On May 5, Tony Blair won a third straight term as British prime minister, a first for a member of the Labour party. Immediately, this was interpreted to be a loss — such are the peculiarities of the U.K. system. Also on May 5, Michael Gove was elected to the House of Commons. This is cause for conservative rejoicing — no matter where one lives. Gove is one of Britain’s best political writers, and one of conservatism’s best writers, and he promises to be a strong politician. Is it too early to talk about him as prime minister, given that he’s 37 years old and was elected to Parliament about two seconds ago? Yes, but a little such talk has already dribbled out.
In America, it would be unusual for a writer to be elected to the legislature, or to anything else. We’re not apt to see George Will, Michael Kinsley, or Shelby Steele on Capitol Hill anytime soon — unless they are instructing congressmen. In Britain, however, writing and politics have long gone together. Sheridan was in Parliament. So were Burke, Macaulay, and scads of others. British politicians always seem to be writing, especially about other politicians. Shortly before he died, Roy Jenkins, the Labour figure, wrote a biography of Churchill. William Hague, the former Conservative leader, recently wrote a biography of Pitt the Younger.
In Parliament now are a number of former journalists — and some not so former — belonging to both parties. The Labourites include Martin Linton, who worked for several papers, concluding with the Guardian in 1997; Siôn Simon, who is still an associate editor of The Spectator (a magazine generally conservative, but wildly diverse, sometimes to the point of schizophrenia); and Gordon Brown himself, touted to be the next prime minister — he worked for Scottish TV.
Among the Conservatives is Paul Goodman, whose journalistic career culminated in the position of “comment editor” — British for op-ed editor — at the Daily Telegraph. It’s hard to stop scribbling altogether, though: In his time as Member of Parliament for Wycombe, Goodman has published a piece on the plays of Tom Stoppard.
Most famous, and notorious, of the British writer-parliamentarians is Boris Johnson, another Conservative, who is editor of The Spectator, a columnist for the Daily Telegraph, a steady television presence, an author of books. (His latest is the novel Seventy-Two Virgins.) Hugely gifted, entertaining, and scandalous, Johnson has a mass following in Britain. There is a website devoted to him called BorisWatch. It has a blessing, “May Boris be with you,” and states, “Boris Johnson is, frankly, the mutt’s nads.” (Parse that, will you?)
Unsurprisingly, many people consider Johnson spread too thin, one of them being Michael Portillo, a former Tory big, and now a journalist (a political columnist and theater critic). (Incidentally, Michael Gove wrote a biography of him.) In the pages of the Sunday Times, Portillo wrote, “Johnson is talented at many things and cannot bear to sacrifice any of them.” They said the same about Leonard Bernstein. Johnson is no longer a frontbench Tory, however, having been remanded to the back bench last November. This followed “revelations about an extramarital affair,” as one newspaper put it. Approached by the press, Johnson said, “Bog off.” Shortly after, he wrote for himself, in a column headed, “Trust me, being sacked isn’t all bad.” It was typically sparkling — and hilarious — and ended, “My friends . . . there are no disasters, only opportunities. And, indeed, opportunities for fresh disasters.”
Michael Gove will largely abandon his journalistic career, confining himself to a weekly column, in the Times. (That would be almost a full career, for some.) He says, “Boris is an exception to every rule, a phenomenon. He’s riding more horses than most of us could manage.”
Gove is a fairly rare thing in British political life: a Reaganite, even more than he is a Thatcherite, because he is deeply interested in social policy, and moral issues. Gove is also called a “neoconservative,” which is not the pleasantest word in Britain. Indeed, he published an essay in a collection called Neoconservatism, edited by Irwin Stelzer, of America’s Weekly Standard. That essay is titled “The Very British Roots of Neoconservatism and Its Lessons for British Conservatives.”
The new parliamentarian was born in Scotland, the son of a fishmonger (as newspapers like to note). He went to Oxford, where he was elected president of the Oxford Union (as Boris Johnson had been before him).
His development as a thinker may ring familiar — it has its U.S. parallel. “As a schoolboy,” he says, “I thought I was a socialist, because the author who most influenced me was Orwell.” Never mind that “Orwell has admirers on all sides, of course.” Then the Falklands War occurred, when Gove was about 15. “This was a defining moment for Britain, and for me, in a way.” The country was supposed to be in decline, and “Mrs. Thatcher was attacking that,” and demonstrating universal principles as well: such as that “dictators must not impose themselves willy-nilly on people and decide their futures.” After the Falklands, “Britain didn’t need to apologize for itself anymore,” and “it didn’t need to cringe,” either.