Donna Tartt is not a gushing author. My first question when she came to Bookclub was whether she felt she could now explain the impact of The Secret History, more than twenty years after its publication, or the reason for the spell that it casts on so many readers. That wasn’t a good question to ask an author, she said. Oh well. I’ll try harder next time. But in the course of the next half hour our readers did learn a good deal about Donna the writer – her absorption in classical literature, her admiration for Dickens (‘no one is better at characterisation’) and her development of the character of Richard, who narrates The Secret History. And we got her own account of the spirit of The Secret History – that it is a book about altered states of consciousness.

To begin at the beginning, if you didn’t fall for the book in the nineties when it became a worldwide cult, it’s been accurately described as a detective story in reverse. We find out in the prologue who has been killed, and part of the story of his murder. The book therefore becomes a why-dun-it, and we’re drawn into the closed, fevered world of the group of classics students at a liberal arts college in New England, whose repressed emotions are unleashed with terrible consequences for Bunny, one of their number. Donna Tartt’s college experience was in the same milieu – she was hooked on classics, and lived in a small college community in Vermont. It was there that she started to write the book, when she was 19. It took her ten years, and she explained why: she writes meticulously and methodically, working rather like a miniaturist and enjoying the detail in every paragraph. Since The Secret History was published in 1992 she’s written only two books – The Little Friend, ten years after her debut and The Goldfinch this year – and clearly has no interest in working at anything except her natural pace. The Donna Tartt who revealed herself to our readers is intellectually rigorous, determined to avoid a throwaway remark that hasn’t been thought through, and someone immersed in the emotional lives of her characters.

She spoke particularly interestingly about Richard, the student who tells the story and who is the outsider in the group, having come east from California and from a background much less privileged than that of his new friends. His position allows him to speak with a degree of clarity about them, because he instinctively stands back a little: like Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby, he learns a good deal in the course of his narrative. He is deceived, he’s confused, and he knows that at times he may not be telling the truth. When it’s over he hopes that one of the students, Camilla, might marry him but she turns him down. It’s therefore not surprising that at the end of the story, Richard leaves Vermont behind and goes back west, turning away from a world of which he never felt fully a part. You may remember that Nick Carraway did the same thing.

By the time our conversation was over, we had learned a good deal about Donna Tartt’s approach to writing and her immersion in the strange, compulsive world of these students – the story a modern version of The Bacchae, she told us – and I wondered whether we might even discover how she stumbled on the idea. We did. It came to her one day in the post office when she’d gone to pick up her mail.

But she couldn’t explain why. Nor could she explain her interest in Dionysiac ritual, with a history stretching into antiquity. That was the point. It was because she couldn’t explain it that she had to write the novel - ‘I don’t have a gift for condensation.’ And she laughed.

I hope you enjoy the programme. Our next, on the first Sunday in February, will feature Khaled Husseini on The Kite Runner, and our next recording is with the Irish writer John Banville on his Man Booker prize winner, The Sea. We’re meeting him on March 18, and if you want to be one of the reading group, do let us know via the Radio 4 website.

Happy reading

Jim

 

Listen to Bookclub

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Betty Friedan’s book The Feminine Mystique was the start of a brilliant series of calls to rebellion, which I began reading when I was at university. They include Eva Figes’s Patriarchal Attitudes, Susan Griffin’s Woman and Nature, Mary Daly’s Gyn/Ecology, Kate Millett’s scorching attack on male authors and, of course, not least - The Female Eunuch. Betty Friedan was older, more experienced, and yet sexually less wild and experimental - or at least she gave that impression. She exuded a feeling of having lived through the conventions she evoked. She was a survivor, a messenger returning from the danger zone of domestic ideals, and she understood deeply the monstrosity of the norm.

