Top Of The World

To almost universal disbelief, Switzerland sensationally triumphed in the 2009 FIFA Under-17 World Cup, beating host nation Nigeria 1-0 in yesterday’s final in Abuja. This is the first time that Switzerland have won this competition, but then again, it is the first time that they have qualified in their modest history. In fact, no Swiss football team of any age has ever won a world championship. The victorious coach, Dani Ryser, said that it was a historic day for Swiss football, while the television commentator likened it to Roger Federer winning his first Wimbledon. Heady stuff, but it’s true that the match was broadcast in 190 countries – not the insular UK obviously, where viewers were instead presented with Southampton against Brighton & Hove Albion.

The reigning champions Nigeria were the overwhelming favourites to win an unprecedented fourth title at Under-17 level. Roared on by a packed stadium of 64,000 passionate fans, complete with national dress and noisy horns, the most successful side in the history of youth football must surely have anticipated the Swiss wilting in the 30-degree heat. However, little Switzerland (population 8 million) managed to defeat a country twenty times its size, even preventing the free-flowing young eagles from scoring for the only time in the event.

"Kissed for the very first time"

Indeed, the hosts started like “a swarm of mosquitoes” per Tages-Anzeiger, piling the pressure onto the beleaguered Swiss defence and creating three good chances in the opening fifteen minutes. After only three minutes, Abdul Ajagun was denied when his shot from the edge of the penalty area was cleared off the line by central defender Charyl Chappuis. Only a minute later, the outstanding Swiss goalkeeper Benjamin Siegrist pushed away a shot from Aigbe Oliha, while Kenneth Omeruo’s towering header from a corner whistled just wide. The half ended as it had started with the promising Sani Emmanuel wasting a great chance when he mistimed his chip.

There was no doubt that the Swiss had enjoyed some Lady Luck, but it was a steely defensive effort. The Nigerians had created almost all the chances, but they had failed to convert any of them and they looked a little nervous on their return to the dressing room. On the other hand, the Swiss were delighted to be level. After the match, star striker Haris Seferovic said, “we knew that Nigeria could not maintain the same tempo as the first half”.

"We are the champions"

Nevertheless, Switzerland were indebted to their brilliant goalkeeper Benjamin Siegrist, who made a series of sparkling saves to deny the opposition, despite taking a boot to the head after only ten minutes which required lengthy treatment. His match-winning display was rewarded with the Golden Glove award for the tournament’s best goalkeeper. He only conceded seven goals in as many games and it was not difficult to see why Aston Villa had already snapped him up. In the quarter-final, he had deflected a penalty against the Italians to ensure that his team continued their progress.

However, there’s a reason why people often talk of a “game of two halves” and the momentum turned in the second half. Switzerland emerged from their defensive shell and sought to punish their wasteful opponents. The much vaunted strike partnership of Haris Seferovic and Nassim Ben Khalifa combined beautifully in the 56th minute to open up the Nigerian defence, though Seferovic shot narrowly wide. The tall striker made amends six minutes later, when he leaped high to head a corner back into the far side of the net for the decisive goal.

"Thank you for sending me ... a medal"

The Swiss-born youngster with roots in Bosnia-Herzegovina cites Barcelona superstar Zlatan Ibrahimovic, also of Bosnian heritage, as his biggest influence and you can see the similarities in his predatory instinct for goals. He narrowly missed out on the Golden Shoe for the tournament’s top scorer, as his five goals required more playing time than the eventual winner, Spain’s Borja. He happily acknowledged the assistance from playmaker Ben Khalifa, emphasising the importance of the understanding developed at club level with Grasshoppers:

Nassim Ben Khalifa and I are a dream partnership. We know each other inside out and know exactly where the other is going to be and where to play the ball.

At the tender age of seventeen, Ben Khalifa already plays regularly for his club in the Super League (Switzerland’s top division), where he has demonstrated blistering pace, exquisite technique and composure in the box. A series of impressive all-round displays in Nigeria, including four goals and three assists, contributed to him winning the Silver Ball for the second best player in the tournament, as voted for by the world’s media. His football intelligence was clear when he was asked to comment on the winning goal:

We knew that Nigeria had a few tactical weaknesses, so we decided to approach the game in the same way we did against Brazil. Luck played a part of course, but you need that. We made sure we hit corners to the back post because we knew that the Nigerians never put a player there.

"Heavens above"

Nigeria were in no mood to relinquish their title without a struggle and in one attack they hit the bar and had the ball in the back of the net in the resulting goalmouth melee, though the referee disallowed it for an infringement on Siegrist. However, the Swiss teenagers kept their composure to become champions.

Although coach Dani Ryser admitted that, “it was close and we were lucky”, nobody could argue that the Swiss underdogs did not deserve their success, as they won all seven of their games in the tournament. Their march to victory included wins against the traditional power houses of Brazil, Germany and Italy and they booked their place in the final with a thumping 4-0 defeat of the much-fancied Colombian team in the semis.

Although Switzerland’s victory is astounding, it should not really be that much of a surprise, given that the team is unbeaten since May, when they reached the semi-finals of the Under-17 European Championship before losing to Holland. The football public began to pay them attention when they eliminated France and Spain at the group stages. The defence is difficult to breach with Charyl Chappuis and captain Frédéric Veseli forming a formidable defensive duo, aided and abetted by the rugged full-backs, Bruno Martignoni and Ricardo Rodriguez, who are often seen marauding up the wings. In the middle there is a classic mixture of creativity, mainly from Lazio’s Pajtim Kasami, who was nominated for the Golden Ball, and defensive cover, with Oliver Buff filling the role of holding midfielder. Apart from the strikers, on the wings there are equally eye-catching players in Janick Kamber and Granit Xhaka.

