Effectively an appendix to Herzog’s excellent memoir, the chapters here have some familiar anecdotes and some new (to me) ones.
The stories of how he fabricated quotes and incidents in some of his films were the most interesting; hearing his take on AI, deepfakes, and the artificial mimicry of his distinctive voice is at once amusing (especially in the audiobook version, with him reading it out) and surprisingly optimistic; the chapter where he simply relays the plot of an opera far less engaging, hence dropping a star.
But this is Herzog. It’s almost impossible for him to be dull for long. And even when he is dull, there’s usually a point to it – like that seemingly endless sequence of planes taking off through the heat haze at the start of Fata Morgana. It sets the tone.
The tone he’s setting here is the tone he’s set throughout his career – it’s all to encourage inquisitiveness. Because that’s the best antidote to untruths – a desire to learn more, understand more, and get to the bottom of a story, no matter how outlandish or how banal.
Inventive, but as if by numbers: multiple perspectives over several centuries, in multiple formats – diaries, letters, court transcripts, book extracts, stream of consciousness, snippets of pub conversation, photo captions, film scripts – with only the smallest nods to past sections throughout, meaning an excellent memory is vital to spot the narrative connections.
But the point here isn’t narrative (because there isn’t much of a one, beyond the vague narratives of each section, most of which end in disappointment for the subject) – it’s the nature of history and memory, how different people and eras have different priorities, how there’s always a clash between the desire to maintain tradition and progress (even if that tradition is barely understood, and the benefits of that progress aren’t clear).
This makes it, in many ways, both a deeply melancholy and a deeply pessimistic book. And also means it perfectly captures elements of the attitudes of rural southern England in the late 20th century – and probably still today. In some ways it feels quite Brexity, in fact – or, at least, that it helps explain Brexity attitudes.
A superb piecing together of disparate unreliable information from multiple countries and centuries in an effort to piece together just what medieval Europe knew of the wider world, prior to its rapid expansion after Columbus, Magellan, and Da Gama.
The legends of Prester John, the travels of Marco Polo and John Mandeville, the rediscovery of classical learning, the threat of the Mongols, the desire to reconquer Jerusalem with a new crusade, the closing of the Silk Road by Central Asian wars, the rumours of Atlantic islands, the pursuit of Paradise in Ceylon, the source of African gold, and the various pre-Columbian discoverers of the Americas – all are here, making the medieval world seem much bigger in the process.
Excellent fun stuff that makes Columbus’ voyage both make more sense and less – he had enough evidence there was something over the horizon, but much of that evidence suggested it was much further away, and he still had no real idea how to get there.
Notes and Essays
To help shape my thinking, I write essays and shorter notes examining the ideas and narratives that shape media, marketing, technology and culture.
A core focus: The way context and assumptions can radically change how ideas are interpreted. Much of modern business, marketing, and media thinking is built on other people's frameworks, models, theories, and received wisdom. This can help clarify complex problems – but as ideas travel between disciplines and organisations they are often simplified, misapplied or treated as universal truths. I'm digging into these, across the following categories - the first being a catch-all for shorter thoughts: