Book Review: ‘Rules of Civility’ by Amor Towles

‘...Life doesn’t have to provide you any options at all.  It can easily define your course from the outset and keep you in check through all manner of rough and subtle mechanics. To have even one year when you’re presented with choices that can alter circumstances, your character, your course-that’s by the grace of God alone. And it shouldn’t come without a price....I know that right choices by definition are the means by which life crystallises loss...’ 

-Amor Towles from the Epilogue of ‘The Rules of Civility’.

‘Rules of Civility’ is yet another discovery that has come as a by-product of my Amazon Gatsby debate (I do have other interests, I promise).  It was recommended to me most likely due to the many comparisons it has drawn to F.Scott Fitzgerald’s seminal work.  Except it was published 85-odd years later and is set a decade after ‘The Great Gatsby’.   For all author Amor Towles’ (yes, I thought it was a pen name too) painstaking efforts at historical verisimilitude, it can’t quite shake its contemporary undertone-which in itself doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

‘...Civility’ derives its title from a book on manners written by a young George Washington of which one of the novel’s characters is very fond.  It starts off seemingly about the antics of a trio of New York-based 20-somethings of varied financial status.  Social climbers Evie Ross and Katey Kontent meet the debonair and enigmatic Theodore ‘Tinker’ Grey at a Manhattan jazz club in the early hours of New Years Day 1938. They become fast friends, painting the town red with both Katey and Evie vying for Grey’s affections. 

A near-fatal car accident in which Evie is severely injured brings their carefree days to an abrupt end.  Grey, who was driving at the time, is riddled with survivor’s guilt.  He puts his blossoming romance with Katey on hold giving Evie the opportunity to manipulate his sense of remorse to suit her own short-term materialistic ambitions.  Whilst this relationship of convenience scandalises the Big Apple’s high society the focus of the narrative then shifts to Katey’s exploits as she inveigles herself into the affections and employment of the rich and influential in Depression era New York. She is all the while spurred on by her strong attraction to Tinker, her equivalent of Gatsby’s princesse lontaine Daisy.  Grey satisfies Katey's profile of the ideal man; handsome, wealthy, sophisticated and attentive.  But there’s more to his back story than meets the eye.

‘...Civility.’ is one of the most instantly engaging novels I have read in a good while.  Towles fluid narrative and rich characterisation had me riveted from the first page. It has a cast of thousands but still avoids unnecessary digressions. As a middle-aged married Anglo-Saxon man of means, Towles does a highly credible job of getting into the skin of a young, single woman descended from frugal Russian émigrés.  The novel's appeal is even more impressive considering Katey is not an especially endearing character.   She can be cold and distant; she can’t see past her own nose for all her double-standards and is surprisingly judgmental when the mood takes her.  Still, I developed a begrudging affinity for her, even if it is frequently pushed to the limit.

Enjoyable as it is, ‘...Civility’ is not flawless. Before writing the book Towles admits to having embarked on a thorough exploration of classic European and American fiction.  And it shows. By trying to make Katey something of a well-read working class maven, much of the novel reads like verbatim reproduction of a postgraduate literature thesis.  There’s a time and place for that sort of thing and it should be done sparingly.  Towles also doesn’t always seem to trust his subtextual strength.  Part of what makes the novel succeed when it's on good form is that the author provides enough dots to join, trusting a perceptive reader to make the links.  Yet on other occasions the metaphors and analogies are laid on with a cringe-worthy thickness.  An assured debut it might be but these quibbles betray beginner mistakes. 

The novel’s veneration of the American East Coast, although only one of many, many odes to the ever-romanticised New York City, has an irritating parochialism about it.  It doesn’t seem to bother Katey enough that there is more to the world than her little corner. 

And yet...there is so much sagacity to be found in the pages of ‘...Civility’ that it compensates for any short-comings.  Excerpts are sure to resurface as much-quoted future maxims.  At their best, they appear to flow effortlessly from Towles pen...

‘...For what was civilisation but the intellect’s ascendancy out of the doldrums of necessity (shelter, sustenance and survival) into the ether of the finely superfluous (poetry, handbags and haute cuisine)?’

‘...Wallace was just the sort who blends into the background...but who, with the passage of time, increasingly stands out against the lapses in character around him...’

Amor Towles

It must be wonderfully satisfying for any writer to be able to dispense such savoury nuggets, let alone in their first novel.