"See you later"

The trophy is a crowning achievement and a “dream of a farewell present” for the Swiss Football Association’s Technical Director, Hansruedi Hasler, who is retiring at the end of the year, having been responsible for nurturing young Swiss players for fifteen years:

Thanks to the good work by the clubs and the football association, young players today are significantly better developed. They are physically stronger, mentally more advanced and technically very, very strong. As a result, every year there are fifteen to twenty good players from whom the association can build a good team. In the mid-1990s on the other hand, the talent pool was limited.

If Hasler is the godfather of the team, coach Dani Ryser is the father of their success. A calm, meticulous man, Hasler described Ryser as a “tactical fox” who has a plan for every situation. Acclaimed by the national press as “perhaps the perfect coach for this Under-17 team”, he was also praised by the captain, Manchester City’s Frédéric Veseli, who said that Ryser “always finds the right approach to keep concentration levels high. It is his merit that we are such a close, organised team”.

"Fox in the box"

Perhaps the best compliment that can be paid to the team’s coach is that they did not play like a Swiss side. They played aggressively and with confidence, taking every opportunity to attack with speed and skill. Married to the usual Swiss qualities of tactical discipline and high work rate, this has produced a sparkling side that scored eighteen times in their seven matches, a total that only Spain matched in the tournament. As Ryser said, “We have no pressure, but a lot of pleasure”.

At least Switzerland’s success made irrelevant the question of the age of the Nigerian players. Despite FIFA President Sepp Blatter dismissing the accusations (“Our organisation is built on trust and respect”), Nigeria has form when it comes to manipulating players’ ages and FIFA has introduced an MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) examination to test the teams, though the results are far from accurate. Suspicions were further raised when a former Nigerian international, now club owner and lawyer produced a 2002 squad photograph that included current Under-17 captain Fortune Chukwudi, meaning that he would now be an incredible twenty-five years old.

"Something to hide?"

Possibly the most inspiring aspect of Switzerland’s victory is the multicultural (“multikulti”) aspect of the winning team with an amazing thirteen of the twenty-one man squad having dual nationality, including Serbia, Croatia, Bosnia, Kosovo, Albania, Italy, Portugal, Tunisia, Chile, Ghana and the Congo. I don’t know whether that would cause anguish to the far-right Swiss People’s Party (SVP), but hopefully the team’s fantastic achievement fills them with as much pride as the rest of the Swiss.

The concern is whether these players will remain with the Swiss national team or be tempted to switch allegiance to their country of origin, as has happened in the past with the likes of Mladen Petric, Ivan Rakitic and Zdravko Kuzmanovic, who chose to play for Croatia and Serbia. It has been reported that Tunisia are already making overtures to the exciting Nassim Ben Khalifa, while Albania are trying to tempt Granit Xhaka. Against that, the line-up for Switzerland’s recent World Cup qualifier against Israel included seven dual nationals. For the moment, the prospects look good: Ricardo Rodriguez (Chile) said, “I grew up in Schwamendingen, I would definitely play for the national team”; André Goncalves (Portugal) confirmed, “For me, only Switzerland comes into question”; while Haris Seferovic (Bosnia) agreed, “I always promised to play for Switzerland”.

"Many deserving Swiss - and Sepp Blatter"

Of course, the best way to get young players to commit to Switzerland is success, which this group has already experienced, but coach Ryser has some wise words for his charges:

Winning the title is wonderful, but it's important that they don't get carried away. If they think they've made it now, then they won't win a thing next year. I hope that some of my lads will be playing in Brazil in 2014 - hopefully with as much success as they've had here in Nigeria.

Yesterday was the biggest moment in the history of Swiss football and it arrived on African soil. Let’s see how the seniors do next year in another part of the Dark Continent.

What Kate Did Next

I remember the first time I saw Kate Bush and it’s fair to say that she did not make a favourable impression: mad-eyed, wild-haired, dressed by Laura Ashley, she was wailing uncontrollably about a novel by one of the bloody Bronte sisters. As if this were not bad enough, she was also given the seal of approval (a.k.a. kiss of death) by my younger sister, so was, by definition, uncool. This was most definitely not The Clash. However, over the years, I grew to appreciate her enigmatic brilliance, gradually realising that this was one female artist that most guys secretly liked. Even the erstwhile Sex Pistol, John Lydon, saluted her at the Q Awards in 2001, describing her music as “fucking brilliant”.

Slowly, but surely, it dawned on me that Kate Bush was a true original: an immensely inventive, supremely talented force of nature. Impossible to pigeonhole, few women have expanded the vocabulary of music as bewitchingly as Kate Bush, taking as many risks along the way as Prince. Signed by EMI at the tender age of sweet sixteen, she was regarded as an eccentric genius, having written over two hundred songs before she released her first album, “The Kick Inside”, in 1978. Regarded as a semi-recluse (with some justification, it has to be said), she has only toured once, as her ambitious mixture of music, choreography and over the top theatricals lead to a financial disaster. Ever since, she has effectively created music in a vacuum without any of the traditional feedback from a live audience, making her creativity all the more remarkable.

