Skinhead by Nick Knight (1982)

I keep going to the Half Price Books in the suburbs, and that's sort of a bad idea, because I always walk out of there with like 4-5 books. Every single time. My list of books to read is now longer than my Netflix queue, and that's a problem. But they have this giant wall of science fiction paperbacks (it almost rivals Myopic's), and the prices are outlandishly low. Like, under two dollars per book low. So I keep pathetically stumbling back in there to give myself more and more homework. Damn you Half Price Books! More like Fifth Price Books!

Anyway, I was there around closing the other day, with an annoyingly tall stack of new sci-fi under my arm, and on a whim I decided to cruise past the music section to see if they had any books on Tamla Motown or Southern soul, because those are two areas of my musical interest that I seriously need to educate myself on. They had one book of Motown lyrics, but seeing as how I have access to the internet, not to mention functioning ears, I decided to pass. The employees were making grumbling noises, so I decided to pack it up and go (I hate when people stay later than closing at the store where I work, and hence refuse to subject other people to it), and right then, by pure happenstance, I spied Skinhead on the shelf. Eight bucks!! A no-braini-er no-brainer there never was.

If you're unaware, Skinhead is one of the two best-known and most authoritative texts on the British skinhead subculture (the other of course being George Marshall's Spirit of 69), although it is important to point out that both books were written during and after the late 70's revival, and not during the original 1960's period that they are principally occupied with. In Knight's case that is a bit more of an issue, but more on that later.

The book is primarily described as a photojournal, and indeed about half of its 100 or so pages are stylish black-and-white photos of--what else--skins. The pictures are uniformly excellent. Almost all are posed, but the subjects appear very natural and comfortable, and that is an absolute necessity in any photo book covering a youth culture. These 50 or so photos are probably the best visual history we have of the oi! and punk influenced skinhead revival. Number one crops, flight jackets, braces worn down in many cases. There are quite a few photos of girls, too, and while this may be a bit misrepresentative of the number of girls actually involved, they are definitely cute and you can only look at so many bald dudes showing off their contrast laces anyway. The photos are taken in a variety of settings: oi! gigs, grimy-looking alleys, the subjects' homes. They all have a suitably grainy, gritty quality that works quite well, and many are taken in close-up, with wide angle lenses that give a literally in-your-face and confrontational feel.

I'll be frank: a few of the photo subjects are obvious National Front members (racists, more or less, for those of you unfamiliar), but a few things are important to keep in mind. First of all, although non-racist/non-political skins certainly outnumbered the NF skins at this point in time (and arguably still do), they still comprised a significant minority, and any book with the catchall title Skinhead should, I feel, be obligated to include them. Secondly, it is crucial to understand that in the period these photos were taken (1980-1981) NF membership was as much an aesthetic fad as anything else. That may seem strange, but there was a media frenzy regarding skinheads which portrayed them all as violent racists, and not only did that attract more confrontational types to the subculture, but even anti-racist types would, for instance, often mockingly seig heil a camera just to add fuel to the fire. If that seems confusing, it's because it was a turbulent time for the working class in Britain and these kids were indeed oftentimes confused. As a final point, the photos in Skinhead are certainly not compiled from a racial perspective. There are also pictures of black skins and traditional types.

In addition to the photos, however, there are several written sections on skinhead culture. The first several are written by Knight himself, and cover a range of topics, each under a large bold heading: Origins, Dress, Hair, Music, Behaviour, Authority, Decline, and Revival. Most are a page or two long, and that is normally where this book comes under fire. For some reason, people seem to think this book is presenting itself as the end-all source on the culture. It doesn't, and it isn't. The information presented is quite good anyway, though. This book, however, is the most authoritative extant source on skinhead dress and style, and on that score it is an absolute treasure trove of information. Skinhead culture has always been fashion first. There's no use denying this, and with such a sharp and smart look, who would want to anyway? There were indeed unifying factors tying skins to one another (being working class, generalized music tastes), but like most British youth cults, skinhead was style-focused, with ideology lagging behind.

In that vein, and in my humble opinion, the best and most important part of the book is titled "Jim Ferguson's Fashion Notebook", and is a detailed description of the main elements of skinhead style in the original 1967-1971 period. There are a ton of illustrated pictures and diagrams, taking the reader through the skinhead wardrobe of 8-eye DMs, crombies, Bennies, Sta-Prest trousers, trilbies, Fred Perrys, brogues, and so on and so forth. Detailed notes accompany each entry, as well as large, page-sized pictures depicting the evolution of skinhead fashion as the years went on (each is headed "1968-69", "1969-70" and so forth). These diagrams are fascinating. You see the looser, grungier look of the first "hard mods" evolve into the smarter, cleaner look most closely associated with traditional skins now, and on to suedehead and smooth.

