John Calder is Britain’s most distinguished living publisher, and at the age of 86 he’s still at it. He first set up in business in 1949 and went on to publish 18 Nobel Prize winners, as well as classics and works on music. Why doesn’t he received a knighthood? Perhaps because his distinction lies chiefly in his role as champion of the avant garde.
At a time when the heights of literary achievement are said to be the kitsch historical novels of Hilary Mantel, it is salutary to be reminded of a period not long ago when literature was a vital part of the contemporary world, replete with glittering transgressive texts which explored areas previously forbidden or unknown. It was an audacious era, superbly recaptured in Calder’s book, whose core lies in the Paris of the 1950s and whose point of departure is the memoirs of Maurice Girodias, a notorious character, here largely redeemed.
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