"Isn't she lovely?"

It all came together in 1985 with the release of “Hounds of Love”, a powerful, undeniable record. Described by that man Lydon as “beyond an album – an opera”, it’s a monumental achievement, showcasing a vividly fertile imagination and featuring an eclectic collection of frighteningly original songs. It’s a profound, complex piece of work with a dreamy, mystical sensibility, but it’s also enormously inspirational. Contrasting images project her own vulnerability as she tackles life’s big issues with moving drama and gripping intensity.

Although her fifth album, this was the first one that she had produced completely on her own terms, having built a recording studio at her home. Here she could work at her own pace, no longer constrained by the label’s budget, and could make use of the time and space to indulge her artistic whims. This gave her greater confidence, resulting in a stronger coherence and new-found maturity to her experimentation, not just the music, but also the lyrics, which became increasingly personal.

"The Mad Max years"

As a producer, she makes great use of the Fairlight synthesizer, drum machine and fretless bass, perfectly capturing the mood of each song, but it’s the vocal performance that is most impressive. Abandoning the shrill, high-pitched falsetto of her early work, her vocals are now mostly in a deeper pitch that gives the lyrics greater maturity, though she has not completely sacrificed the extraordinary range of which she is capable. As one of the sound engineers commented:

She’s quietly spoken and petite. She’d be beside you in the control room chatting away and then step through into the booth and this amazingly powerful, passionate voice would come out, every fibre on her being committed to it. She was using her voice in a completely unashamed way.

Bush’s previous album, “The Dreaming”, was a darker, less accessible record and the great achievement of “Hounds of Love” was managing to blend the adventurous spirit of that record with the popular appeal of her earlier releases. Not that the spirit of invention was lacking. No, Kate still expressed her individuality with strange sound effects, spoken passages, distorted voices and diverse musical styles that few had attempted before. Although it’s very experimental, it does not feel in any way pretentious. Indeed, it’s extraordinary how all the elements she had been playing with in previous efforts finally meet in perfect alignment.

"Let's get physical"

So, she managed to retain her artistic integrity, while also giving the pop consumers something to chew on – having your cake and letting them eat it, if you will. Bush took great pains to distinguish between her more literary, esoteric style and her skill at producing great pop for the masses. This schizophrenic approach is taken to its extreme on this album, which is split into two sides of very different music with the hits featuring on “Hounds of Love” and the art bursting out of “The Ninth Wave”. While the latter can be read as Bush’s reluctance to stay in the limelight, the former shows her unwillingness to give it up.

The different sides of the album also spoke of the duality of sky and sea with “Hounds of Love” looking to the heavens with startling clarity and “The Ninth Wave” descending to the, er, waves. This is a theme that Bush would return to many years later in her 2005 album “Aerial” with its two suites (sweets?): “A Sea of Honey” and “A Sky of Honey”. The record takes us on an incredible journey from the high clouds to the depths of the ocean.

"Stand and deliver"

The more accessible “Hounds of Love” contains five conventional pop songs dealing with relationships, addressing different forms of love. Radio-friendly anthems they may have been, but the arrangements and themes were anything but trite, steeped in lyrical and aural sensuality. Nevertheless, this side provided four amazing hit singles: “Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)”, “Cloudbusting”, “Hounds of Love” and “The Big Sky”.

Dazzling as these compositions are, they almost pale into insignificance beside the epic magnificence of the mythologically charged “The Ninth Wave”, based on a poem by Tennyson. Half a concept album, it tells the story of a woman lost at sea, facing death by drowning, and the tortured night she spends in the water, when she undergoes a series of out-of-body experiences. As she slips in and out of consciousness, the deeply affecting music evokes her shifting moods of fear, uncertainty, suffocation and, ultimately, hope and optimism. It’s a disturbing, brooding and claustrophobic journey, but every second beats with an energy that draws the listener into the nightmare vision. Like a complex movie soundtrack, it’s an extremely challenging and bold piece of music, which Bush herself admitted:

It was incredibly difficult to actually be brave enough to go for it. I had the feeling that that was what I wanted to do. But then I started to get scared of it.

Each song is memorable, but the sum is greater than the parts and it’s a remarkable accomplishment, referencing birth and rebirth. Although it seems to be a straightforward tale of a woman drowning, there’s enough ambiguity in the final track to keep the jury out.

"Look at the fingers on that"

The album opens with the absolutely sensational “Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)”, which still sends shivers up the spine. It’s an overwhelming song of unparalleled emotional rawness and density, simultaneously enthralling and intellectually interesting. The song deals with the communication problems between the sexes in a relationship, as she wants a man to feel the way she does, “And if I only could/I'd make a deal with God/And I'd get him to swap our places/Be running up that road/Be running up that hill/With no problems”. However, it’s also one of the most sensual songs ever written, as Bush sings with urgency and passion, before the pulsating drum beat builds to a thrilling climax, “Come on baby, come on darling/Let me steal this moment from you now”. Orgasm Addict, eat your heart out.

The title track, “Hounds of Love”, is about the fear of being overwhelmed by love, “I found a fox/Caught by dogs/He let me take him in my hands/His little heart/It beats so fast/And I'm ashamed of running away”. As she flees the hounds, she’s unsure whether she wants to evade love or give in to her feelings. The amazing use of percussion and highly visual lyrics (“Take my shoes off/And throw them in the lake/And I'll be/Two steps on the water”) provide a thrilling transition from naivety to experience, “Well, here I go/Don't let me go/Hold me down!” – a long way from the opening, fearful lines, taken from horror film “Night of the Demon”, spoken by a actor, Maurice Denham, “It’s in the trees! It’s coming!”