It isn't an exhaustive account of the entire fashion, but it does cover all the basics and a lot of the non-basics. Like I said there are a few omissions. But if you want to hear about monkey jackets, Jungle Greens, windowpane checks, and other more idiosyncratic elements of the look, that information is all available online if you know where to look. But on the whole, Ferguson's notes are one hell of a resource, although I'm told the girl's tomboyish look on the 1969-70 page is quite anachronistic. (Shame, really.)

Speaking of anachronism, though, brings me to my one big issue with the book. Most of the written sections give a detailed account of the fashions of the 60's, but the photographs were all taken during the early 80's oi!-focused revival. It's a pretty noticeable difference in style. You don't see a lot of oi! skins in Loake loafers, cardigans, and tonic suits. To a certain degree this was out of Knight's hands, since he was about 10 years old during the original skinhead era, and a disappointingly small number of photos have survived from that time anyway. But the writing still feels out of sync with the photos, and it would have been nice if Knight had given oi! and punk more than a passing mention at the end of his written sections, especially considering the fashion-oriented nature of the book as a whole. It also needs to be pointed out that in the original 60's era those within the culture would never have referred to themselves as "skinheads", as that was just one of many terms of derision used by others. At that time they referred to themselves as "mods" (generally in the north of England), or more usually, didn't apply a label at all.

Earlier in the review I mentioned skinhead culture being primarily fashion-focused, with ideology being almost an afterthought. While this is true, the ideology of some skinheads (NF boneheads) of course bears mentioning in a book that depicts the culture as it was. The last part of Skinhead I have yet to discuss is an excellent article by Dick Hebdidge entitled "This is England! And They Don't Live Here." Hebdidge gives a sociological account of the ideological underpinnings of the skinhead movement, from the traditional side as well as the bonehead side. He reduces a skinhead's motivations to two main themes: "being authentic" and "being British". He goes on to examine how and why different groups of skins constructed varying interpretations on these themes, splintering off into the right, left, and center of the political spectrum. It is a smart, scholarly, and well-written account, and probably the most even-handed but unflinching article I've read on the subject. For anyone looking for insight into the psychological factors driving the movement and its uglier aspects, I'd say this is the essential text. An excerpt:

"Some of the skinheads I've met admit to having 'gone through' one or other of the parties of the extreme right, but, after a brief commitment, the enthusiasm tends to lapse along with the membership. 'I joined the BM,' one skinhead told me. 'For the crack, like. But they went on about Hitler. He's dead. I couldn't see the point.' In general, racist jokes and asides amongst skinheads are no more numerous or self-conscious than elsewhere in the broader streams of white working class speech. This doesn't mean that this kind of racism isn't dangerous. But it does suggest that racism is too deeply embedded in the whole experience of growing up working class to be the sole responsibility of the skins.

"Meanwhile the skinhead/NF stereotype serves a wider function. It's a form of liberal scapegoating no less wrongheaded than the 'reasoning' (engaged in by some members of the Press) which converts every black boy into a mugger. The tensions and anxieties which are inevitably entailed when a more or less racially homogeneous society becomes multi-racial are displaced on to a solitary figure - the leering bootboy. In that way, it--the ugly fact of racism--becomes him, the skin. It has a name. It has a face. It is Them, not Us."

All in all, this is easily one of the best purchases I've made at Half Price Books to date, and that is definitely saying something. It seems like a lot of people (and by that I mean a lot of skinheads) have a dismissive attitude towards this book, and tend to say "Spirit of 69 is better." It's true that George Marshall's tome is an awesome resource, but the goals of that book and Skinhead are quite different and frankly I think it's useless comparing them. Marshall was more interested in tracking the rise of the movement through oral history and first hand accounts, while Knight was more interested in preserving an account of the fashion. It's better to look at the two books as companion pieces of sorts. Taken together they are a very powerful resource. Knight's book is not all-encompassing, it is true, but it is an insightful book, fun to read, and a superbly-written and -photographed overview of a very misunderstood subculture.

The Songs of Distant Earth by Arthur C. Clarke (1985)

Arthur C. Clarke is my favorite science fiction writer. In addition to being a great writer in general (with regard to style and structure), he had a true gift for looking at a scientific concept and seeing the narrative possibilities it offered. For Clarke, the science comes first and moves the story along, much like real life.

Songs of Distant Earth uses a few main scientific devices, but the foremost is the effects of relativistic time dilation. Remember high school physics class? The faster an object moves, the closer it comes to the speed of light, the slower time passes for that object. (At the speed of light time does not pass at all, incidentally) So, while 50 years may pass for somebody who is stationary on the surface of a planet, for instance, a person aboard a sufficiently fast-moving spaceship will only experience the passage of a few.

In the earliest 21st Century, we are told, Earth's scientists discover a way to harness the power of neutrinos to explore the inner workings of the sun. To everyone's horror, they find that the Sun is a time bomb: set to explode into a nova sometime around the year 3600. Humanity may survive, but not on Earth. The nations of the world band together and construct colossal "seedships" capable of traveling at vast sub-light speeds and containing enough genetic material (of people, animals, plants, insects, etc) to populate distant worlds from scratch. Many are sent, and the dwindling population of Earth prepares for the coming cataclysm.

