Naming a book Future Perfect is audacious to put it mildly but, with his compelling explanation of how collaboration can drive progress Steven Johnson just about gets away with it. Only through dispersed and diverse networks of action, Johnson argues, can we confront the more intractable challenges of the twenty-first century, such as broken government, the fading publishing industry and income inequality.

Surprisingly for a nominally future-facing text, Johnson begins by persuasively asserting that things right now aren’t nearly as bad as they seem: the “if it bleeds it leads” ethos prevalent in modern media tends to distract us from some of the substantive social gains made in recent decades, from falling crime rates to rapidly improving airline safety.

This optimism underpins the rest of Johnson’s argument. Seeing past and present trends through rosier-tinted glasses allows him to wax hopeful about the future too. The most prominent example of such ‘networked thinking’ at present is of course the Internet, which accounts for many of the most positive recent developments in society. Wisely, however, Johnson doesn’t pretend that the Internet is a panacea, just that it is a “way of thinking” about today’s problems – thus avoiding the over-exuberant ‘cyber-utopianism’ of writers such as Clay Shirky.

Nonetheless, the ‘peer progressive’ philosophy Johnson espouses here does inspire its fair share of wide-eyed wackiness alongside some genuinely well-thought out ideas. In the section on democracy for instance, Johnson proposes that citizens be allowed to hand off votes in various elections to better-informed friends or experts to decide on their behalf. Quite how this would solve rather than exacerbate the problem of money in American politics isn’t very clear.

Overall however, Johnson’s peer progressive paradigm is a surprisingly perceptive way of explaining past success stories, like Wikipedia and Kickstarter, and predicting where future breakthroughs will come from, especially in the areas of urban development, corporate responsibility and the evolution of the media. A perfect future may be beyond our reach, but Johnson artfully argues that by using the collaborative technology of today, our best days might yet lie ahead of us.

With just a fortnight left of Oxford term, I’ve been looking through the concerts yet to come. One programme which I’m particularly looking forward to is that of the Oxford University Sinfonietta (29th November, Jacqueline Du Pré Music Building). This chamber orchestra typically blends music from the early classical period with more contemporary compositions, and this concert is no exception. Ranging from Mozart to Ligeti (with Prokofiev and Pärt for good measure), the eclectic programme promises an exciting evening.

First on the programme is one of Mozart’s most famous works, his Symphony No. 31 (‘Paris’). A three movement work which lasts barely 15 minutes, the symphony was Mozart’s first to introduce clarinets (albeit cautiously in the low register).  From the opening brass chords, the bright D major first movement exudes confidence with a flurry of scales and jaunty rhythms. The lyrical Andante glides between different key areas, the glossy veneer disturbed by various interuptions. The bustling string passagework of the first movement returns in the Allegro Finale, the dynamic energy carrying the music through minore digressions and chamber passages to the horn calls of the triumphant conclusion.

A jump from the 1770s to the 1960s takes us to Ligeti’s ‘Nouvelles Aventures’ and ‘Ramifications’. Both pieces are written for unusual combinations of instruments: the former for three singers and instrumental septet, the latter for a twelve-part string ensemble (seven violins, two violas, two cellos and a double bass).  Ligeti’s writing will certainly test the OU Sinfonietta performers. The wordless vocal part of ‘Nouvelles Aventures’ and the chaos of white noise in ‘Ramifications’ produce an unsettling atmosphere. ‘Ramifications’ is a tour de force of extended technique, with half of the strings tuned a quarter-tone above the other. Apocalyptic chaos follows sparse textures and vertiginous violin notes teeter before plunging into a deep registral chasm.

Arvo Pärt’s Symphony No. 1 comes as a shock to those familiar with the simplicity of Cantus In Memoriam Benjamin Britten. A two movement assault beginning with a blaring trombone second, the first movement ’Canons’ is an exercise in contrapuntal rigour. Hurried woodwind staccato and rigid ostinati create a 10-minute kaleidoscope, exposing each and every player in the ensemble. ‘Prelude and Fugue’ opens with violin a capella meditations punctuated by the woodwind, before motoric rhythms drive piece onwards. The end is abrupt, the preceding frenzy followed by a sustained violin second which echoes in the ears of the listeners.

The final piece of the programme sees a return to more familiar territory with Prokofiev’s Symphony No.1 ‘Classical’. Harking back to Haydn in its traditional 4-movement form, Prokofiev imbues the work with his characteristic dry humour. The spiky harmony and jaunty rhythms of the work show the influence of Prokofiev’s time at the St Petersburg Conservatory. After a light-hearted Larghetto and the unpredictable tonal diversion of the Gavotte, the Finale brings the work (and the concert) to a virtuosic close.

This is certainly a programme which will test the mettle of the Oxford University Sinfonietta. With such a refreshing range of repertoire (the Pärt and Ligeti rarely heard), it’s definitely a date in my diary.

Being the procrastination prone people that we students are, you’ll have probably come across Prue Leith by way of The BBC’s series The Great British Menu on which she is a judge. This was my initial knowledge of Leith and I had mentally prepared myself for a glorious 20 minute conversation on what is one of my favourite TV shows.

