A review of 'The Fourth Estate' by Jeffrey Archer
Note: The following review was originally published at Amazon.co.uk on 16th. September 2013.
Link to original review: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/customer-reviews/R1BEZBKYW30QNW?ref=pf_ov_at_pdctrvw_srp
'The Fourth Estate' left me exasperated. Jeffrey Archer has to be one of the most frustrating authors in that he misses countless opportunities to elevate a very average work into something worthwhile. 'Kane and Abel' is the model for the Archeresque 'power saga', and his best-recognised work, but unlike 'Kane and Abel', in 'The Fourth Estate' there is actually potential for a genuine story that might transcend the commercial formula. Unfortunately, Archer (or his editors) chose to maintain stylistic discipline, and so instead of a fascinating and exciting account of the roller-coaster lives of two media tycoons, we have the Reader's Digest version in which the reader has to endure every sentimental trope, distilled into something uncannily resembling a novel.
The earliest use of the term 'Fourth Estate' in regard to 'the press' was by the 18th. century philosopher Thomas Carlyle, in his book 'On Heroes, Hero Worship and the Heroic in History', in which he attributes the reference to a parliamentary speech by Edmund Burke, a quotation that also appears at the beginning of Archer's book. Carlyle's reference appears to be to the press, not necessarily its owners, whereas Archer's concern and sympathy here is firmly with the owners, i.e. the press barons. This is a book about two personalities, 'Keith Townsend', a scion of an Australian regional newspaper dynasty, and 'Richard Armstrong', born a Jewish Ruthenian peasant. The story covers a huge timespan as the men expand their respective media empires and try and outdo each other. Like the 'Kane' in 'Kane and Abel', the fortunate son - Townsend - provides the trajectory of the story, though - if anything - it is the self-made man, 'Armstrong', who becomes the pace-setter. As in 'Kane and Abel', the stories of the two men are interleaved in the text, though there are less coincidences than in 'Kane and Abel'. And just as in 'Kane and Abel', the self-made man is much the more interesting of the two. Though I didn't give into the temptation, I found myself wanting to skip the 'Townsend' sections so that I could find out what was going to happen next to 'Armstrong'.
'The Fourth Estate' is a blatant roman à clef relating to the lives of Robert Maxwell ('Armstrong') and Rupert Murdoch ('Townsend') and to mention that in a review gives little away that is not obvious from reading the first few pages. After reading the backcover blurb, I initially thought that this novel might indirectly be inspired in some way by the film 'Citizen Kane', given that the film is a power saga about newspaper and media ownership and an obvious cultural reference for fictional works on the press. But on reading Archer's book, I think I can safely say there is no creative relationship between the two works. In fact, I suspect Archer has never watched 'Citizen Kane'. Anyone who had would most probably not produce a work like this. The artistic movements that gave us the classic 1941 film were about the enlargement of the human spirit. In contrast, Archer's version of a Kane saga is a mean-spirited novel (if it might be called a novel at all) about two very unpleasant and unsympathetic characters. There is no character, depth, or pathos here. No generosity of spirit. No colour or sympathy. No life. This is Maxwell versus Murdoch for frequent flyers. The prose is archetypically Archeresque: compelling but flat and tiresomely sentimentalist.
The central problem is the airport novel/women's magazine formula adopted: in this case, a 'power saga' about 'worthy men' of capitalism. That latter turn-of-phrase - 'worthy men' - is not meant to imply that either of the two main characters is saintly, but in any religion (including the pagan religion of capitalism), a saint is not always or necessarily saintly. From a literary point-of-view, there's nothing wrong with this focus on power relationships, especially if the personal qualities of the main characters can be presented as ambiguous and in better hands this could have been fascinating material that conveyed the mystery of the human spirit. But through a formulaic lens, it's dull - albeit with a few interesting angles. Something very noticeable that runs through the entire novel is the way both men have a level of contempt of real journalists and newspapers. In fairness, the 'Murdoch' character does show some genuine feeling early on for the art of journalism and newspapers as an institution when he makes an earnest attempt to launch a national broadsheet, but that's a fleeting diversion and he soon reverts to type. For both men, the concern is money and the adrenaline buzz of deal-making, full stop. That does limit the potential of this novel a little. One finds it difficult to sympathise with or root for either man, but even within this stymied emotional framework, much more could have made by Archer of the two characters, given the extraordinary lives of their real-life equivalents. For instance, little is made of the links between the ersatz 'Maxwell' character and his dalliances in espionage or of the ethical conflicts facing the thrusting 'Murdoch' character. There are a hundred and one other possibilities. Not all of them can be made use of, but Archer's prose felt flighty and insubstantial and I came away with the feeling that he had been preoccupied with making this a lengthy book for the sake of it, in the mistaken belief that this somehow gives his work gravitas, when a shorter, more focused work might have resulted in a novel of greater depth and perception.