"Ooh, yeah, you're amazing. We think you're incredible"

There follow three tracks written from the perspective of children, which is a theme that had exercised Bush from her very first album with the classic, “The Man with the Child in his Eyes”. First up is “The Big Sky”, a flamboyantly infectious song about taking the time to daydream and discover life as we did when we were children, “Rolling over like a great big cloud/Rolling over with the Big Sky!” Although boasting a happy, bouncy tune, it also deals with the frustration of an artist continually questioned by critics with little understanding of the creative process, especially after they were baffled by “The Dreaming”, which they described as too obtuse, “You never understood me/You never really tried”.

“Mother Stands For Comfort” is ostensibly about the love of a mother for her child, but it slowly reveals itself to be a dark, haunting tale about a killer seeking refuge with his mother, knowing that she will always protect him, ““She knows that I've been doing something wrong/But she won't say anything/Mother will hide the murderer/Mother hides the madman/Mother will stay mum”. The sound of breaking glass in the background suggest a tumultuous relationship (or is it shattered innocence?), while some of the lyrics describe the pent-up anger of adolescence (“just like a crowd rioting inside”), but ultimately a mother’s love is unconditional.

"Looking for some hot stuff"

As is the son’s bond with his father in “Cloudbusting”, which tells the touching story of a scientist being taken away from the child by the authorities, “You looked too small in their big, black car/To be a threat to the men in power/I hid my yo-yo in the garden/I can't hide you from the government/Oh, God. Daddy - I won't forget”. Like much of Bush’s work, there are literary influences behind the lyrics and these are based on Peter Reich’s “A Book of Dreams”, which you can see in Donald Sutherland’s pocket in the video of the song, when he portrayed radical naturalist Wilhelm Reich. The hypnotic rhythm and beautifully arranged strings (and a steam engine!) perfectly capture the menacing feel of a gathering storm, but the tragic sense of loss gives way to an inspirational, uplifting chorus, “Every time it rains/You're here in my head/Like the sun coming out/Ooh, I just know that something good is gonna happen”.

You can say that again, for we are about to dive into “The Ninth Wave”, which begins with the beautiful lullaby “And Dream of Sheep”, establishing the intimate, despairing atmosphere that permeates the whole suite. The gentle piano melody and Kate’s fragile vocals accentuate the sadness of the moment, as she desperately tries to stay awake to avoid the freezing sea claiming its next victim, though there is an ambivalence to her thoughts, as she is also on the verge of giving up, “I tune in to some friendly voices/Talking 'bout stupid things/I can't be left to my imagination/Let me be weak/Let me sleep/And dream of sheep”.

"Are you living in a box?"

The moody, ominous “Under Ice” is accompanied by suitably chilling, jagged violins that cut the atmosphere like a knife, as the protagonist has a dream in which she is skating on the ice, before noticing that someone is trapped beneath it – and slowly realising that it is, in fact, her, “There's something moving under/Under the ice/Moving under ice – through water/Trying to get out of the cold water/It's me." The sense of urgency increases throughout the song, culminating in a keening howl of futile despair, “Something, someone – help them/It's me”.

Kate continues to hallucinate in the sinister “Waking the Witch”, which starts peacefully enough with a variety of voices urging the girl to wake up, before exploding into a nightmarish cacophony of sound that announces a thrilling call and response between the demonic, distorted (male) voice of a witchfinder and the staccato, panicky cries of a girl frantically defending herself, ultimately in vain, “What say you, good people?/Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!” There is a powerful feminist stance in this track, as Kate confirmed in an interview:

I think it’s very interesting the whole concept of witch hunting and the fear of women’s power. In a way it’s very sexist behaviour and I feel that female intuition and instincts are very strong and are still put down, really.

The pace is relaxed with the trippy “Watching You Without Me”, where Kate imagines returning to her lover as “a ghost in our home”, as she observes her husband living on without her. You feel an aching melancholy, as she struggles to make contact, “You can't hear me/You can't feel me/Here in the room with you now”, but the song does tap into the spiritual hope that the spirit of those that we love will survive. Again, the music perfectly conveys the void left by the missing wife, who “should have been home hours ago”.

"Whatever happened to Haysi Fantayzee?"

There’s another change of pace with the energetic “Jig of Life”, where Kate clearly shows her Irish roots. It feels like a wake after a funeral, but there’s a hint of optimism to the lyrics, in which an older version of Kate urges her to fight for her life in order that she may exist in the future, “C'mon and let me live, girl!/This moment in time/It doesn't belong to you/It belongs to me/And to your little boy and to your little girl”.

The contemplative “Hello Earth” cleverly recaps the previous events, as Kate reflects on the storm that brought her to this awful predicament, bowing to man’s insignificance in the face of nature’s power, Go to sleep, little Earth/I was there at the birth/Out of the cloudburst/The head of the tempest/Murderer!/Why did I go?” Male choral chants lend a subdued air to proceedings, when Kate bids the world a shockingly calm goodbye, as she accepts her fate, lapsing into German for some reason, “Tiefer, tiefer/Irgendwo in der Tiefe/Gibt es ein Licht (deeper, deeper, somewhere in the depths, there is a light)”. Everything fades into darkness and silence, before a final moment of stillness …

"It's in the trees!"