The book came out in l963, but I was reading it later, and it struck me with the full force of recognition: my mother suffered that isolation, those pretences, the coldness and possible violence that lurked in the heart of bourgeois marriage. This was around the same time as the Stones song ‘Mother’s Little Helper’. I didn’t at first understand what the words of the song referred to, but when a friend explained, laughing, I recognised that too; tranquillisers, sleeping pills, pain relief in the bathroom medicine cupboard propped up the beauty, calm, and elegance that a woman had to cultivate in the roles of wife, mother – and hostess.

But it wouldn’t be right to present my mother as a pill-popping housewife along the lines that Betty Friedan diagnosed. The situation in the suburbs of the United States was more stifling for women than it was in England, partly because Americans were richer. After the war in the US, when staying at home became the ideal, it was financially feasible for many more families to imprison wives and mothers than it was in the bombed towns of England. Also, in the US, the suburban sprawl is looser, wider: I was recently living on Long Island and it was half an hour’s drive to the next pint of milk. Supermarkets don’t offer friendly updates between neighbours, not like corner shops. I felt I was living my mother’s life, but my stint was only a matter of months.

I chose to write about a woman in the Fifties longing for a mink coat because that was the highest status symbol of the era. My mother wanted one, but I have improvised on the facts. However, we were living near Cambridge and I do have a sister. Existence was very bleak. A bus passed twice a day; she didn’t drive and besides, my father went to work in the car. Because they had been living abroad, I was already a boarder far from home; my sister went to school locally, but herself boarded during the week. My mother was from southern Italy, vivacious and beautiful, but she didn’t go mad, though she was nearly crushed by the cold and the loneliness, and used to cry a lot; she had the spirit and ingenuity of the south and she extricated herself – by learning to drive, by getting a job, and so forth; bit by bit, she refashioned her life. But she was always in thrall to glamour, and she clung to the necessity of fare figura. It was all-important to her, to put on a show, to keep a brave face, to display one’s charms to the full.

When I catch a glimpse of myself looking slouching and dishevelled, I am haunted by her, and by her uncomprehending sadness that I wouldn’t make the best of myself, as she would put it. For someone of her background (foreign, penniless), charm was a weapon, the only one a woman had.

She tried to train me in the feminine mystique, and I was very willing, then, to learn. I’d make my own outfit for a party, while she expressed horror at my slapdash methods – the unstitched seams, the crooked hems. We’d look at Vogue together, sitting all together by the fire, because there was no central heating in the house, a very draughty, leaky old rectory.  Later, I strove against her ideas of a woman’s fate. But some of the happiest moments of my childhood took place when she pointed out the latest skirt lengths (rising) and the new styles of hat. I made up the stuff about fur for the story, but she did save up for a Canadian squirrel and when she wore it, she looked as if nothing could touch her.

The next two stories in the series are What To Expect by Aminatta Forna on the 9^th August at 3.45pm and Theatre Six by Sarah Hall on 16^thAugust at 3.45pm.

Listen to Mink from 2 August

Explore a selection of feminist programming 

Image of Marina Warner courtesy of Ed Park

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With Hombre we wanted to create an utterly convincing sound world. We needed a gritty small town, a desert, and a showdown in a canyon. It had to be unrelentingly hot, dry and punishing to make Elmore Leonard’s story compelling.

 

Now, obviously, it would be ideal to go out somewhere hot and dry with actors and kit. Given the weather lately, I fancied Nevada or perhaps Morocco… Sadly, the reality is that we have to do it all in one big windowless room in BBC Broadcasting House in just two days. Luckily, our Drama studio is actually pretty wonderful.

Our first mission was to build our small town in 1880s Arizona. We needed all the rooms to be made from wood. To get that rough-hewn feel to the place I put carpet down on the existing wooden floor then laid shallow wooden podiums on that. They are only two inches high but gave that fantastic sound of boots on a hollow wooden floor. We wanted our cowboys to sound like they meant business. Listen to the feet in the stagecoach ticket office, gorgeous!

Once the action of the story moves into the desert we have the real challenge. Distance. How do you make somewhere sound like a huge empty space when we’re stuck in a room? I laid carpet across our Exterior space in the studio so we heard as little as possible of the room acoustic and on top of it went sheets with gravel for feet to scuff across.