However, when doing background research I was staggered at the number of things which Leith has achieved throughout her career so far, leaving my previous line of inane questioning (“how do you manage to eat so much food in one day?”) somewhat redundant.

Leith’s professional career began in 1960 with the launch of what would go on to become Leith’s Good Food, a catering company which supplied food for events. Since then she has opened a Michelin starred restaurant, been a food columnist for various UK papers, held senior positions in companies such as British Rail and The Halifax Bank, worked closely with The Schools Food Trust, been awarded the Veuve Cliquot Business Woman of the Year in 1990, an OBE, a CBE, written her autobiography and published five novels. When asked how she managed to have such a glittering career she replies “I’ve got a lot of energy and have the nature that if something is bust then I want to fix it. In essence, I can’t help interfering in things I think I might be good at.”

On top of her OBE and CBE Leith has also been awarded no fewer than eleven honorary degrees from various universities. “Ridiculous isn’t it. I’m very flattered and pleased to have them but I’ve never actually finished a degree.” Despite being so decorated in the public sphere she claims that what she is most proud of is achieving harmony in her private life. She tells me a story of her son reading an article in praise of her in one of the papers: “My son asked me if I really ran all those businesses. I said, ‘Of course I do, why do you think I don’t?’ He replied ‘because you’re always here.’ He thought I lived at home and made cakes!”

Despite her glittering career in business and the food industry Leith explains that she considers herself “first of all as a novelist but the writing became secondary when the business became full time.” She wrote and co-wrote various cookery books but it wasn’t until 1995 that her first work of fiction, Leaving Patrick, was published and she made the move to becoming predominately a novelist. She cites Anthony Trollope as being her inspiration, explaining that, “he understands the business world, the commercial world, and what makes people work. If I could write a novel half as good as him I’d be happy.”

It wasn’t her fiction which grabbed the headlines earlier this year though. Conceived as a means by which she could raise her profile as a writer, in September Leith published her autobiography, Relish: My Life on a Plate. 

In it she details the thirteen year affair which she conducted with (now her husband) the writer Rayne Kruger, then the husband of her mother’s best friend. The UK press seized upon this fact and all of the attention was focused on this salacious love story rather than on Leith’s career achievements. This is obviously something which irks Leith: “I knew it would be talked about but I didn’t think they’d concentrate on it  that much.”

As I learned in preparation for my interview, it is well worth delving below the surface to find out a bit more about Leith and her quite remarkable career. Questions about consuming large quantities of food should probably be left to members of the University rugby tea

Oxford already offers rich pickings for choir connoisseurs.  With the Chapel Choirs of Merton and Queen’s joining the highly regarded trinity (Magdalen, New and Christ Church), the new recording from Worcester has some tough competition. This is a CD which proves that they can definitely hold their own.

‘This Christmas Night’ brings together a selection of contemporary carols inspired by the Christmas story. Ranging from Judith Bingham to Cecilia McDowall, the CD spans a wide range of repertoire and includes an impressive 11 world premiere recordings. Even as the soprano line of Hafliði Hallgrímsson’s ‘Joseph and the Angel’ echoes around Keble College Chapel at the very start of the disc, the Worcester singers envelop their listener in the mood of an advent service. Although the space may be large, the warmth of the tone prevents the music from sounding impersonal. The sound is well blended and chord voicing generally good, but at points the texture does appear to be somewhat top-heavy: the sopranos often slightly protruded (at times possessing slight discrepancies of intonation).

The choir revel in dissonances, from the bluesy inflections of Mark-Anthony Turnage to the poignant appoggiaturas of Richard Allain’s ‘Balulalow’. Although they are attentive to fluctuations of mood throughout the disc, this aspect is brought to the forefront in their emotive interpretation of the Allain. However, it is the sense of enjoyment which the choir brings to this repertoire which makes this CD such a delight to listen to. They hold a variety of colours at their disposal to great effect, allowing them to illuminate McDowall’s playful rhythms in ‘Of a Rose’ and lend clarity to the soaring octave contours in Skempton’s ‘There is no rose’. A personal highlight is Peter Maxwell Davies’ ‘Fleecy Care Carol’: the singers tackle the angular melodic lines with confidence, emerging into a rich and full climax.

Not only is the virtuosity of the ensemble on show, but also that of individual singers. Several tracks contain well-executed solos (although special mention must go to the performer of the formidable solo part in Lutyens’ ‘Nativity’). Organist Stephen Farr is given the chance to shine both as soloist and accompanist. The premiere recording of Thomas Hyde’s ‘Improvisation on Puer natus’’ sees him bring out the subtleties of the music through changes of register and his formidable technique. Farr is equally skilled as an accompanist, further elevating the choir.

This refreshing selection of contemporary carols is given capable performances by Worcester College Chapel Mixed Choir. With so much new repertoire, this is a CD which invites multiple listenings. It certainly makes a change from the standard fare, and marks Worcester College Chapel Mixed Choir out as one to watch.