And then a bright light bursts forth through “The Morning Fog”, a celebratory song, though it’s not entirely clear what Kate is celebrating: either it is the life-affirming, ultimate happy ending where she is overjoyed at being rescued, “Being born again/Into the sweet morning fog”; or simply her parting thoughts to those closest to her, “I'll kiss the ground/I'll tell my mother/I'll tell my father/I'll tell my loved one/I'll tell my brother/How much I love them”. Actually, it doesn’t really matter. The song leaves you with a warm glow, a sense of satisfaction either way, “D'you know what?/I love you better now”.

Kate Bush was the first woman to have a UK number one single with a self-written song. Not a lot of people know that, but her influence on music is there for all to see with the likes of Tori Amos, Fiona Apple, Alison Goldfrapp and Florence Welch (and her Machine) owing her an enormous debt of gratitude for introducing people to the world of the literate, innovative female singer.

"Reaching out for the hand"

“Hounds of Love” was a heroically experimental, dramatically beautiful masterpiece that sounded like nothing else back in 1985 – and it still doesn’t. Firmly establishing Kate Bush’s reputation, it meant that she was no longer a guilty pleasure, but could be appreciated for the genius she truly was.

Life Imitating Art

There is little that I enjoy more than a good thriller, but it’s even better when the subject matter is suffused with extraordinary originality. This is a quality that the little known Cuban author José Carlos Somoza possesses in spades. There are very few writers around with half the imagination, ingenuity and creativity that Somoza exhibits in his novels.

Somoza has written about a dozen books, but only three of them have so far been translated into English, even though the first, “The Athenian Murders”, won the 2003 Crime Writers’ Association Gold Dagger award. This was both a murder mystery and a rumination on the relationships between translators and ancient texts. Born in Havana, Somoza trained as a psychiatrist in Spain before becoming a full-time writer. This education is put to good use in developing his themes and character profiles, allowing him to indulge in many philosophical and psychological games. His work is dazzlingly clever, seductive, intellectual and occasionally disturbing.

"Thinking"

“The Art of Murder” is built on a particularly audacious and compelling concept, working well as a darkly absorbing thriller, but equally providing a thought-provoking treatise on the art world. The book is set in the near future, in an alternative universe where everything is the same as ours, except for the art scene where living people are being used as canvases for each masterpiece.

Very different from a straightforward whodunit, Somoza still manages to build an atmosphere of tension and suspense with great skill and the last section in particular explodes into life. However, his real achievement is to create a weird world of deviant ideas about humanity and aesthetics and yet make it an utterly believable environment into which we are gently seduced like so many amoral voyeurs. It’s an enthralling piece of fiction, nay literature, which will make most readers question the ethics of the art world and haunt their thoughts long after they’ve finished it.

"Still thinking"

The story’s background is a morally dubious art world whose market is dominated by hyperdramatic art, where beautiful young models are prepared and painted just like a canvas. Wealthy collectors buy the pieces, which pose for a few hours each day, either in private collections or public exhibitions. Any work can be replaced by new models, but the first one is the most valuable, as he/she is the original. The undisputed master of this new movement is Bruno van Tysch and the story begins when the model for one of his masterpieces, Annek Hollech, is abducted and viciously murdered, in spite of elaborate and extensive security precautions. Investigators April Wood and Lothar Bosch must discover the killer before the imitations of thirteen of Rembrandt’s great works are put on show (and therefore at risk) in Amsterdam in the largest ever exhibition of hyperdramatism.

The process of hyperdramatic art is superbly described; so much so that you could be forgiven for starting to believe that it actually exists. Before being painted, each canvas (person) has to be primed, with their eyebrows, eyelashes and other bodily hair removed, and then “stretched”. During this arduous stage, the painter will physically and emotionally challenge the model, subjecting her to various degrees of degradation and violence, in order to prepare the proverbial blank canvas, a trance-like state of quiescence, before obtaining exactly the right expression on her face. The model will then be arranged into the desired pose that she will have to maintain for a few hours each day for the duration of the exhibition. To facilitate this unnatural state, the model is provided with muscle relaxation drugs to improve flexibility and endurance; medications to control the bodily functions (sweating, salivating and the rest); and body creams to protect the skin from the oil paints.

"She's a model and she's looking good"

That sounds bad enough, but there is a darker side to hyperdramatism. Aspiring and unsuccessful models are illegally painted as “objects”, such as lamps, chairs and tables. Even worse are the “art shocks”, where acts of pornography and brutality are reflected by “performance” models, who periodically move their poses. There are also rumours of young children being kidnapped to be used as canvases. All this before a killer, known as “The Artist”, sets out to destroy van Tysch’s masterpieces.

The dehumanising of the models is intensely unsettling. When they are not working, the models have personalities and interesting past histories, but once they have signed up to be a canvas, they become objects to be purchased and looked at. They are no longer referred to as people, becoming distinctly disposable, even though they may be worth millions as an artwork.

Being a masterpiece has something ... inhuman about it. Art uses us, my child, it uses us in order to exist, but it’s like an alien being. That’s what you’ve got to think: you’re not human when you are a painting. We have to destroy the human being in order to create the work. You don't need to know anything. You are the work of art. The only one who needs to know is the artist.