For our exterior backgrounds, we mixed air, hot wind, crickets and the occasional bird from our sound effects library. When you are listening you want to hear the distance - air and wind help but adding in a very distant sound, such as a buzzard screeching, fools the ears into thinking the space is much bigger and wider.

We made sure that the sound effects of guns were as specific as possible. For example, the gunshots from villain Frank Braden’s gun are not the same as those from his companion Early, or hero Russell. Also, we had to make sure the perspective of near gunshots contrasted with ones far off at the mine shaft. 

The echo in the canyon is created when the voices of the actors is picked up by a more distant space microphone which is sent to a delay program, delayed some more and bounced back in the sound booth. Remember, the actors hear none of this, they have to pitch up, shout across the “canyon” and trust that their voices are echoing round the walls of a canyon they cannot see. Radio acting is Green Screen Supreme.

I loved working on Hombre, my fellow studio managers were terrific, and our colleague Colin Guthrie did a superb job on the post-production. I hope you enjoy it.

Listen to Hombre by Elmore Leonard - adapted by Robert Ferguson and produced by Sasha Yevtushenko.

 

 

To be honest, as a documentary maker going to another country to record stories, it's normally pretty scary. Will the contributors give you what you want? Will the story 'work'? It's even more scary when you're making a programme about someone who may not exist.

I first heard about the Manhattan Bee Man from the writer, Sebastian Baczkiewicz who found out about him from Tom Waits. According to the story, this guy lives with 250,000 bees in his apartment and is completely oblivious to the discomfort. I too was perplexed. And yet when you tell the anecdote to New Yorkers, they find it believable, hilarious and all too often, familiar.

Our brief was to go there and find him, or at least, find people who have heard of him and record them. Their voices would appear in the programme, and their testimonies would inform the arc of the narrative, or something… Our lovely exec, Polly Thomas told us to follow our hunches, which led us to Hell's Kitchen, a psychic's parlour, a record shop, a poetry church, a farmers market, the oldest brothel on the island, Otto's Shrunken Head, Stuyvesant Town, the Double Down Saloon, and lots of other places you'll hear in this piece. We also paid a visit to Beth Israel hospital.

This is the story of the search for the Manhattan Bee Man. It's also about Alphabet City, and the truly amazing people who live and have lived there. Enjoy.

 

 Listen to The Manhattan Bee Testimonials

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Mark Damazer, the Controller of Radio 4, does not hide his love for the new-found land across the ocean. His office on the fourth floor of BBC Broadcasting House is full of Americana, including a large framed Boston Red Sox shirt, and when I interviewed him for the latest edition of Feedback I thought I saw a portrait of George Washington in the corner.

I suppose it could have been a picture of Harry Redknapp, the manager of Tottenham Hotspur, the Red Sox's only rival in the sporting affections of the outgoing Controller, who is to become Head of St Peter's College Oxford in the Autumn, but Mr Rednapp, unlike the first President of the United States, does not have wooden teeth, or slaves for that matter.

Among the dreaming spires, in the Georgian elegance of the Head's Lodging, Mr Damazer will no doubt reflect on his six years in what he called "the best job in broadcasting by a 100 miles". How proud a record does he have? Most listeners seem to think he has done a pretty good job, certainly audiences are high, and there have been a large number of critical successes.

But some listeners wish he had been more restrained in his commissioning of all things American, some feel he overdosed on history in general, and others mourn the cutbacks in drama and the death of the Friday Play, attributable in part, they believe, to budget cuts. Then there is another termination for which he is undoubtedly responsible, that of the much loved UK theme.

On Thursday I talked to him about these concerns, and about the recent breakdowns in transmission, and the playing of the wrong recordings among other unfortunate presentation errors. I also asked him whether he and other radio bosses and their producers take seriously what their listeners think, as apologies by BBC representatives on Feedback are pretty rare.

