International best-selling author and British MP, Jeffery Archer was convicted for perjury on the morning of July 19, 2001. As prisoner FF8282, Archer spent three weeks in the infamous HMP Belmarsh. A high security prison in the south of London, Belmarsh is notorious as the most dangerous prison, home to hard-core criminals, high-profile terrorists and violent gangsters. During these three weeks Britain most-loved billionaire author maintained an hour-by-hour diary, documented with a certain brush of drama the goings-on on the insides of those barbed wires. With his usual flair, he rather unusually displayed a stern contempt for the British stiff upper lip and was frowned upon by many. Locked in a cell with a murderer and a drug baron carefully selected by Her Majesty, Archer displayed literally brilliance previously unseen from him, although not much of a feat in the world of literature as such. Surpassing his previous works, Archer managed to place himself in enough discomfort to give him a first-hand account of jail-time. While many debated this account was accurate, in my opinion it is the account of an outsider, one who has the option of privilege and the perks of freedom. While seemingly able to document the life inside a cell, Archer is incapable of ridding himself of the outside world. Occasionally slipping a wonderment, he seems also to be concerned with things that are possessions of the free. He paints a wonderful picture (paints being the operative word) of the concept of freedom inside the prison walls: the first rare ray of sunlight, the scarcely exchanged laughs, the companionship of the hopeless, the darkness of the night cell. ‘Doing time’ always inspires minds to do something constructive. Gandhi sat in his cell writing, and his followers read. Archer similarly attempts to learn the routines of a life unknown, as if learning a foreign tongue. As he frets about the mundane and the risky, he irritates the reader. But simultaneously also manages to provide a beautiful story of friendship in closed quarters, his encounters with rapists and crud murderers. Undoubtedly his best work yet, Archer..wait.. Prisoner FF8282 gets an unexpected favour from the authority he so despises. His jail time seems to have armed him with an expertise, which although resting much too heavily on journalistic virtue still manages to enthrall the reader. Almost bordering on the banal at quite a few places, Archer just stops short of truly accounting what happens. His favourite topic of discussion being himself, there is not enough space left for much else. Highly personal, Archer sits there as he writes about wishing to add a Botero to his art museum. Hardly an account of the hard-core. While losing due to the dramatic, Archer gains points for his honesty. He is not intimidated by Justice Potts and his fairly transparent about his loathsome feeling towards the fellow. Having done him a favour, Mr Potts should expect nothing but gratitude from Archer, for bringing out the writer in him. Or maybe not. Conclusively Picasso was right. Jeffrey has indeed surpassed himself.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
A prison Diary: Review
“They write better in prison”- Picasso
International best-selling author and British MP, Jeffery Archer was convicted for perjury on the morning of July 19, 2001. As prisoner FF8282, Archer spent three weeks in the infamous HMP Belmarsh. A high security prison in the south of London, Belmarsh is notorious as the most dangerous prison, home to hard-core criminals, high-profile terrorists and violent gangsters. During these three weeks Britain most-loved billionaire author maintained an hour-by-hour diary, documented with a certain brush of drama the goings-on on the insides of those barbed wires. With his usual flair, he rather unusually displayed a stern contempt for the British stiff upper lip and was frowned upon by many. Locked in a cell with a murderer and a drug baron carefully selected by Her Majesty, Archer displayed literally brilliance previously unseen from him, although not much of a feat in the world of literature as such. Surpassing his previous works, Archer managed to place himself in enough discomfort to give him a first-hand account of jail-time. While many debated this account was accurate, in my opinion it is the account of an outsider, one who has the option of privilege and the perks of freedom. While seemingly able to document the life inside a cell, Archer is incapable of ridding himself of the outside world. Occasionally slipping a wonderment, he seems also to be concerned with things that are possessions of the free. He paints a wonderful picture (paints being the operative word) of the concept of freedom inside the prison walls: the first rare ray of sunlight, the scarcely exchanged laughs, the companionship of the hopeless, the darkness of the night cell. ‘Doing time’ always inspires minds to do something constructive. Gandhi sat in his cell writing, and his followers read. Archer similarly attempts to learn the routines of a life unknown, as if learning a foreign tongue. As he frets about the mundane and the risky, he irritates the reader. But simultaneously also manages to provide a beautiful story of friendship in closed quarters, his encounters with rapists and crud murderers. Undoubtedly his best work yet, Archer..wait.. Prisoner FF8282 gets an unexpected favour from the authority he so despises. His jail time seems to have armed him with an expertise, which although resting much too heavily on journalistic virtue still manages to enthrall the reader. Almost bordering on the banal at quite a few places, Archer just stops short of truly accounting what happens. His favourite topic of discussion being himself, there is not enough space left for much else. Highly personal, Archer sits there as he writes about wishing to add a Botero to his art museum. Hardly an account of the hard-core. While losing due to the dramatic, Archer gains points for his honesty. He is not intimidated by Justice Potts and his fairly transparent about his loathsome feeling towards the fellow. Having done him a favour, Mr Potts should expect nothing but gratitude from Archer, for bringing out the writer in him. Or maybe not. Conclusively Picasso was right. Jeffrey has indeed surpassed himself.
International best-selling author and British MP, Jeffery Archer was convicted for perjury on the morning of July 19, 2001. As prisoner FF8282, Archer spent three weeks in the infamous HMP Belmarsh. A high security prison in the south of London, Belmarsh is notorious as the most dangerous prison, home to hard-core criminals, high-profile terrorists and violent gangsters. During these three weeks Britain most-loved billionaire author maintained an hour-by-hour diary, documented with a certain brush of drama the goings-on on the insides of those barbed wires. With his usual flair, he rather unusually displayed a stern contempt for the British stiff upper lip and was frowned upon by many. Locked in a cell with a murderer and a drug baron carefully selected by Her Majesty, Archer displayed literally brilliance previously unseen from him, although not much of a feat in the world of literature as such. Surpassing his previous works, Archer managed to place himself in enough discomfort to give him a first-hand account of jail-time. While many debated this account was accurate, in my opinion it is the account of an outsider, one who has the option of privilege and the perks of freedom. While seemingly able to document the life inside a cell, Archer is incapable of ridding himself of the outside world. Occasionally slipping a wonderment, he seems also to be concerned with things that are possessions of the free. He paints a wonderful picture (paints being the operative word) of the concept of freedom inside the prison walls: the first rare ray of sunlight, the scarcely exchanged laughs, the companionship of the hopeless, the darkness of the night cell. ‘Doing time’ always inspires minds to do something constructive. Gandhi sat in his cell writing, and his followers read. Archer similarly attempts to learn the routines of a life unknown, as if learning a foreign tongue. As he frets about the mundane and the risky, he irritates the reader. But simultaneously also manages to provide a beautiful story of friendship in closed quarters, his encounters with rapists and crud murderers. Undoubtedly his best work yet, Archer..wait.. Prisoner FF8282 gets an unexpected favour from the authority he so despises. His jail time seems to have armed him with an expertise, which although resting much too heavily on journalistic virtue still manages to enthrall the reader. Almost bordering on the banal at quite a few places, Archer just stops short of truly accounting what happens. His favourite topic of discussion being himself, there is not enough space left for much else. Highly personal, Archer sits there as he writes about wishing to add a Botero to his art museum. Hardly an account of the hard-core. While losing due to the dramatic, Archer gains points for his honesty. He is not intimidated by Justice Potts and his fairly transparent about his loathsome feeling towards the fellow. Having done him a favour, Mr Potts should expect nothing but gratitude from Archer, for bringing out the writer in him. Or maybe not. Conclusively Picasso was right. Jeffrey has indeed surpassed himself.
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