Men are very much at the peripheries of ‘...Civility’.  It’s thus somewhat ironic they are the most appealing characters.  Flawed but likeable Tinker, Gun-toting yet humble and kind Wallace Walcott, sweet and naive Dicky Vanderwhile; all mere satellites orbiting planet Kontent.   Katey takes worthy notions of female solidarity and pushes them to a hypocritical extreme.  She justifies the same questionable behaviour of her female acquaintances (even more so if they are rich) that she would not abide in men.  Expensive gifts in exchange for sexual favours, deception and unceremoniously discarding of lovers once they’re surplus to requirements are all in a day’s work for Evie Ross and Tinker’s patroness Anne Grandyn.  Katey holds both in high esteem for their gumption. The fact she never objects to some of Evie’s selfish, even treacherous, actions is probably the most baffling aspect of the novel.  It would surely be more realistic that Katey would resent her friend, subconsciously at least.  The inconsistency is all the more obvious when Tinker falls from Katey’s graces.  She doesn’t extend nearly the same charitable attitude towards him.

Whether this is Towles taking a dig at a certain kind of misandrous strand of feminism or he genuinely believes it is an attitude to which some readers would respond positively is open to interpretation.

As with several of Fitzgerald’s characters, Kontent wrestles with her mutual fascination and contempt for the East Coast affluent.  In a rare moment of self-awareness she reflects,

‘How little imagination and courage we show in our hatreds. If we earn fifty cents an hour, we admire the rich and pity the poor, and we reserve the full force of our venom for those who make a penny more or a penny less....’

Too bad she too has very little time for the economically modest or non-careerists. Therein lies the difference between Katey and Eve. Whilst the latter is more honest about her love of the good life, Kontent is a materialist in denial.  This insincerity is part of what makes her hard to like.

Nevertheless as I am wont to observe, you don’t need to love the protagonist to like the novel and ‘The Rules of Civility’ has plenty to applaud.  That Amor Towles, a financier whose writing career has hitherto been scant, should hit his creative stride well into his 40s is inspiring. Indeed, he brings the kind of perspective to his debut that tends to come with age and experience. 

'Rules of Civility' is now available in paperback.


Read an interview with the author here.

http://amortowles.com/ 

Album Review-Portico Quartet

L-R: Keir Vine, Milo Fitzpatrick, Duncan Bellamy & Jack Wyllie. (c) Jamie Leith

I am not quite sure what to make of the fact that the ever tricky to classify Portico Quartet fellows' third album is eponymous.  Most artists opt for the self-titled route on their debut release; a way of introducing themselves to the listening public.  Then again, it’s not such a surprise after all. The band has never been one for conventionality. Perhaps this is a reflection of how much they perceive this as their most representative work.

Having been on the peripheries of Portico fandom from the time I used to hover around their busking sessions on London’s Southbank back in 2006, it is with a little vested interest I have observed their progress.  Their transition from purveyors of beautiful alfresco whimsy to globetrotting critically-acclaimed experimental heavyweights is a reassuring example of unique talent and hard graft paying off.  With each album they have pushed themselves artistically, not resting on their Mercury award-nominated laurels.  In the meantime founding member Nick Mulvey has left for solo pastures, having been replaced by Keir Vine.  This third release sees the Quartet move even further away from an almost exclusively acoustic sound than previous effort ‘Isla’.  The electronic is more readily embraced and when successful, enhances the quirkiness that initially won our hearts and ears.

Still, there’s a point in an artist’s career when their creative intentions and the tastes of some of their original fanbase start to diverge.

On ‘Portico Quartet’ the group’s understandable desire to challenge themselves and the listener is unapologetic from the start.  You’d be hard pressed to find a discernible tune on enervating album opener ‘Window Seat’ which is not, as I’d hoped, a PQ interpretation of Erykah Badu’s controversial 2010 single. If anything it serves as a calling card for the album’s overall texture.  ‘Rubidium’ is another exacting sonic experiment.  Broken down to the sum of its parts the instrumentation impresses as much as one would expect. Yet here the addition of synths isn’t an especially rewarding one.  Order is restored on tracks such as ‘Ruins’, ‘Laker Boo’ and ‘Spinner’ where classic, melodically-pleasing PQ quaintness meets the brave new world into which they are ushering us.  The appeal of these is helped in no small measure by Jack Wyllie’s sax solos-as soothing as they are dexterous-and their interaction with Milo Fitzpatrick’s warm, energetic basslines. The expansive ‘City of Glass’ gives a foretaste for what must be an awe-inspiring live rendition. ‘Steepless’ featuring Cornelia Dahlgren is the first fully vocalised Portico composition. It’s a most welcome detour on this latest journey.  Dahlgren’s wistful, feather-light vocal is a natural fit.  Here’s hoping for similar collaborations in future.

