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John Berger, novelist, artist, essayist and creator of ‘Ways of Seeing’, reveled in challenging preconceptions about art and society. An early populist oracle, Berger pioneered the reflexive and witty style that has become familiar in contemporary criticism. Geoff Dyer, bestselling novelist and critic in his mold, wrote his first book ‘Ways of Telling’ in 1986 on Berger’s life and legacy. Dyer joins the UnHerd Academy for an exclusive live masterclass.
Didn’t watch all of it – the first half hour and then skipped to the questions – and my impression may be coloured by the early emphasis on Berger’s Marxism. This surprised me since there seemed to be no hint of it when i watched Ways of Seeing. That reflects well upon Berger’s ability to ‘look with his gut’ and not have his view influenced by political bias. Also, i have no ‘hero worship’ tendencies but again, Dyer’s emphasis on that side of his early relationship with Berger was slightly off-putting.
On a wider point, it’s important that the cultural developments since Berger’s time (and including the time of those who influenced him) are revisited and this discussion aids the understanding of how we arrived at our “ways of seeing” now, especially when we’re searching through our recent past as a prelude to renewal of our cultural confidence.
I guess time limitations at the end meant that further discussion on how Berger might’ve approached the way images impact our current lives was curtailed, but being involved in the visual arts, it’s something that must be grappled with. How humans value the visual expression of ourselves has perhaps a greater significance than might be supposed; our ability to post images as opposed to the historical means of image production prior to photography. To regain our cultural confidence and explore our humanity further, the latter takes on a renewed significance.
John Berger was in the 60s a familiar presence in the Wheldon household. I was personally deeply impressed by his motorcycle, and in particular his leather motorcycle jacket. My grandmother knitted me a red jacket with a zip. The zip was everything. This was my ‘Umm’ jacket, ‘umm’ being the sound of my imaginary Berger motorbike. John owed a great deal to my mother, Jacqueline Wheldon. He wrote to her in 1980: “I write this small page to you. Not even to ask for news necessarily. Rather, to tell you how very very much I owe to you. As I look back now I see that your encouragement and your belief in me as a writer – that sounds so prim, so salon – no, your love, held me and sustained me, and without you at that time I do not know what would have happened. You helped me very much.” Among other things she wrote the original blurb for ‘G’ (at John’s request). She was chuffed to hear that Frank Kermode regarded it as exemplary. I loved John being at our house: he was such a physical presence, and that of course included his wonderful voice, with its intensity and Englishness. I finish with what was always regarded by my parents as a touching and almost perfect Freudian slip. Anya, John’s wife, was pregnant. John was at our house, for some reason, clearly anxious, and the phone rang and it was for him. He crashed the receiver down. He had to leave at once. He had, he said, to get to Anya, and hoped for “a childless painbirth”.
May I add that among the lovelinesses of modern subtitling ‘Oats of War’ for ‘Haute-Savoie’ really takes some beating.