‘This Christmas Night’ is available from Resonus Classics (http://www.resonusclassics.com/this-christmas-night). Worcester College Chapel Mixed Choir will launch the CD with a concert in Worcester College Chapel on Saturday 24th November 2012 at 19:30. Tickets are £5/1 (concessions and students).

I’ve had many dramatic daydreams in the English Faculty’s Lecture Theatre 2, but never thought to make them reality. Director Richard Elliot and Assistant Director Esme Hicks are doing just this, transforming a basement teaching space into the site of Shakespeare’s bloodiest tragedy and revising the function of an end-on performance space to create a much more interactive experience, Goths and Romans entering through the audience, characters appearing above the audience in the balcony.

It sounds exciting and dynamic, very different from your typical Shakespeare lecture, but the university setting provides a further function. Elliot has chosen to set the play in 1968, in the wake of student radicalism (think Jimi Hendrix, Richard Nixon, Vietnam). The idea is to bring out the culture clash of the two communities, at the expense of questions of race and imperialism. Aaron’s (Andrew Laithwaite’s) blackness is metaphorical. His charisma, Elliot explains, is that of the revolutionary rock star. Rome is the elitist establishment.

In preview this interpretation isn’t too domineering and I hope the point isn’t hammered home too hard in the final piece. It could cheapen what looks to be shaping up to be a very successful production. What worked well in the scenes I saw was the energy of the cast and the strength of the acting. Katie McGunagle (Tamora) was particularly engaging, maintaining a queenly dominance even while attempting to seduce the equally authoritative Laithwaite or instructing her sons to rape and maim. Lara Panahy, as Lavinia, was also convincing, especially in the scene following her mutilation – a testament to the attention I felt had been paid to working on the physicality of all the actors’ performances.

This is certainly no Shakespeare recital. The actors are always active and personal space continually invaded. This can lead to a few problems. Bassianus and Chiron (Matt Broomfield
and Anirudh Mandagere) seem less menacing the longer Lavinia pleads with Tamora for mercy because there is little way for them to go once they have started manhandling their victim. These issues can easily be ironed out in the week leading up to the performance. My advice to the cast would be to concentrate on their reactions. Line delivery is uniformly strong but some more thought needs to be put into their responses while silent.

Joseph Prentice (Titus himself) was slightly disappointing in the one scene I saw him in, seeming a little too reasonable given the tragedy surrounding him. Out of the context of his character’s development throughout the play, however, it was hard to judge whether this was a conscious decision or indicative of a slightly limited emotional range. The responses of Panahy, Edward Lewis (Marcus) and Sarah Smierciak (Young Lucius) were all spot on, though I felt the girls were a little inhibited by the awkward staging in the fly killing scene.

The coherence between such a large cast was impressive and the preview entertaining – I would happily have watched much more and think the production’s youthful energy will appeal to those who may find the plot unfamiliar. If the team can turn their innovative performing space to their advantage and not lose sight of the primacy of performance, rather than period setting, this production may be one to catch this Michaelmas.

4 STARS

Deborah Levy’s short but imposing novel explores the insidious effects of depression on a seemingly stable family, holidaying in the French Riviera for a week in 1994, and on a mysterious guest, Kitty, who appears, floating in their swimming pool, on the first day.

Joe, husband to Isabel and father of Nina, is a poet by profession. He is immediately taken in by the beautiful young Kitty with her radiant red hair unfurling in the water. Both Joe and Kitty are emotionally dysfunctional, Kitty is even mentally unwell. They are drawn together by their poetry.

Swimming Home is deceptive. What appears as merely a rather unsettling affair between Kitty and Joe in an effort to numb the disappointment of their own lives, suddenly shifts to a fast-paced descent into a psychologically disturbing turn of events.

I found it extremely difficult to relate to any of the characters, or even to feel like they could ever be real people. The whole plot is suffused with an almost lyrical and oneiric tone that suspends realism. This, combined with Levy’s floundering efforts to incorporate the theme of an existential crisis for her characters, makes it altogether arduous to take the book seriously at all.

The same can be said of it’s elliptical style which is evocative of an unsuccessful cross between Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway and T S Eliot’s Wasteland. It is rendered absurd when almost every other word in the book is ‘Yeah’.

The narrative is interspersed with strange extracts from a poem written by Kitty, sometimes placed in diagonal lines across the page, and the chapter headings are another annoyingly forced attempt to make the book seem intriguing, with titles such as ‘Body Electric’, ‘Manners’, and ‘Spirited Away’. Moreover, an unnecessary last chapter written from the perspective of Nina, seventeen years on, attempts a last stab at symbolism and interesting form. 

Although I myself have misgivings about the book, it has been shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize 2012, and has scintillating reviews. The Daily Telegraph has called it ‘an intelligent, pulsating literary beast’, and the Literary Review opines that Levy ‘reveals a more urgent world humming with symbols’.

It is a book dependent on each reader’s taste, and I would recommend it despite my fault-finding, simply for the fun of a very critical read that succeeds in making you feel more intelligent than you really are and deludes you into thinking you could write much better.