"Prize guy"

However, what is even more disconcerting is that the models not only accept all of the suffering and humiliation, but they actively welcome it. They regard themselves as being engaged in a serious artistic endeavour and their greatest desire is to be painted by a genius. They are willing to tolerate all the physical sacrifices and psychological brushstrokes (delicate caresses of the ego, probing questions and harsh insults) to be part of the artistic process, taking suffering for their art to a cult-like extreme.

She detested the instructions vulgar artists gave her, but if a painter she admired asked her to do something crazy, whatever it might be, she liked to obey without question. And that ‘whatever it might be’ recognised few limits. She was obsessed with discovering how far she would allow herself to go if the ideal situation occurred.

It is difficult to understand the mindset of a person who would want to be painted in this manner, effectively losing their own identity and becoming an object. Yes, the models are well paid and the best of them enjoy pampered lives when they are off duty, but what they really (really) want is to be considered a great piece of art. Each one desperately wishes to be the first canvas of a famous painting, the one that people will remember, even if a hundred other canvases become that painting later on.

"My blue period"

One such model is Clara, depicting a living version of Rembrandt’s “Susanna”, whose transformation is described in great detail. Her name is used in the original Spanish title for the book, “Clara y la penumbra” (Clara and the half-light), though this can also mean Light and Gloom, which is highly relevant to the novel’s message, as explained by the Dutch master, Bruno van Tysch:

We understand that day and night, and life and death too, perhaps, are merely different points in the play of light and shade. We discover that truth, the only truth worthy of the name, is shade.

There are clear parallels here with our own contemporary culture of celebrity, where beautiful young men and women will make any sacrifice, starting with their own dignity, to secure their tiresome fifteen minutes of fame. Just think of the conveyor belt of witless women who are pathetically grateful for any crumbs from the celebrity table, but also consider that the great British public (you and me) appear only too happy to follow their miserable lives in excruciating detail. The most highly prized works of hyperdramatic art are young women, who are generally partially clothed or naked, but youth is an ephemeral dream, so their shelf-life is a short one, leading to inflated demand for the crème de la crème. This is not a million miles away from the “real” fashion world, so the book succeeds admirably as a knowing critique of a society that invests so much in appearance, treating people as commodities to be bought and sold.

"Chapter One - we didn't really get along"

The book raises many interesting questions on what is morally acceptable when creating groundbreaking works of art – are there any limits? How far should artists be allowed to go to produce something spectacular? Can hyperdramatism really be considered cruel if the models are queuing up to become canvases? If we continue to desire hyper-realism, is hyperdramatic art the logical conclusion? And, most significantly, is art more important than a person’s life?

The debate on the value of art against a human life is taken a stage further in the book, when it becomes clear that the killing of a model is not seen as a murder by the art world, but as the destruction of a masterpiece worth millions. The hunt for the murderer is driven less by the loss of life, more by the value of the painting:

This, she shook the photo in his face, which apparently shows a young girl, is not a girl at all. It cost more than fifty million dollars. She repeated the words again, emphasising them with a pause between each one. Fifty. Million. Dollars.

However much the work cost, she was still a young girl, April.

That's where you're wrong. It cost that much precisely because it was not a girl. It was a painting, Lothar. A masterpiece. Do you still not get it? We are what other people pay us to be. This was once a girl. Then someone paid to turn her into a painting. Paintings are paintings, and people can destroy them with portable canvas cutters just as you might destroy documents in your shredding machine, without worrying about it. To put it simply, they are not people. Not for the person who did this to her, and not for us.

This world has become so crazy that even the act of murder is considered by some to have been executed in the name of art.

"Should have gone to Specsavers"

Somoza’s bleak view of the art world is articulated by van Tysch, the greatest hyperdramatic artist of them all, who says, “Art is nothing more than money”. Indeed, in his Author’s Note, he wryly asserts, “if someone discovers how to make money out of (hyperdramatism), it will not be moral considerations that prevent this human market from flourishing in the same or even more spectacular fashion as in my novel”. The art world in the book is well connected and secretive, so much so that the murders are not made public, for fear that this would cause panic among the models and those buying the art. As 10cc once sang: “Art for art’s sake/Money for God’s sake”.

Somoza’s thrilling prose paints the picture with fine strokes, using a sensualist’s eye for shade, colour, texture and skin tone to conjure up a living, breathing atmosphere in each scene. In this, he is reminiscent of Patrick Süskind’s “Perfume”, an equally evocative exploration of a surreal world similar to our own – weird yet captivating, disturbing yet memorable. There are also shades of Umberto Eco's "The Name of the Rose" in this potent cocktail of action, intrigue, emotional drama and sexual tension. The tale would make a fabulously decadent movie, but would absolutely require a director like Guillermo del Toro to make the fantasy elements work.

"Everybody's happy nowadays"

“The Art of Murder” is a clever, intricate and extremely provocative thriller that is full of surprises. Ostensibly a murder mystery, it’s also a fascinating, chilling vision that will slowly draw you in and make you reflect on a number of moral issues. As is so often the case, Oscar Wilde was ahead of the game when he declared, “Life imitates art far more than art imitates life”.

Mouth Almighty

Everyone seems to be talking about swine flu these days, but it’s come to something when Big Sam Allardyce thinks he can further raise the nation’s awareness of its dangers. The Blackburn Rovers manager recently made the remarkable claim that his players had passed on the virus to Chelsea, after the Premier League had refused to allow them to postpone the fixture, even though they had two cases of swine flu in their squad. The self-appointed global expert on the H1N1 strain stated:

There’s no doubt we could have passed it on. When you look at the medical side of it, this is a very infectious virus we have.