At its best, Portico Quartet’s music demands as much or as little from the listener as takes their fancy.  You can switch off and be swept away on an enchanting wave of sound that provides well-needed respite from the daily grind; a daydream captured on record.  And for those who wish to engage with the music intellectually there’s plenty on offer too. 

Nevertheless like much of the clever jazz tradition from which PQ draw a good deal of their influence, there is the danger of isolating those of us whose palate just isn’t that sophisticated.  The Quartet’s earlier work straddled the accessible and the cutting edge.  More recently they have pushed the boundaries so far that this important balance too often gets lost along the way.

'Portico Quartet' is out now. 

Theatre Review: Talawa Company’s ‘Waiting for Godot’ UK Tour

Picture: Richard Hubert Smith

Irish Francophile Samuel Beckett’s infamous ‘Waiting for Godot’ gets the Talawa Theatre Company treatment with an all African/Caribbean cast.  Hailed by some as one of the 20^th Century’s greatest plays, Beckett’s theatrical memento mori (originally written in his adopted language, French) has had audiences, scholars and critics alike guessing as to its ultimate significance.

Two old friends Vladimir (Jeffery Kissoon: pictured left) and Estragon (Patrick Robinson: right) explore existentialism, the gospels, friendship and everything in between in an effort to kill time waiting for the elusive Mr Godot at an unremarkable location.  The eccentric Pozzo (Cornell S John), cruel and disingenuous master to the ironically named Lucky (Guy Burgess), gatecrashes Vladimir and Estragon’s indefinite loitering session.  The conversation then shifts to the nature of habit, freedom of choice and the subtleties of manipulation.  Diminutive Burgess almost dwarfs those around him as the harried manservant hanging onto the last shreds of his humanity. Lucky's crazed, spherical monologue is delivered with unhinged aplomb and rightly or wrongly his strong West Midlands accent enhances the comic effect.

There’s a sense that the playwright wishes to obfuscate in ‘...Godot’.  The piece frequently fiddles with perception, causing both characters and audience to question what they thought they knew.  There’s also the sense that the play is satirising hyper-intellectualisation.  At least that is what is hoped.  Otherwise the sophistry and bizarre asides are simply wearying for their own sake.

For all its grand reputation, ‘...Godot’ is overwrought and underwhelming. Whatever point it does or does not make could be done in half the time.  It feels twice as long as most other plays despite its not-out-of-the-ordinary running time. Pozzo's speeches are particularly tiresome. The blame lies with the source material rather than the actors or Ian Brown’s direction.  The cast, not surprisingly, have fun with the play’s absurdities.  It is to their credit that they just about stave off complete boredom. Newcomer Fisayo Akinade deserves a mention for holding his own in his brief appearances as Godot’s diffident messenger, known only as ‘the boy’.

Artistic Director Patricia Cumber and Brown believe the ethnicity twist brings even more depth to some of the themes.  From another, more cynical perspective it is just a mere novelty.  The praise that some critics have rushed to give this production has a whiff of condescension about it.

Perhaps a cast of both European and African/Caribbean actors would have been more refreshing and challenging still. Changing the gender of one or two of the characters would have had an even greater impact.  Lucky, for example, would take on a whole new dimension if played by a woman.

All in all, one gets the impression ‘Waiting for Godot’ would be a lot more engrossing studied in a collective, academic context than it is on stage.

‘Waiting for Godot’ by Samuel Beckett:

Cast & Crew:

Director – Ian Brown

Assistant Director – Emily Kempson

Designer – Paul Wills

Casting Director – Pippa Ailion

The Boy – Fisayo Akinade

Lucky – Guy Burgess

Pozzo – Cornell S John

Vladimir –Jeffrey Kissoon

Estragon – Patrick Robinson

‘Waiting for Godot’ continues at the Deptford Albany, London until 10 March then is on tour throughout the UK until 7 April.  Click here for further information including tour dates. 