Before we began he was keen to point out that he was far from being a lame duck Controller, that his successor will not be appointed for some weeks, and that he had a lot of major decisions still to take. He also agreed to come on the next series of Feedback to talk about some of his favourite Radio 4 programmes. Then he started to deal with his listeners' concerns.

By the way can I just add about the outgoing Controller that he has been a staunch supporter of Feedback, and has always been prepared to come and face the music. I hope his successor feels the same way.

Roger Bolton presents Feedback on BBC Radio 4

• If you have any questions for the editor of the Archers please let us know. She will be coming on Feedback in the next couple of weeks.
• Listen again, get in touch with the programme, find out how to join Feedback's listener panel or subscribe to the podcast on the Feedback web page.
• A History of the World in 100 Objects returns to Radio 4 on 17 May at 0945.
• Mark wrote about his decision to cancel the Friday Play here on the blog in March and about Americana in April last year.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/america/

Editor's note: Radio 4's 90-part history series America, Empire of Liberty, ends today at 1545. Writer and presenter Professor David Reynolds reflects on the experience.

"I hear you're doing some programmes about US history. How many?"
"Ninety", I would say, a little sheepishly.
Pause. Frown. "Nineteen?"
"No. Nine Zero".
Longer pause. Then we chat about the weather.

That sort of exchange occurred many times while writing America, Empire of Liberty. So much so that I stopped talking to friends and colleagues about the project. It was, indeed, a marathon. Listened to continuously (if you could bear to do so), it amounts to nearly a day of radio - twenty-two and a half hours.

But I never had any doubt that this was a wonderful opportunity to share my own accumulated experience of teaching American history. Ideally I'd have liked another year for research and writing, particularly when doing a book of the series as well, but scholars always want more time. Anyway I couldn't disagree that a presidential election year was the ideal moment to 'do' American history - and that was before Obama came on the scene.

Having written and presented some history films for television, I enjoyed the different discipline of radio. Very austere: no images, just words. Or, more exactly, I had to find the words to trigger the listener's imagination. That was the greatest challenge and the most fun. Hours spent in the University Library or on the internet (amazing how much historical source material is now available in electronic form) looking for the quotations and the stories that would bring my big themes to life.

The acid test was whether I could see the event in my mind's eye. Even better, if it made me smile, like Abigail Adams in 1776 enjoining husband John to 'remember the ladies' when writing America's Declaration of Independence (episode 17). Or if it brought tears to my eyes: President Lincoln's Christmas letter of condolence during the Civil War to young Fanny McCullough about her soldier father (episode 36). Discovering that was a moment I shan't forget.

Other pleasures? The steady flow of e-mails from listeners from Britain and, thanks to the website, from many parts of the world (America, Africa and India). Messages from people who'd arranged their tea breaks in order to tune in at 3.45. And from listeners who offered their own interesting takes on subjects as diverse as the Indians and the personal computer. Best of all, from many who said they'd hated history at school or had given it up at O-level/GCSE but had really enjoyed the series. Winning the Voice of the Listener and Viewer Award for the Best New Radio Programme of 2008 and receiving a Sony Radio Academy Award Nomination were the icing on the cake.

Regrets? Much, of course, had to be left out, even in ninety programmes. Economic history is hard to convey in popular form. Stories of tycoons such as Andrew Carnegie or labour unrest such as the Pullman Strike work well on radio; statistics usually got squeezed out. Fortunately, I was able to get some of that deeper background into the book.

Also thanks. To some wonderful BBC professionals, particularly editors Maria Balinska and Sue Ellis and producer, Rosamund Jones. To Mark Damazer, Controller of Radio 4, for his commitment to history on the air. And to the much-criticised Beeb: what other broadcasting institution in the world would be crazy enough to commission a project of this magnitude?

As a teacher, I believe that history is too important to be left in an academic ghetto: it should be part of the public culture of a civilized society. The invitation to offer a very long view of Obama's America and where it has come from was a great chance to practise what I preach.

