I, on the other hand, here reviewing and in part critiquing Shrimsley’s novel – and I trust that, dear reader, you will pick up on the subtext ‘merely’ in the following – was a reporter for six and a half years – on two weeklies, one evening and one morning paper.
I then crossed the floor to work as a sub-editor on two provincial evening papers, and then, as a casual, at one time or another on all of Britain’s national newspapers except the Daily Telegraph and its sister Sunday sister sibling.
That does not mean that I don’t know what I’m talking about, but in qualitative terms there is and can be little to no comparison between Shrimsley’s career and mine. And although he was sacked twice and I was handed my P45
only once, the details of our respective departures illuminate why those ‘sackings’ cannot be treated as equals.
I was booted out of the South Wales Echo at some point in October 1989 – you’ll understand that the date was not honoured in my diary with a gold star, so I’m not sure of what is was.
That does not mean that I don’t know what I’m talking about, but in qualitative terms there is and can be little to no comparison between Shrimsley’s career and mine. And although he was sacked twice and I was handed my P45
I was booted out of the South Wales Echo at some point in October 1989 – you’ll understand that the date was not honoured in my diary with a gold star, so I’m not sure of what is was.
I was sacked for dropping two bad bollocks in quick succession: I might have got away with one, but two? I was proving myself to be a liability.
Shrimsley’s two ‘sackings’ – and essentially they were sackings – benefit from a closer look. His tenure as editor of the Screws (‘the New of the Screws’) ended in 1980.
Shrimsley’s two ‘sackings’ – and essentially they were sackings – benefit from a closer look. His tenure as editor of the Screws (‘the New of the Screws’) ended in 1980.
He been appointed editor after a very successful six years on the Sun, the last four as editor, but it all came to grief after circulation had fallen by a million. That he had previously boosted the Sun’s circulation was not relevant.
His editorship of the Mail On Sunday came to a close – ‘by mutual agreement’ as they say, which I always understand to mean that a sufficiently large pay-off to go quietly was agreed between sacker and sackee – when the paper failed to reach its target circulation after ten weeks of its launch.
Unlike my sacking, however, neither of Shrimsley’s can be regarded as a black mark, and each should be qualified with more detail to show why.
While editing the Screws, Shrimsley had urged News International boss and Screws owner Rupert Murdoch to re-launch the paper as a tabloid, presumably because he believed doing so would boost circulation. But, for whatever reason, Murdoch decided not to, though four years on, in 1984, he changed his mind and did turn the Screws from broadsheet to tabloid. And circulation – as Shrimsley no doubt believed it would – began climbing again.
Chosen as Mail On Sunday launch, Shrimsley’s job was made difficult by the active obstruction of the Daily Mail’s editor, David English.
He had taken against Shrimsley because he had not been consulted on the appointment by Lord Rothermere and threw a long hissy fit, and if you do read Shrimsley’s novel The Silly Season, you’ll realised that such puerile behaviour it not at all fantastical: Shrimsley’s portrayal of newspaper editors, ‘name’ columnists and ‘press barons as insufferable prime donnas it is not at all fictional and pretty much spot on (or at least as spot on as I was able to make out from my lowly spot at a subs’ desk).
Roy Greenslade is another national newspaper hack who knows full well what he it talking about and has the track record to prove it. In his Guardian review of The Silly Season he observes that all novels about Fleet Street are compared to Evelyn Waugh’s Scoop but that they invariably fall short, sometimes quite a bit. Shrimsley’s The Silly Season does not, but although for various reasons it cannot be directly compared to Scoop, it does stand proud, shoulder to shoulder with that novel.
The Fleet Street novels I have so far read, Michael Frayn’s Towards The End Of The Morning and Murray Sayle’s A Crooked Sixpence, did not impress me much and I admit I was a little apprehensive when I began reading The Silly Season. I need not have worried.
In fact, had Shrimsley so decided – he died just over ten years ago at 85 – might well have found as much success as novelist as in newspapers, and the Silly Season was the third novel he published after he retired.
Unlike Waugh’s Scoop, written in simple, elegant prose, in The Silly Season Shrimsley adopts – perhaps unsurprisingly – a ‘tabloid style’ and that, mainly, is why the might be no direct comparison between the two novels. I must admit it took me a page or two to get used to that style, but I’m happy to report that it works well, and arguably might be the only style he might have adopted to tell his tale.