Album Review: ‘Invocation’ Boddhi Satva & Various Artists

A church girl like me is unnerved slightly by the title of Boddhi Satva’s new release ‘Invocation’. It doesn’t help when the press pre-amble says things like ‘...when music is the soundtrack of universal rituals - birth, graduation, marriage, and ancestorship, that’s Ancestral Soul’. I picture frenzied dancing, demoniacal wailing and supplications to long dead, implacable forebears. Yet apart from the suspect incantations on the eponymous opening track, ‘Invocation’ is mostly an innocuous, aurally stimulating encounter with the ambient soul-house hybrid that Satva calls Ancestral Soul.

This is dance music of the most organic order. No auto-pilot, lazy programming for Boddhi. The album is replete with the seductive drums of the motherland (Satva himself hailing from Francophone central Africa), lyrical basslines, haunting hi-life guitar riffs and brazen horns as demonstrated on tracks such as C.Robert Walker’s sultry ‘You’re My Woman’ and Pegguy Tabu’s gorgeous call for the continent to reach its potential, simply titled ‘Africa’. An album highlight, the song’s attractive melody and Tabu’s MJ/Deitrick Haddon-influenced vocals work like a dream with Satva’s sparse, tender production style.

The smooth, in-utero warmth of his arrangements covers a multitude of callow, lyrical sins. ‘Who Am I?’ also featuring C.Robert Walker has poetess Athenai spouting the kind of angry, muddled-Afrocentric verses from which I’d otherwise steer well clear...

‘So call me half-caste, black, white, caramel -coated hybrid of the night, I really don’t care...’

Quite clearly she does, since she dedicated a whole song to it. Can’t we just call her Athenai? It’s hard to take these dated spoken word tropes seriously when they have been so mercilessly-and accurately- lampooned.

‘Life Is A Lesson’ featuring Vivian K’s muffled, mournful pleas to an errant lover would work even better as an instrumental. More so the case for ‘Stop Crying’ on which Satva reflects in French on reconciling his African and Western roots and the love for his paternal homeland. It’s thus a shame that he chooses to distort his voice to a sinister rather than engaging extent.

Satva keeps it traditional, groove-worthy and epic on Mangala Camara’s ‘Nankoumandjan’, ‘Elengi’ featuring Zé Pequenio & Heritier and 'Ngnari Konon’ with a guest appearance from legendary Malian singer Oumou Sangaré. He flirts with reggae rhythms on ‘Jah Sanctuary’ featuring Mic Mo & Yuba and Rohan Xilent’s defiant if a little grating ‘Enemies’.

Alas, my overly westernised palate gravitates towards the cross-cultural fusion of tracks such as the sublime ‘From Another World’ featuring Vikter Duplaix (‘Invocations’ first single), Leah Beabout’s old school ode to self-delusion ‘Because I Know’ and future-classic-if-there’s-any-vinyl-justice, ‘How Sex Changes Things’ featuring Leslie Kisumuna. These numbers in particular bring all the best elements of ‘Invocation’ together splendidly.

‘Invocation’ will be available from 19 March on BBE Records.

Classic Book Review: Tender is the Night by F.Scott Fitzgerald

Warning: includes plot 'spoilers' (must I use that word?).

I stumbled across F.Scott’s Fitzgerald’s ‘Tender Is the Night’ as a result of an aforementioned online debate about the merits of ‘The Great Gatsby’.   My well-documented admiration for Fitzgerald’s most celebrated work possibly had the rather perverse effect of putting me off exploring his other novels.  Having read ‘A Diamond as Big as the Ritz and Other Stories’ and being left relatively underwhelmed, my apprehension was not completely without cause.

So it is to my relief then that although ‘Tender...’ might not be as an efficiently dazzling work as ‘...Gatsby’, it is yet another example of Fitzgerald’s canny gift for eliciting empathy for self-destructive characters, reconciling the reader with certain aspects of  his or her own flawed humanity in the process.

Young, handsome psychiatrist Dick Diver is drawn into a mutually toxic relationship with an intelligent, beautiful and mysterious patient Nicole Warren.  She begins having psychotic episodes as a result of being coerced into an incestuous relationship by and with her rich father.  Diver, a victim of his own messiah-complex, is encouraged by Nicole’s doctors to befriend her as part of her recovery.  When it comes to extricating themselves from this bizarre entanglement however, neither party is up to the task.

