A book review? Jesus, how old are you, Simon? Twelve?
Alright – I’ll come clean – I’ve been asked to review this book, and the publisher was lovely enough to send me a review copy, so I kinda feel obliged. But don’t let that fool you into thinking I’m going to be nice about it if I think it’s shit. If I think it’s shit I will not just say “I think it’s shit”, I will go into lurid detail about how it should never have been printed, the publishers are terrible people and the author should be put in prison for crimes against books. But that’s only if I think it’s shit.
And I don’t.
But hang on – let me stop there. You (poor misguided soul) may not know of David Shrigley. It’s not like I’m reviewing the new Dan Brown book (see previous paragraph for my likely reaction) – I’m reviewing the new David Shrigley book, and I suppose that requires a bit of explaining. Shrigley is, so they tell me, an artist – and this is an ‘art book’ – full of drawings, paintings, photos and sculptures. “Very highbrow”, I hear you sneer. Well maybe, maybe not. David Shrigley isn’t going to win any awards for his drawing technique, or have the critics praising the wonderful use of light and shade in his photos (I don’t know anything about photography, but I’m guessing at the sort of things critics would praise) – but he’s got something.
At first glance Shrigley’s ‘art’ is terrible. The drawings often look like they’ve been done by a special needs child with no eyes or hands, the paintings aren’t much better, and the captions are frequently misspelled, have corrections, or have been scribbled out altogether.
And you call this art?!
Whatever. Let’s not get bogged down in what’s art and what’s not – I haven’t got all year. The point is this – I have a new book full of drawings and paintings and stuff and it’s by a chap named David. That’s enough for now. Here’s one of the images from it:

You might be looking at that, scratching your head and saying “I don’t get it”, perhaps frowning and grumbling, “That’s not funny or clever. It’s rubbish”, or, as I did, sitting and grinning, chuckling, “HA! That’s good, that is!”. If you fall into the first category, there’s hope for you yet – read on. If you’re in the third category, you’re my kind of person (possibly semi-retarded, but that’s ok) – and if you’re in the second group you might as well give up reading this now. Sorry, but there’s really nothing for you here. Still – I hear the new Dan Brown book is good.
So that’s a taste of Shrigley. I’m not going to nick a load of stuff off his website and post it here – but I really DO suggest you go and check it out:
Back to the book, then…
When I heard that there was a new anthology of his work being released, I was a bit disappointed. It’s like when your favourite band releases a ‘Best Of…’, isn’t it? Largely pretty pointless. I’ve got all the albums and plus, all their best stuff is on b-sides and impossible-to-get-hold-of Japanese EPs, right? Yeah. Well that was how I felt about this book. There’s already a massive anthology of his stuff (called ‘The Book of Shrigley’, if you’re interested). What’s the point of another one?
That was until the moment the book came crashing through my letterbox, heavy with the weight of expectancy and laden with impending disappointment.* The moment I held the book in my hands it felt right. I love getting new books anyway – but this is a sturdy, bright yellow, hardback beast of a thing – with 350-odd pages full of drawings (often with added colour that wasn’t in previous editions), paintings, sculptures and photographs. All the good stuff’s there. (Well, most of it.**) And there’s a foreword by Will Self. Will Self! They weren’t kidding when the called it ‘The Essential…’, were they?
Many’s the time I’ve asked people, “Have you heard of David Shrigley?” only to then have to try to explain what he does. And it’s not easy. Especially because so much of his work makes me laugh. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to describe an amusing picture to somebody. You generally end up making it sound about as funny as a fatal road accident. So from now on, instead of trying to explain why a photograph like this is funny, disturbing and oddly touching, all at the same time, I’ll be getting ‘The Essential David Shrigley’ out and insisting that they flick through it.
*That’s not strictly true – the postman rang the doorbell and handed it to me, but that’s just not as poetic, is it?
**One of my favourite written pieces is missing – but that’s ok – it’s on his website, here.