Like Waugh, Shrimsley is infinitely inventive and silly, but remains in complete control of his story / plot, which is quite a twisty one, though it all hangs together well. Also like Waugh, Shrimsley’s character are not mere cyphers, and caricatures, but manage to exist in three dimensions. And for this reader, two of them became rather likeable.
Jack Strap is presumed by everyone to be a thinly-veiled but authentic portrait of one Kelvin MacKenzie, Sun editor from 1981 to 1994, and I can confirm it is spot-on, though at times a tad exaggerated. Equally authentic are the various spoof splash headlines Shrimsley serves up and how ‘stories’ are constructed. This goes on – or went on – all the time, though the red-tops all kept a team of highly-paid lawyers on tap to ensure the paper, stories and headlines stayed this side of the law.
In brief, recommended. Hacks might just get a little more out of reading The Silly Season than civilians, but everyone will be guaranteed a good, entertaining romp.
His editorship of the Mail On Sunday came to a close – ‘by mutual agreement’ as they say, which I always understand to mean that a sufficiently large pay-off to go quietly was agreed between sacker and sackee – when the paper failed to reach its target circulation after ten weeks of its launch.
Unlike my sacking, however, neither of Shrimsley’s can be regarded as a black mark, and each should be qualified with more detail to show why.
While editing the Screws, Shrimsley had urged News International boss and Screws owner Rupert Murdoch to re-launch the paper as a tabloid, presumably because he believed doing so would boost circulation. But, for whatever reason, Murdoch decided not to, though four years on, in 1984, he changed his mind and did turn the Screws from broadsheet to tabloid. And circulation – as Shrimsley no doubt believed it would – began climbing again.
Chosen as Mail On Sunday launch, Shrimsley’s job was made difficult by the active obstruction of the Daily Mail’s editor, David English.
He had taken against Shrimsley because he had not been consulted on the appointment by Lord Rothermere and threw a long hissy fit, and if you do read Shrimsley’s novel The Silly Season, you’ll realised that such puerile behaviour it not at all fantastical: Shrimsley’s portrayal of newspaper editors, ‘name’ columnists and ‘press barons as insufferable prime donnas it is not at all fictional and pretty much spot on (or at least as spot on as I was able to make out from my lowly spot at a subs’ desk).
Roy Greenslade is another national newspaper hack who knows full well what he it talking about and has the track record to prove it. In his Guardian review of The Silly Season he observes that all novels about Fleet Street are compared to Evelyn Waugh’s Scoop but that they invariably fall short, sometimes quite a bit. Shrimsley’s The Silly Season does not, but although for various reasons it cannot be directly compared to Scoop, it does stand proud, shoulder to shoulder with that novel.
The Fleet Street novels I have so far read, Michael Frayn’s Towards The End Of The Morning and Murray Sayle’s A Crooked Sixpence, did not impress me much and I admit I was a little apprehensive when I began reading The Silly Season. I need not have worried.
In fact, had Shrimsley so decided – he died just over ten years ago at 85 – might well have found as much success as novelist as in newspapers, and the Silly Season was the third novel he published after he retired.
Unlike Waugh’s Scoop, written in simple, elegant prose, in The Silly Season Shrimsley adopts – perhaps unsurprisingly – a ‘tabloid style’ and that, mainly, is why the might be no direct comparison between the two novels. I must admit it took me a page or two to get used to that style, but I’m happy to report that it works well, and arguably might be the only style he might have adopted to tell his tale.
Like Waugh, Shrimsley is infinitely inventive and silly, but remains in complete control of his story / plot, which is quite a twisty one, though it all hangs together well. Also like Waugh, Shrimsley’s character are not mere cyphers, and caricatures, but manage to exist in three dimensions. And for this reader, two of them became rather likeable.
Jack Strap is presumed by everyone to be a thinly-veiled but authentic portrait of one Kelvin MacKenzie, Sun editor from 1981 to 1994, and I can confirm it is spot-on, though at times a tad exaggerated. Equally authentic are the various spoof splash headlines Shrimsley serves up and how ‘stories’ are constructed. This goes on – or went on – all the time, though the red-tops all kept a team of highly-paid lawyers on tap to ensure the paper, stories and headlines stayed this side of the law.
In brief, recommended. Hacks might just get a little more out of reading The Silly Season than civilians, but everyone will be guaranteed a good, entertaining romp.
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