Such a lover, that John Berger – the man who drew a cock and a cunt side by side in his novel G, which was about an Italian philanderer and daredevil aviator circa 1900. It was a book that featured the hero as Desire, amorous of risk and immediacy, less bidding for immortality than burning time through his senses. A sizzling intellectual performance on Berger’s part, even if the narrator was archly selfconscious, and could not stop himself from pinpointing ‘experience’ he claimed to be ‘indescribable’. Another reckless claim was: ‘Never again will a single story be told as though it were the only one’. As if G was a novel to possess all others.
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