On the more positive side, there are some enjoyable highlights. My favourite character was 'Margaret Sherwood'. Her extended scene is hilarious and must have been inspired by something out of a P.G. Wodehouse novel. That flash of brilliance, though, is an exception. The two main characters are so unsympathetic that I found myself rooting for Mrs. Sherwood, an antagonist, and when that happens in a novel like this, something has definitely gone wrong. There is also plenty of Archer's pithy, deadpan humour and I enjoyed the way that Archer mimics newspaper headlines in the chapter headings, a trick that reminds me of James Joyce's 'Ulysses', a classic novel that had a few chapters concerning journalism.
Overall, I think there is a better writer in Archer, and I wish he would not rely on this type of derivative rubbish. That's not to say that all derivative writing is a bad thing. A lot of popular writing is worthwhile: Len Deighton, Tom Clancy, Michael Crichton, Stephen King, Jack Higgins, and hundreds more authors could be cited in defence of what Dumas called the 'vulgarisateur' tendency. These authors deserve rave reviews because, in the final analysis, whatever their vulgarity, they remain objectively good writers. Archer doesn't fall into that special category. He is more of a poor man's Edgar Wallace and not so much a writer as someone who tells lurid power sagas in a particularly vivid way. It serves a market, though I think those of us who want to spend our time constructively are entitled to complain about the derivative nature of it, if only to encourage and cajole the author into better writing. But whatever my own frustrations with Archer as a writer, I must also acknowledge that he is a multi-millionaire author who has given pleasure to millions of people. Witness the reviews on this site. That is success that most of the literary snobs cannot boast, and you've got to admire it. This success will continue for Archer, and if people like his novels, then...well...why not?
The earliest use of the term 'Fourth Estate' in regard to 'the press' was by the 18th. century philosopher Thomas Carlyle, in his book 'On Heroes, Hero Worship and the Heroic in History', in which he attributes the reference to a parliamentary speech by Edmund Burke, a quotation that also appears at the beginning of Archer's book. Carlyle's reference appears to be to the press, not necessarily its owners, whereas Archer's concern and sympathy here is firmly with the owners, i.e. the press barons. This is a book about two personalities, 'Keith Townsend', a scion of an Australian regional newspaper dynasty, and 'Richard Armstrong', born a Jewish Ruthenian peasant. The story covers a huge timespan as the men expand their respective media empires and try and outdo each other. Like the 'Kane' in 'Kane and Abel', the fortunate son - Townsend - provides the trajectory of the story, though - if anything - it is the self-made man, 'Armstrong', who becomes the pace-setter. As in 'Kane and Abel', the stories of the two men are interleaved in the text, though there are less coincidences than in 'Kane and Abel'. And just as in 'Kane and Abel', the self-made man is much the more interesting of the two. Though I didn't give into the temptation, I found myself wanting to skip the 'Townsend' sections so that I could find out what was going to happen next to 'Armstrong'.
