All in the Mind
Alastair Campbell
Hutchinson
304pp
£17.99
Mario Cuomo once said of politicians that they campaign in poetry but govern in prose. Alastair Campbell has now turned that maxim on its head. In government he was always looking for dramatic imagery to inject into political communications. His creative work was credited to his co-writer, Tony Blair, and even now he refuses to say who came up with the best lines. But his hand can be seen in such classics as ‘she was the people’s Princess’, ‘Labour’s Coming Home’ and ‘the kaleidoscope has been shaken’. They may not rival Byron or Yeats, but the gloss and style Alastair added put Blair’s speeches in a different class until Barack Obama came along.
Since leaving Downing Street, Alastair has put enormous energy into campaigning for issues that matter to him almost as deeply as the election and re-election of Labour governments. His efforts on behalf of leukaemia research and mental health charities have been tireless and show a personal choice – to help others rather than sell his soul to the nearest PR agency or political consultancy – that even his fiercest critics should be ready to acknowledge. His notoriety has helped push the issue of psychiatric illness, in particular, to the forefront of public debate. It was a brave thing to do and Alastair has never lacked courage.
All in the Mind, his first novel, can’t be divorced from that campaigning zeal. If anything, it shows even greater courage than his willingness to talk about his own alcoholism and breakdown on primetime television. He is asking us not only to take the issues seriously but to judge his talents as an author of fiction in the process. Writing a novel inevitably demands a readiness to expose a part of yourself to public scrutiny, all the more so when the subject matter is so personal and so painful.
With this book Campbell is campaigning in prose. On one level he has succeeded brilliantly; on another he has fallen short. Only he knows which of the two matters to him most. The book has sold remarkably well given that its theme is dark and challenging and would be hard going even in the hands of an experienced novelist. It has been selected as Tesco’s book of the month for April so doubtless thousands of shoppers will add a helping of depression, trauma and pain to their weekly trolley. And while they may not have suffered any kind of mental illness themselves, if they get to the end of the book they will understand what so many others in the checkout queue have to deal with. But it’s a big ‘if’. My fear is that many of them won’t make it to the end. All in the Mind is not an easy read, and not just because of its subject matter. It is written in a disappointingly pedestrian style for such an accomplished wordsmith and offers too little to tempt the reader to see it through to the final chapter. One almost feels a sense of duty to stick by the characters rather than any enthusiasm to see how they cope with their many burdens.
Speechwriting and novel writing are two totally different disciplines, of course, but both require subtle pacing, light and shade, and a touch of humour to go alongside the serious message. They should carry the listener or reader along, sometimes teasing, sometimes informing, hopefully persuading but also stimulating. All in the Mind has a curious monotone for a novel that features prostitution, sex trafficking, the victim of appalling burns and a spectacular political downfall. It follows the stories of five very different individuals, some more attractive than others, with little in common except the psychiatrist’s consulting room they attend. And yet they all speak with a similar voice – that is, when they are allowed to speak at all. There is precious little dialogue which is one reason the novel springs to life so infrequently. Too often we are told what has happened second hand rather than being allowed to experience it with the characters. We spend more time in the company of the psychiatrist himself, Professor Martin Sturrock, but it is harder to sympathise with him than with any of his patients.
Yet anybody wary of a novel by a supposed hard man and bully will be pleasantly surprised by its humility and understanding of human frailty. ‘I am always right’, Alastair would tell his Downing Street colleagues, including me, and he gave a good impression of meaning it. All in the Mind, by contrast, is infused with uncertainty. Everybody is searching for answers and the dramatic finale warns us against believing that anybody can be expected to have them all. Whatever its stylistic weaknesses, this is a brave book about men and women whose traumatic experiences have prevented them from fulfilling their full potential. It is compassionate and thoughtful and if it helps to challenge the assumption that vulnerability can be equated with weaknesses, it will have achieved a great deal.