David Reynolds is Professor of International History and a Fellow of Christ's College, Cambridge

• The final episode, To Shape an Uncertain Destiny, is transmitted at 1545 today. You can listen again for the next seven days.
• A selection of America, Empire of Liberty Audiobooks is available to buy from BBC suggested online retailers.
• The creative people at BBC News Interactive have made six beautiful audio slideshows, narrated by Professor Reynolds, each covering one of the large themes of the series: Houses and Highways, The Jazz Age hits Main Street, The road to Hooverville, America's early skyscrapers, LBJ's Vietnam nightmares and The Information Revolution. The picture is the opening frame from the skyscrapers slideshow.
• Justin Webb's America blog.
• Matt Frei's new series about American Life, Americana, on Radio 4 at 1915 on Sunday evenings, and Mark Damazer's blog post introducing the programme.

America is so vast that almost everything you say about it is likely to be true and the opposite is probably equally true.

That's how the late Irish-American novelist James T. Farrell summed up the intriguing complexity of the United States. I have found this to be a very useful quote. It covers just about everything and gets me out of a tight corner if I am accused of misrepresenting the country which has been my family's adopted home for the past seven years.

I am also reminded every day that it happens to be true on so many different levels. For instance two of my daughters attend a Church school but they are not allowed to celebrate Christmas. Compared to Europe America is devout, but the separation of Church and State - a brilliant move dreamed up by the founding fathers - continues to be an article of faith.

Two thirds of practising Christians believe in the Second Coming but roughly half the country describes itself as agnostic or atheist, a number which is rising. America has the reputation of being a melting pot but to me it often seems more like an archipelago of tribes living separated from each other in a country with space to spare.

Visitors get their thumbprints taken and their retinas scanned when they enter America but it is estimated that as many as 15 million migrants from Latin America live and work here illegally by walking across the 2000 mile long border with Mexico.

The list of contradictions is practically endless.

America suffers from an epidemic of obesity but the slim foods and diet industry is one of the fastest growing and most lucrative in the country. American news media can be hopelessly parochial and yet National Public Radio, the New York Times, my local paper, the Washington Post or the Chicago Tribune provide a nuanced and detailed eye on the world.

The Iraq war continues to be unpopular but the military is more revered here as an institution than in any other democracy. Baseball games kick off with a salute to the troops; supermarket chains offer special discounts for all military families and even our staunchly liberal neighbours, who regularly give money to the Peace Corps hang out a huge Stars and Stripes flag on Veteran's Day.

Oh, and by the way, in this country "liberal" tends to be an insult.

And yet beyond these contradictions I have witnessed the tectonic plates of America shift while we have lived here. We arrived a year after 9/11 when the world's most powerful nation felt vulnerable and fearful. Vengeful grief at home morphed into muscle flexing abroad and - at times - arrogance. The agony of Iraq and the shock of Hurricane Katrina triggered a period of introspection.

The 2008 Presidential race reignited political engagement and turned the internet into a shrewd electoral tool. The election of an African-American President showed America the scope of its ambitions while the implosion of the economy hammered home the limits. The country that had learned to distrust big government was prepared to crawl to it for salvation.

Has the crisis changed America's love affair with money? Is America seriously ready to re-engage the world at a time when there is plenty to worry about at home? How many compromises will the exercise of power force upon a President who stormed to office on the promise of change? Can America still inspire with the power of its ideas or is it hinged more to the idea of power? With all these questions should Uncle Sam check in with a shrink?

Americana hopes to answer these questions by telling you what America is talking, arguing, fretting, laughing and, yes, dreaming about. We hope to surprise, entertain and inform. And by letting America itself do most of the talking we promise never to be dull.

Matt Frei is Anchor of World News America and presenter of Americana

• Americana starts this Sunday 31 May at 1915 on BBC Radio 4.
• World News America airs weeknights at 7pm & 10pm ET on BBC America.