The narrative opens on Thalassa, an oceanic paradise world 160 light-years from Earth consisting of a huge sea and a habitable archipelago of islands. It is about 3800. Thalassa is one of the planets conquered by a seedship, and a happy, carefree human society has existed there for about 700 years. They have no radio contact with Earth, as their antenna has been in disrepair for years due to their blissful negligence. One day, however, they receive visitors: the last starship to leave Earth, making a stop on its way to Sagan II, its final destination.

Unlike the seedships, this is a lifeboat of sorts, carrying a million refugees from Earth frozen in stasis, and a small live crew. These are Terran natives, who were born on Earth, and who witnessed its terrible destruction. I feel like the interaction between the Terrans and the Thalassans is almost Biblical in nature: the Thalassans are innocent occupiers of a new Eden, and the Terrans come from the sky with the knowledge of good and evil. Indeed, a recurring theme is the reluctance of the Terran visitors to "corrupt" the Thalassans' harmonious society.

Among the novel's many themes is the loneliness of a humanity divorced from Earth. There is real, unexpected poignancy in the way Clarke describes Earth's final days, and the after-effects its destruction has on the survivors. I think a lot about how most of our brains are so removed from the natural environment they evolved in, so this concept really hit home with me. It is moving the way the characters struggle with their memories of loved ones from their home planet: all dead 200 years ago, but to the survivors awaking from their frozen sleep aboard the starship, it all happened yesterday.

Clarke has such an easygoing and engaging style; it's easy to blow through 100 pages of one of his books without even realizing it. This book in particular, though, has a more poetic and lyrical style than his other work.

This is not, like Clarke's greatest novel (Rendezvous with Rama), a pure work of hard sci-fi. There is human drama, mostly dealing with the effects of time dilation on personal relationships and the schism that grows between those that want to continue on to Sagan II and those that want to remain on Thalassa. There is some small cultural conflict between the native Thalassans and the Terrans, primarily over sex (the Thalassans live in a mostly possessiveness-free society). This is not the main thrust of the book but it does nudge it from the extreme of "hard sci-fi" into "social sci-fi" a bit. This is not an area Clarke was strongest in, at least compared to the political sci-fi subgenre's greats (like Ursula LeGuin), but I'm very glad he added those dynamics anyway, because the effects of the book's scientific concepts on its society are important considerations.

Clarke makes a theme of lost cultural memory - not all of Earth's books, music, and art was able to be sent to the stars with the seedships. In fact much of it was deliberately purged: anything relating to religion, for instance. As a character explains:

"It is possible to build a rational and humane culture completely free from the threat of supernatural restraints. Though in principle I don't approve of censorship, it seems that those who prepared the archives for the Thalassan colony succeeded in an almost-impossible task. They purged the history and literature of ten thousand years, and the result has justified their efforts. We must be very cautious before replacing anything that was lost--however beautiful, however moving a work of art.

The Thalassans were never poisoned by the decay products of dead religions, and in seven hundred years no prophet has arisen here to preach a new faith. The very word "God" has almost vanished from their language, and they're quite surprised--or amused--when we happen to use it."

A recurring motif in the story is that a situation will remind a character of some great saying. The reader will know the source, the character does not.

Even though, as a work of literature, this book is slightly diminished compared to Rama or 2001 because of its broad (too broad?) political focus, it is stronger in a way, because Clarke lets himself ruminate on human emotions in a way he didn't with those other books. This is a sad book, and it is a resonant one too. Human attachments can never survive the passage of time, and Clarke is able to show that quite literally here. The characters are treated sensitively, whereas in many of Clarke's other novels they simply provide a point of view. Like I said, that is not a fault of those novels, but the emotional depth of this one is one of its great strengths.

That being said, if this book has a fault, it suffers from an embarrassment of riches of sorts. There are a few too many avenues that are introduced that are never fully explored. Maybe this was Clarke's intention; the scientific curiosities of the universe are so vast that to fully explain those that the characters encounter would be disingenuous. Be that as it may, the story's most interesting diversion (the possible sentience of some life-forms discovered on Thalassa) would probably have made a compelling novel in itself, and it feels glossed-over and unfinished here. There are so many concepts introduced in Songs of Distant Earth, just as casual asides, it really makes me marvel at how incredible Clarke's mind was. When the Terrans first land on Thalassa, for instance, they are able to understand each other perfectly because the invention of sound recording in the 20th century has frozen language in place, much the same way that the development of human society freezes human biology in place, by compensating for evolutionary selection factors.

Even though I found myself wishing the book had been a bit longer due to this multitude of partially-explored concepts, I suppose that is just a side effect of one of Clarke's strengths: he always left the reader wanting more.