Nicole thus becomes Mrs Diver, Dick in turn becomes a beneficiary of his wife’s considerable wealth, they have two adorable children Lanier and Topsy and re-invent themselves as the toast of American ex-pat high society in Southern France.  A host of colourful characters populate their world such as sheltered 18-year old ingénue actress Rosemary Hoyt and her formidable mother.  On meeting the Divers during a European excursion Rosemary falls instantly in love with both of them, Dick in particular.  Hoyt’s infatuation, not entirely unrequited, exposes the cracks in the otherwise picture perfect myth of the family Diver.  As Nicole struggles to keep her mental health issues out of the public gaze, Dick’s deep-seated resentment about his life decisions manifests in increasingly erratic, alcohol-fuelled behaviour.

Fitzgerald handles the onset of Nicole and Dick’s ill-advised union with a heart-breaking sensitivity that makes the opening section a bitter-sweet pleasure.  It is when Rosemary is introduced into the mêlée that the story starts to flag. It gathers momentum again thanks to the Diver’s ever-deteriorating relations and the unravelling of Dick’s sacred image as the irreproachable doctor. 

Fitzgerald’s piece de resistance is his ability to shine a spotlight on and articulate the transient.  In the grand scheme of things emotions amount to very little but mean the world to whoever is experiencing them at the time...

"[Dick] sent his words to [Rosemary] like letters, as though they left him some time before they reached her".

Nonetheless there are occasions when in an effort to sympathise with Dick, Fitzgerald seeks to somewhat justify his more selfish actions, in particular Diver’s infidelity with Hoyt.

As with ‘...Gatsby’, ‘Tender is the Night’ abounds with clever, pithy observations and aphorisms. There’s the conversation with Rosemary where Nicole quips...

‘Most people think everybody feels about them much more violently than they actually do — they think other people’s opinions of them swing through great arcs of approval or disapproval.'

...or when Dick admonishes Rosemary not to ‘...confuse a single failure with a final defeat’.  And I absolutely relish this exchange between Nicole and a potential paramour...

‘You know, you’re a little complicated after all’

‘Oh, no’ she assured him hastily ‘No, I’m not really...I’m just a whole lot of different simple people’.

That ‘Tender...’ is supposedly semi-autobiographical makes it all the more poignant.  Fitzgerald’s wife Zelda oscillated between life as the charming socialite hostess and suffering from grave psychological problems.  Scott himself struggled to complete the novel due to his increasing dependence on alcohol.  There was also a real life ‘Rosemary Hoyt’ -actress Lois Moran, although it is not certain the relationship was ever consummated.

The author’s personal experiences aside, perhaps one of the themes in ‘Tender...’ that resonates most is the displacement of happiness.  Rosemary becomes to Dick the embodiment of youthful promise and carefree living he might have enjoyed if he wasn’t with Nicole.  It is to Hoyt that his mind escapes; a daydream made flesh.   It’s not so dissimilar to Jay Gatsby’s veneration of self-absorbed Daisy.  She represents a world he makes every effort to access but won’t truly let him in.  In both instances the object of affection is almost incidental to whatever hopes and aspirations the beholder has projected onto them, as happens in life.  This is certainly the case with Dr Diver.  He is aware that he does not really love Rosemary. He admires her beauty but it pales in comparison to Nicole’s.  There’s always a hint of the anti-climax about their trysts yet Dick risks his home life in pursuit of a fantasy.

 ‘Tender...’ revisits another thematic favourite of Fitzgerald’s; his mild disdain for the idle rich.  It seemed to be a love/hate relationship for Scott.  On one level his books and stories mock the sense of entitlement that he perceives in the Upper Middle Class.  Yet he is at once fascinated by and wants to be a part of that set. He regularly moved in those circles. At the more buoyant stages of his career he even managed to live like them.

At the heart of the novel is the evolution (or rather dissolution) of the Diver’s relationship.  The tables are turned.  Nicole gets to grips with her psychosis whilst Dick starts to fall apart.  She begins to resent the fact that she allowed her identity to disappear into her husband’s before she had a chance to discover who she really was.  It doesn’t help that at the core theirs is less of a marriage than an especially intense doctor/patient relationship. Dick’s good intentions pave the way to marital hell.

This is the tragedy of the Divers.  ‘Tender is the Night’ highlights that a misguided act of kindness in the short term can be a recipe for disaster over time.

Album Review: Gang Colours-The Keychain Collection

24 year old Southampton-based producer Will Ozanne -aka Gang Colours- is the latest act to have caught the attention of world famous DJ and acclaimed tastemaker Gilles Peterson.  Signed to his Brownswood Recordings label, Ozanne won the heart of Gilles through his trippy synths and introspective beats.  Gang Colours cites the artist Basquiat and classic UK garage amongst his many diverse influences.  But don’t let his love of two-step fool you; he also has a penchant for the melancholy and mellow as clearly evidenced on his debut album ‘The Keychain Collection’.

The record takes the ambient qualities of trip-hop and moody house whilst trying to infuse some of the melodic sensibilities of pop.  When it succeeds the results are something like a contemporary spin on the Art of Noise’s classic 80s instrumental ‘Moments of Love’. On no track is this better demonstrated than ‘Fancy Restaurant’; its doleful bassline and the longing in Gang Colours’ vocal are an alluring combination.  With teasing, shimmery synths sprinkled in between the kind of syncopated rhythms that Timothy ‘Timbaland’ Moseley has made a mainstay of radio since the mid-1990s, album opener ‘Heavy Petting’ also has more going for it than just its arresting title.

More’s the pity then that there’s little else on ‘The Keychain...’ that really stands out.  Despite Brownswood's claims that Gang Colours offers the listener something new, one doesn’t have to look very far and wide to find other albums released within the past year in a similar soulful-electronica vein providing a more rewarding listening experience than is evident here.

Not wanting to be at odds with the undeniably credible opinion of Monsieur Peterson, there is an aspect of diminishing returns about ‘...The Keychain...’ Rather than improving with each listen, the album’s textural monotony becomes more apparent.  Ozanne’s slightly nasal, overly programmed vocals don’t help matters.  Although it works well on a track such as ‘Fancy Restaurant’, after a while the robotic, reverb-laden singing tends to jar.  It’s not as if there’s a dearth of that type of thing, with the last few years seeing much of music’s mainstream heavyweights over-doing it with the autotune. 

The general soundscape of ‘The Keychain...’ suffers from the seemingly divergent problems of sounding too homogenised on one end and the wrong side of dissonant on the other.  ‘Rollo’s Ivory Tale’-homage of sorts to Ozanne’s grandfather’s piano-is a prime illustration of the latter.

Gang Colours’ debut has an overall rough draft quality.  You can visualise where Ozanne is going and it looks from a distance like a splendid place.  It just might take an album or two for him to get there.

Gang Colours' 'The Keychain Collection' is out now on Brownswood Recordings

TV Review: Eternal Law

Touched by an Angel: The cast of ITV's 'Eternal Law'

Lately I have found myself drawn to programmes about lawyers on a righteous mission.  First it was US hit ‘The Good Wife’.  Now it’s the turn of British supernatural legal drama ‘Eternal Law’, which has just concluded its first series on ITV1.  The show follows the adventures of a team of celestial beings taking on temporal bodies to pose as barristers with a conscience. 

Samuel West plays the irreverent, quite literally world-weary main angel Zak Gist.  He’s been assigned an indefinite mission to planet earth and is just a tad jaded.  It doesn’t help that on a previous assignment he fell in love with a mortal woman, Hannah (Hattie Morahan), got distracted and nearly lost his wings in the process.  He harbours some resentment towards Mr Mountjoy (or God to the rest of us) for making him choose between his earthly love and the greater purpose.  Gist opts for the latter and gets a new body to go with his latest mission.  Just when he thinks he’s back on track Hannah reappears, unaware of Gist’s new identity, as an unwitting temptress.

Zak is tasked with looking after pretty boy novice Tom Greening (get it?), played by Ukweli Roach, who has just crash landed to earth.  Tom is the typical doe-eyed ingénue, at first completely in awe of the novelty of being amongst mortals, only to realise life on terra firma is not as simple as he’d presumed.

L-R: Ukweli Roach (Tom), Samuel West (Zak) & Orla Brady (Mrs Sheringham)

Supervising them both is Celtic Milf Mrs Sheringham (Orla Brady), herself a former angel who, when faced with the same decision as Gist, chose romance, lost her wings and then her beau, Billy, to cancer swiftly afterwards.  Rather than wallow in bitterness like Zak, Mrs Sheringham prefers to live with her choice to throw her lot in with mankind and does the best with the hand life has dealt her. She is however very keen to make sure no other angels repeat her mistake.  Planet earth couldn’t afford another one of God’s messengers to get sidetracked.

