8/12

I was sad to learn last week of the death of David Pryce-Jones at the age of 89.   David was a fascinating man.  When you met him, you were immediately struck by an odd combination: his manners and style were British aristocratic, and this made the first impression.  The sense that swiftly followed, however, was one of a kind of steely moral authority that I at least don’t connect to people of that type, who usually like to affect a kind of light, amused attitude to people and human affairs.  I was struck by this unusual combination, and liked it a lot.  Later, when I learned more about David’s background, and the unique mix of Central European Jewish Haute Bourgeoisie and British (specifically Welsh) upper class from which he came, it made sense. 

I first saw David in I suppose 1989, when I attended a talk he gave to a Jewish audience in north London  about his book ‘The Closed Circle: an Interpretation of the Arabs.’  The book was remarkably prescient regarding the difficulties of making long-term, contractual peace in the Arab world, the important and largely ignored role of tribal and clan norms in Arab politics, and the implications these had for Israel’s position in the region and the prospects for historic compromise between Jews and Arabs.  The book was a characteristically brave venture, also, even back then. The audience, largely secular and liberal Jewish, was baffled I think by his argument, but few tried to take him on.  Those that did were met by that combination of exquisite manners and utter frankness and refusal to compromise on any point of principle which characterized David. 

I met him properly much later, when I was in the process of writing my first book, ‘The Transforming Fire.’  David was a friend of the late Barry Rubin, for whom I worked at the time.  Barry suggested I go to meet David when in London, to get some advice and see if he’d be amenable to writing a blurb.  I turned up at David’s elegant home in one of the best parts of central London.  In the course of the meeting, I committed two notable and ridiculous gaucheries.  The first was when I received my cup of tea-with-milk, with the teabag still in it.  As we were speaking, I, without thinking, picked out the teabag with my hands and began squeezing the last bits of strong tea from it into the cup.  I looked up to see David concealing a slight look of alarm.  The second, deeper embarrassment came when David asked me what kind of book I was writing.  ‘Well, it’s kind of along the lines of Arthur Koestler’s ‘Scum of the Earth’,’ I said, by which I was trying to say that it was a combination of reportage, personal memory and political analysis.’  I had forgotten that David Pryce-Jones had been a personal friend of the late Koestler.  He replied with a non-committal ‘Arthur did have a certain genius, you know…’  I managed tho barely to avoid being swallowed up by the earth.  But I think he was amused by me and wrote  a very nice blurb for the book. 

I met him a couple of times after that.  He would often stay at the Dan Tel Aviv hotel when in Israel.  The last time I saw him was in mid-2008.  It was shortly after the killing of the Hizballah military chief Imad Mughniyeh.  We agreed that to have taken part in an operation like that should be enough in itself to justify one’s presence on the earth, enabling a relaxed and pleasure seeking lifestyle thereafter.  I think he enjoyed the conversation.  I didn’t see him again but I carried on reading his work.  The Closed Circle and another work he wrote called ‘The Face of Defeat’ still have prominent places on the bookshelf next to my desk. 

David Pryce-Jones was a man very much of the twentieth century, born into and forged by the horrific events of the middle part of that century.  I read obituaries saying that he never fully resolved the contradictions of his background, but I don’t think that’s quite right.  He had resolved them into a unique blend, into which the best parts of both seem to have been combined.