Leaving aside the fact that his players at no stage got close enough to the opposition during their 5-0 drubbing to pass on any infection, it is doubtful whether his team of clodhoppers is capable of passing on anything; certainly they appear to have no idea how to pass a football. Maybe he was concerned that El-Hadji Diouf, with his history of aiming spittle in the direction of others, may have infected the Chelsea players (or indeed spectators and ball boys).

"Cleverer than he looks"

In fact, it is far more likely that Allardyce is suffering from a close relation to swine flu, namely whine flu, which is a seasonal disease that has affected the likes of Fat Sam and Lord Ferg for many years. Symptoms include a total inability to accept any responsibility whatsoever when your team loses and a tendency to shoot your mouth off no matter how limited your knowledge of the subject. If Blackburn were really suffering so badly from swine flu, why not mention this before the game, instead of raising it as an important issue only after his team had been so comprehensively beaten?

Actually, we already know the answer to that question, as Jabba kindly informed us of the real reason, when he launched a stinging attack on his players for not following his masterful game plan. He described their performance as “pathetic”:

What looked as if it was working so well tactically in the first half completely went out of the window in the second half. I can’t understand the mentality of my players losing what I asked them to do. They went 2-0 down and tried to score three.

"Lump it!"

What on earth got into the Blackburn players? Trying to win a game of football – have they no shame? Apart from further de-motivating his squad by placing all the blame for the defeat on their shoulders, while boasting of his own tactical genius, this shows the limit of Allardyce’s ambition. He would prefer to lose a game by one or two goals, giving them “something to work on”, rather than attempt to win a match. He further explained his football philosophy, when he said that “ability comes after mental toughness and resilience”, though anyone who has ever had to endure watching any of his teams would surely already know that only too well. Before the game, he had suggested that the way to beat Chelsea was his favourite “tactic”, the dead ball situation, in other words, boot it to the far stick, where a pack of hefty thugs will be waiting to elbow their way into position, hoping for a lucky deflection. Unfortunately for him, this Neanderthal method is no longer a surprise to the big clubs (as Allardyce calls them).

Nor did it work in Blackburn’s next away game, when they lost 2-0 to Manchester United. Following the thrashing they received at Chelsea, this time Allardyce seemed to be far happier with his players, as they had followed his instructions – and lost. Well, it was only by two goals, right? Of course, his post-match press conference was never likely to be all sweetness and light, and Big Sam duly obliged, when he moaned that his side had a perfectly good ruled out for offside:

It’s so far onside, it’s unbelievable. It’s not even a close one. I’m not saying it would have changed the game, but with four minutes still to go, you never know. It might have made United edgy.

Of course, anything is possible, but the fact remains that United had absolutely battered Allardyce’s team for the entire match and this effort was just about Blackburn’s first shot on target. Talk about grasping at straws.

"I blinded you with science"

I suppose that it is a little surprising that Allardyce dared to question a decision at Old Trafford, given his well-known relationship with United’s manager, Sir Alex Ferguson. Well, I say relationship, but it’s more master and servant than a partnership of equals. We witnessed this last season, when Sensitive Sam complained that Rafael Benitez’s gesture to celebrate a Liverpool goal was disrespectful and had humiliated him, but not after the match; no, only after the purple-nosed one had spoken out.

The Wigan manager, Roberto Martinez, alluded to this when he reportedly suggested that some of his top-flight colleagues were little more than Ferguson’s loyalists. Martinez subsequently denied making the comments, but we all know who he’s talking about: Steve Bruce, Alex McLeish, David Moyes, Gary Megson and, yes, the walrus-faced wonder of Blackburn. Allardyce’s reaction to Martinez’s quote contained all of the pomposity that you would expect from this “elder statesman”:

Welcome to the Premier League, Roberto. Keep your mouth shut in the future. I just think Roberto has learnt a harsh lesson about what happens in the Premier League, if you start diverting away from you and your club business.

Just as well that Sam “accepted” Martinez’s apology. Take another look at his reaction – how does that come across to you? Shall we agree on patronising, xenophobic and self-important? No, the best adjective would be hypocritical, given that Allardyce presents himself as the rent-a-quote from the North, quite happy to give us the benefit of his wisdom on all matters football (and everything else under the sun), especially other clubs.

"Dress code: smart casual"

After yet another defeat away from home, when his team was humbled 6-2 by Arsenal, Allardyce borrowed another page from the Ferguson play book, when he attempted to deflect attention away from his abject team by, guess what, blaming the match official. He went as far as demanding that the referee be sacked after failing to give his side a penalty. Demonstrating no awareness of the sweet irony, he whinged:

I try not to say too much publicly and say it through the system, but unfortunately the system is not working, so I have to be heard.

Surely no danger of not being heard, when we have to sit through your excruciating English every single day. You even begin to wonder whether Sky Sports News sponsors this posturing pillock. He continued:

Major decisions like that could take you into the danger zone of relegation. If you want to get relegated, you want to get relegated by you not doing your job properly, or your team. Not by major decisions like that going against you.

Harsh words, indeed. Talk of relegation makes me think of the dream ticket for the drop zone, at least for most lovers of the beautiful game, which would be the unholy trinity of Blackburn, Hull and Bolton. How do you like them apples? As far as I can see, there are only two dangers to this fantasy: (a) there’s a very good chance that at least one of Phil Brown, Gary Megson and Allardyce will get the sack and be replaced by a manager who knows what he’s doing; (b) there are even worse sides in the Premiership than them.