Of course no story about the cosmic battle between good and evil would be complete without a dark element.  Cue stage left urbane fallen angel Richard Pembroke, played to dead-eyed, malevolent perfection by Tobias Menzies.  He works for a rival chambers and also happens to be Hannah’s boss. This handsome, smug and unnervingly tactile Mephistopheles is only too happy to dangle Zak’s past failures in his face, when he’s not trying to discourage newbie Tom from his just cause.

Theologically ‘Eternal Law’ is a mixed bag.  There are a lot of biblical references and imagery yet no mention of Jesus as Messiah or salvation through faith by way of God’s grace.  Redemption as it’s referred to here comes through works-making better choices, restitution, eventually doing the right thing.  Gist’s cynicism towards Mr Mountjoy at times verges on the blasphemous and so far the Holy Spirit hasn’t even got a look in.

Nevertheless from a Christian perspective ‘Eternal Law’ still provides some very satisfying food for spiritual and intellectual mastication. 

In Zak’s choice to persevere with the eternal mission, at the cost of his own temporal happiness, we see reflected a decision that those sincerely engaging in the Christian faith face every day.  So, Gist is a little begrudging in his devotion to Mr Mountjoy.  But he’s still there, sticking it out.  This strikes a pitch perfect chord with me.  The kind of heartache that comes with the territory can be so overwhelming, that I find myself constantly wrestling with the idea of God as a consistently loving Father.  I can identify with some of Zak’s resentment; that sense that maybe the Almighty is trying to catch us out.   Many a child of God is familiar with the battle that rages between pleasing oneself and doing what pleases God.  Yet even if it’s done with reluctance, I believe the act of obedience is precious before God; maybe even more so if the decision has been made with great difficulty.

I’m not a proponent of the notion that Christians must tackle trials and tribulations with a perpetual rictus grin. Let’s be sincere. Suffering would not be an effective tool for either God or the devil if it wasn’t bloody painful.  Christ Himself during his earthly mission ran the full unedited gauntlet of human emotion; disappointment, grief, surprise, elation, fear, hunger...  Jesus wept and so will we.  Even trying to do the right thing can appear to pay bitter dividends in the short term.  This is where ‘Eternal Law’ really gets it right. Focusing on the long term big picture takes conscious effort.  The right thing to do is rarely the easiest.  God will not always remove temptation from our midst.  More likely we will have to press through it, bloodied and scarred, wearing our battle wounds for all to see. 

Neither does it mean we can’t be effective vessels of kindness and good will because we struggle with our weaknesses.   Gist’s acerbic quips scarcely mask his ready compassion and for all his drooling over Hannah and fist-shaking at the Supreme Being, he remains a loyal servant.  The show celebrates the redemptive power of forgiving and being forgiven, of making amends and placing the needs of others before our own.

Greening could be an allegory for the wide-eyed, bushy-tailed young believer who sees everything in black and white before a few tricky life lessons reveal the very many shades of grey.  It’s not as if the gang get straightforward cases, only representing clients as pure as the driven snow.  Sometimes they defend snipers who shoot at a bride and groom fresh from the altar or cantankerous old men charged with attempted murder. They become embroiled in miserable custody battles. They receive instructions from Mr Mountjoy to prosecute a bereaved single mother who kills an apparent stalker who breaks into her home. 

Watching ‘Eternal Law’ reminds me of why I chose to avoid practising family or criminal law, as much as the latter interested me.  The programme uses knotty cases to show in a sympathetic light the kind of moral quandaries many a legal professional might encounter.   Picking your battles well and knowing how best to fight them is a complicated business indeed.  Looking at it again from a faith angle, it is not always clear what God is up to; even when He’s apparently guided us into a situation.  We make ourselves available to Him and hope for the best.

In devilish Pembroke we see that evil is frequently disguised in a smart and attractive package.  The diabolical sometimes even appears to make sense. The best way to sell a lie is to mix it with a little truth.  Deception wouldn’t be nearly as enticing if you could see it coming a mile off, true colours on full display.

For those who aren’t necessarily interested in the existential pondering ‘Eternal Law’ might engender, the show works well purely on an entertainment level too; convincing performances, cracking one-liners (courtesy of Gist of course), credible characterisation and intriguing plots.  Sure, it has a makeshift glamour, hodgepodge doctrine and overtones of American-style grandeur.  But its heart is in the right place. 

Follow the link to catch up on 'Eternal Law'.