'The Fourth Estate' is a blatant roman à clef relating to the lives of Robert Maxwell ('Armstrong') and Rupert Murdoch ('Townsend') and to mention that in a review gives little away that is not obvious from reading the first few pages. After reading the backcover blurb, I initially thought that this novel might indirectly be inspired in some way by the film 'Citizen Kane', given that the film is a power saga about newspaper and media ownership and an obvious cultural reference for fictional works on the press. But on reading Archer's book, I think I can safely say there is no creative relationship between the two works. In fact, I suspect Archer has never watched 'Citizen Kane'. Anyone who had would most probably not produce a work like this. The artistic movements that gave us the classic 1941 film were about the enlargement of the human spirit. In contrast, Archer's version of a Kane saga is a mean-spirited novel (if it might be called a novel at all) about two very unpleasant and unsympathetic characters. There is no character, depth, or pathos here. No generosity of spirit. No colour or sympathy. No life. This is Maxwell versus Murdoch for frequent flyers. The prose is archetypically Archeresque: compelling but flat and tiresomely sentimentalist.
The central problem is the airport novel/women's magazine formula adopted: in this case, a 'power saga' about 'worthy men' of capitalism. That latter turn-of-phrase - 'worthy men' - is not meant to imply that either of the two main characters is saintly, but in any religion (including the pagan religion of capitalism), a saint is not always or necessarily saintly. From a literary point-of-view, there's nothing wrong with this focus on power relationships, especially if the personal qualities of the main characters can be presented as ambiguous and in better hands this could have been fascinating material that conveyed the mystery of the human spirit. But through a formulaic lens, it's dull - albeit with a few interesting angles. Something very noticeable that runs through the entire novel is the way both men have a level of contempt of real journalists and newspapers. In fairness, the 'Murdoch' character does show some genuine feeling early on for the art of journalism and newspapers as an institution when he makes an earnest attempt to launch a national broadsheet, but that's a fleeting diversion and he soon reverts to type. For both men, the concern is money and the adrenaline buzz of deal-making, full stop. That does limit the potential of this novel a little. One finds it difficult to sympathise with or root for either man, but even within this stymied emotional framework, much more could have made by Archer of the two characters, given the extraordinary lives of their real-life equivalents. For instance, little is made of the links between the ersatz 'Maxwell' character and his dalliances in espionage or of the ethical conflicts facing the thrusting 'Murdoch' character. There are a hundred and one other possibilities. Not all of them can be made use of, but Archer's prose felt flighty and insubstantial and I came away with the feeling that he had been preoccupied with making this a lengthy book for the sake of it, in the mistaken belief that this somehow gives his work gravitas, when a shorter, more focused work might have resulted in a novel of greater depth and perception.
On the more positive side, there are some enjoyable highlights. My favourite character was 'Margaret Sherwood'. Her extended scene is hilarious and must have been inspired by something out of a P.G. Wodehouse novel. That flash of brilliance, though, is an exception. The two main characters are so unsympathetic that I found myself rooting for Mrs. Sherwood, an antagonist, and when that happens in a novel like this, something has definitely gone wrong. There is also plenty of Archer's pithy, deadpan humour and I enjoyed the way that Archer mimics newspaper headlines in the chapter headings, a trick that reminds me of James Joyce's 'Ulysses', a classic novel that had a few chapters concerning journalism.
Overall, I think there is a better writer in Archer, and I wish he would not rely on this type of derivative rubbish. That's not to say that all derivative writing is a bad thing. A lot of popular writing is worthwhile: Len Deighton, Tom Clancy, Michael Crichton, Stephen King, Jack Higgins, and hundreds more authors could be cited in defence of what Dumas called the 'vulgarisateur' tendency. These authors deserve rave reviews because, in the final analysis, whatever their vulgarity, they remain objectively good writers. Archer doesn't fall into that special category. He is more of a poor man's Edgar Wallace and not so much a writer as someone who tells lurid power sagas in a particularly vivid way. It serves a market, though I think those of us who want to spend our time constructively are entitled to complain about the derivative nature of it, if only to encourage and cajole the author into better writing. But whatever my own frustrations with Archer as a writer, I must also acknowledge that he is a multi-millionaire author who has given pleasure to millions of people. Witness the reviews on this site. That is success that most of the literary snobs cannot boast, and you've got to admire it. This success will continue for Archer, and if people like his novels, then...well...why not?
