfeit of qui- an obvious Christmas book for the garden
dled. Her splendid double act with the late, nine from the tonic water with which she lover who already has all the manuals. From
and much lamented, Jennifer Paterson as slightly diluted her gin. I read this litany of illuminated manuscripts, it illustrates and
Two Fat Ladies was compulsory and com- tragedy open-mouthed in horror. As each describes a comprehensive range of flow-
pulsive viewing in Middle Cottage (my page was turned, it just became worse and ers, herbs, fruits and garden plants of the
simple dwelling in the countryside). It was worse. You will need to be as unflinching medieval period.
rare that I was tempted to cook the killer as she is to negotiate these pages. Its interest to the Christian is the manner
meals (rather like the habit of the late Fr She finds the right therapist and the right in which it shows, without any intention so
Brindley, double cream was added to make course for her recovery and chronicles that to do, just how careful and scientific was
the dish less rich) but, like many another, rocky and far from straightforward course the medieval observation of the natural
revelled in the tales and the banter. I set- with the same brutal honesty and clarity world. Much of the science may be wrong,
tled down to enjoy the task. as she charted her decline. She possesses a or misconceived, but the observation is
It is a harrowing read. Do not misun- sense of detachment when looking at her- careful, painstaking and often enfused
derstand me: it is a good book. It is full self as if she is a specimen under minute with a real sympathy and warmth.
of insights, packed with lively anecdote, scrutiny and examination. I am told that In a world of cold secularism, I found
stuffed with dazzling and dizzying coin- celebrity memoirs which invariably tell this a charming affirmation of the sensibil-
cidences, graced with slighting references of rehabilitation from drug and drink ities of a religious culture, with a humble
that hint tantalizingly at even better gossip dependency are soaked in ill-digested and engaging power of observation and
just below the surface, replete with pen- therapy-speak. That is not true here. analysis. I was also rather heartened by
portraits affectionate or severe. It is writ- A significant part of her rehabilitation the sheer quality of the some of the fruit
ten in sharp, incisive, unsentimental prose and the reconstruction of her life was the in particular – it would command a pre-
without self-pity or self-justification. But it shop Books for Cooks, which gave her a mium in most of our supermarket organic
is a harrowing read. haven and useful employment, and a place sections.
Born into a life of immense privilege and reputation in the realm of food and
John Turnbull
and material comfort, she suffered, along cooking. Yet even as she was stable and
with her deeply loved mother, a life of hor- employed, she was dealt another blow with The essay in the book Rightly Divid-
rendous abuse from her father. He was the death of a loved brother, also an alco- ing the Word of Truth on the priest and
an eminent surgeon but clearly and hor- holic. She carved a ham she had cooked psychotherapy (reviewed last month)
rifically unhinged by drink. Miss Dickson for the wake while his obsequies were said. was wrongly attributed. It was writ-
Wright’s revenge was to become a barrister, Miss Dickson Wright was born a Catho- ten by Fr Andrew Jones, to whom the
the youngest woman to be called, because lic, and remains attracted to its order, rites reviewer apologies for his error.
ND
December 2007
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newdirections
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