"Suck on this"

In any case, I would respectfully suggest to Big Sam that the reason his team is in the relegation zone is less to do with the odd refereeing cock-up and more to do with their appalling away form. For a manager famous for building sides that are difficult to beat, he must have noticed that Blackburn have lost their last 10 (ten!) away games, including 5 this season, conceding 32 goals in the process. It’s not even as if they are showing any signs of improvement, as they have shipped 16 goals in the last 4 matches alone. Obviously, Sam has the answer with his patented credo of “the best form of attack is defence”:

The basis for starting to turn your season around comes from clean sheets. Teams like ours are very rarely free-scoring.

You can say that again: during this dire away run, his team has mustered just 4 goals. The role reversal from the days when the southern “nancy boys” were mashed “oop north” is richly ironic and deeply satisfying.

"You don't know what you're doing"

It would appear that Big Sam has been found out. I have always believed that he’s a footballing dinosaur, whose route one tactics belong in the lower divisions. Sam the Sham is a charlatan, who has somehow fooled the media into believing that he is a scientific coach by hauling an enormous back-up team of assorted experts around with him. It’s about time that a chairman asked why you need so many physios, therapists, statisticians, etc, when the only message to the team seems to be, “run around, kick the other team hard and lump it up to the big bastard up front”. Apparently, after a two-hour team talk at Newcastle, one of the players dared to ask, “but what do we do when we have the ball?”

Allardyce’s reputation, for what it’s worth, has been made by grinding out points with no nonsense football. At Bolton, this belligerent buffoon built a team in his own image, namely a bunch of ugly, functional, no frills shit-kickers. The passing years have not softened his stance:

This is a physical contact game and fans love the commitment. I’m a bit passionate about it, because it has become a game for pansies.

His politically incorrect views are arrant nonsense. These days any reasonably good team simply passes the ball around his one dimensional, aggressive players, taking their tough tacking out of play.

"With respect, I disagree"

A couple of weeks ago Allardyce tried to divert attention away from his dreadful record by taking on Giovanni Trapattoni, when he demanded an apology from the Republic of Ireland manager, after labelling his comments about midfielder Steven Reid’s long-term injury as “disgusting, disgraceful and completely out of order”. Ignoring the fact that nobody had noticed Trapattoni’s quotes about Reid until Sam opened his big trap (sic), I wonder what happened to his frequent calls for respect between managers. Let’s not forget that Trapattoni is probably the most successful manager in the history of Serie A, winning the league title 6 times (as well as the European Cup). Compare that to Allardyce’s record: his career highlight was securing Bolton’s promotion to the Premier League – via the play-offs. When Allardyce was asked whether he had actually spoken to Trapattoni, his response was curiously childish, “No, and after what he said, I don’t want to”.

Another Italian in Allardyce’s crosshairs is Fabio Capello, whose only crime is to have the England job that Big Sam incredibly thinks should be his. He cannot believe that the FA selected Capello (winner of countless league titles with Milan, Roma, Juventus and Real Madrid) over him (winner of Division Three with Notts County):

At the time I should have got it and I really don’t know why I didn’t. It had to be political for me, rather than my credentials.

He simply cannot understand how the FA “went for another foreigner”, despite Steve McClaren’s disastrous reign. However, he does not blindly support all British managers, only those who have “longevity and the experience of making mistakes in the lower divisions” – like a certain Sam Allardyce. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Allardyce’s belief that he is perfectly suited to coach the national team is unwavering. Looking for reasons why the FA have not yet contacted this tactical colossus, he wonders whether his “external look isn’t to everybody’s liking”.

"Really love your tiger feet"

It is true that Fat Sam is carrying more than a few extra pounds. Evidently growing up in an era when meat was cheap, there is more than a little of the late, great Les Dawson about him, though unfortunately none of the humour. No man should be judged by his appearance, but when you look like you get full value for your money on a Speak Your Weight machine, you really should not suggest that your players should lose weight or complain that England has become a “fat, lazy nation”, as Big Sam has done in the past. Who are you calling overweight, fat boy?

But this annoying lump of lard takes self-regard onto a different level. Is there anybody else who rates himself quite so highly with so little reason? When he left Bolton, he explained that he was determined to get “silverware”, so naturally chose to join Newcastle United. When that joke of a club sacked him, he informed the waiting world that:

Newcastle was not big enough for me. It didn’t live up to my ambitions in the short time that I was there.

Don’t worry, Sam. I’m sure that the Manchester United job will be waiting for you once Fergie leaves. Or at least it will in your own huge head.

"Big mouth strikes again"

If, by some miracle, United don’t bring Sam’s brand of scintillating, total football to Old Trafford, he can always fall back on a media career. Some days, when you cannot escape this incontinent imbecile, it’s as if he has already started. It makes you pine for the time when he refused to speak to the BBC, after the allegations of corruption made against him on Panorama. Allardyce threatened to “sue the BBC over the false and highly damaging allegations”, but the postal strikes affected him earlier than the rest of us, as the letter has still not been received three years later.

Sam’s constant media exposure brings to mind the old maxim, probably by Mark Twain, that, “it is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt”. Or to put it in terms that Fat Boy Dim would understand: keep your big gob shut.