Julie Burchill: Unchosen: The Memoirs of a Philosemite
A WHILE back I (along with others) received an email from the divine goddess Julie Burchill. She was seeking my financial support for a book she wants to publish called Unchosen: The Memoirs of a Philosemite – about her adoration of the Jewish race. She had signed up to a crowd-funding publishing outfit called Unbound – if an author can find enough loot via backers (ie interested readers with cash) to sponsor their book, then they, too, will find themselves between covers.
Oh, but the snobbery! I remember the idiotic Jason Cowley, now editor of the New Statesman, sniffing about Citron being a ‘vanity publisher’ (even though it was nothing of the sort). The Jasons of the day decreed that author talent had to be determined by flaky souls in publishing offices – from whom bookish journalists took their cue, in their anxiety to be seen not in the wrong.
And now look. Famous authors everywhere are finding and funding new ways to sideline the redundant Snipcocks – who gives a fuck about vanity? Why Julie is not self-publishing Unchosen as a Kindle e-book I do not know. And how close is she to publishing Unchosen? She has 61% of the necessary funding as of today – I’m sure she’ll soon hit her target. The likes of Private Eye‘s Francis Wheen, Candida Lycett Green, Barbara Ellen and Paul Burston have made a contribution.
We’ll see if Madame Arcati feels so generous.
To watch Julie Burchill’s video for Unchosen, click here
One chapter is called Israel vs the Jews. We get it.
In the September of 2012, in a Times column very appropriately titled ‘Beta Male’, one Robert Crampton described a series of recurrent nightmares he had. All the usual stuff was there; zombies, nakedness, being on the run from the police for unspecified but heinous crimes. And at the end, this one: ‘Another scenario is that I choose to go everywhere wrapped in an enormous Israeli flag. I am aware that many people I come across are sniggering, and some others are downright hostile, and even my most ardently Zionist friends are embarrassed, and yet I insist on wearing the flag everywhere…’
This made me laugh. What a sap! As an alpha female, this is not my nightmare but rather my dream, and one I have to some extent lived. I have spent my life wrapping myself in the Jewish flag, sometimes metaphorically, sometimes literally. I open my handbag and half a dozen paper ones on toothpicks, fashioned for me by my friend and Modern Hebrew Language classmate Karl, fall out. I look up from writing and see two full-sized ones staring proudly back from my bookcases, framing the Torah. I look across the room and see it on the bunting which hangs around my permanent window shrine to that modern Jewish heroine Amy Winehouse. I look into my heart, and against its calcified black background I see the blue and the white.