Jeremy Paxman, scourge of politicians, has written a book about monarchy - which is appropriate for a man with a certain imperial aura, writes Donald Clarke.
Jeremy Paxman, the Torquemada of Newsnight, has just published a lucid, witty book titled On Royalty. Within its pages he finds space to muse on the complex reactions of the British when they are introduced to their queen. Having been exposed to images of Elizabeth II since birth - stamps, coins, that stultifying Christmas broadcast - her majesty's subjects can, understandably enough, find themselves discombobulated when set before the living, breathing woman.
Paxman is not quite royalty, but, as an inescapable presence on British television for 20 years, he inevitably has a certain imperial aura. The greying journalist, now 56, has even seen his name turned into an adjective. Sadly for the current queen, whose ancestors defined their eras more forcefully, few commentators use the adjective "Elizabethan" when discussing the current age. But any aggressive political interviewer is likely to see himself cast as "Paxmanesque".
"I came to British domestic politics, in which I did not have a great deal of interest, after several years travelling around the world as a journalist," Paxman says. "And I applied the same anthropological approach I did to those travels when interviewing. I am genuinely baffled when people refuse to answer the question. I think if you ask a question you owe it to the audience to get an answer."
The sense of unreality that surrounds one when interviewing Paxman is, of course, exacerbated by the awareness that some eerie reversal seems to have taken place. I've got the questions and the tape recorder and he's the one squirming in the hot seat (I hope). Let's see how you like it, Jeremy. How did Paxman's posh media friends react to the news, revealed in the final chapters of On Royalty, that he had, after initial scepticism, come to accept that a constitutional monarchy might be the least bad way of governing the United Kingdom? "Well, yes, republicanism is the default setting of many people who have been through tertiary education," he says. "A lot of people said: 'You can't really think that!' And that reflected my initial prejudice too. I don't know how you behave, but I am with John Maynard Keynes when he said if the facts don't fit your prejudice it is time to change your prejudice."
Paxman goes on to admit that, in his view, no sensible person would, if starting anew, design the British constitution as it currently exists. "You would probably do what Ireland did and have an elected head of state." But, he feels, abolishing the largely benign (and, still, reasonably popular) institution of the monarchy might do more damage than good. All interesting stuff. Should, however, the presenter of a BBC news programme be expressing views on the constitution? Surely he is expected to act as a kind of political eunuch: present and watchful but not actively engaged. "I suppose some people might say so," he says. "But if you embark on a journalistic inquiry you can't resign from the responsibility of stating what your conclusions are. I just have to live with that."
Jon Snow, who presents Channel 4 News, once said of Paxman: "I don't think he has a particular allegiance to any political philosophy, and that releases him from baggage." The novelist Robert Harris, a close friend of Paxman's, put the point more forcefully. "I think his view is pretty much: 'A plague on all their houses.' " "Yes, I am afraid that's true. That is the position of most of the citizenry, I think," Paxman says. "It would be unforgivable to use the role I have, such as it is, to inflict my incoherent, half-baked view of the world on people. That would be illegitimate and unacceptable, and I should be fired."
There are two things worth noting about Paxman's approach to being interviewed. Firstly, he is prepared to admit when he is unable or unwilling to answer a question. Secondly, and most significantly, he does not complain when you interrupt him and redirect his responses back towards the original inquiry. Whether by accident or design, his attitude deflects any potential accusations of hypocrisy. Paxman the inquisitor would find Paxman the interviewee no challenge.
On this side of the Irish Sea we are tempted to attribute his English sangfroid to an establishment upbringing. Paxman was once, it is true, blackballed from the Garrick Club, hangout of bow-tied columnists, for, some said, a lack of respect for his supposed betters. And, yes, he comes from new rather than old money. But, as an alumnus of a public school (Malvern) and an ancient university (Cambridge, where he studied at St Catharine's College), he must accept that he had a privileged start in life.
What did his father, a factory manager who served on the north Atlantic convoys during the war, make of young Jeremy's decision to move into journalism? It's not quite a respectable profession, is it? "I don't know what my parents would have wished," he muses. "We didn't know any lawyers or doctors. It was not that kind of world. I was the first generation to go through that slightly more privileged system. So I had no real Pole Star by which to navigate career choices. I applied for loads of jobs in my last year at Cambridge and was turned down for every single one, including every single journalistic training course."
Eventually, in the late 1970s, he secured a job at the BBC and was promptly sent to Northern Ireland. He admits to being scared from time to time during those difficult years, but, adopting his trademark sneer, pours scorn on journalists who enjoy trading adventure stories from war zones. "There were people living there who had no choice but to endure the violence. We chose to go there."
His best anecdote, by contrast, involves approaching Ian Paisley for an interview when he - that's Paxman, not Paisley, you understand - was roaring drunk. (Come to think of it, that still sounds like a pretty perilous endeavour.) In 1989, after stints on the BBC's 6pm news and Breakfast Time, he wound up at Newsnight, BBC2's late-night current-affairs programme.
Since then Paxman has cemented his reputation as the most unforgiving of interviewers. He famously asked Tony Blair if he and George Bush prayed together. Having inquired if Norman Lamont, then an embattled chancellor of the exchequer, enjoyed his job, he followed up by asking: "Will you miss it?" Even on University Challenge, the student quiz show he has presented since 1994, he can be observed scowling at contestants he deems insufficiently versed in Beowulf or quantum mechanics.
There is no doubt that he can extract impressive amounts of information from reluctant public servants. But, as time has gone on, many commentators have suggested that interviewers such as Paxman and John Humphrys, of the Today programme on BBC Radio 4, have transformed political interviewing into a grisly contact sport. Newsnight viewers are, perhaps, tuning in to see the fur fly rather than learn about the issue under discussion.
"Do I understand that criticism? Well, I have heard it, of course, but I don't agree with it," Paxman says. "If I thought that's what it was all about I wouldn't do it. I am sure if sufficient people take that view then I will be sacked and replaced with somebody more emollient. Look, it is incredibly frustrating sitting there when they won't answer the question. You must be true to yourself. I can't become too preoccupied with those criticisms."
Take the time when he asked Michael Howard, then appearing as a recently defenestrated home secretary, the same question 14 times. It was very good television, but, surely, there was never a serious possibility that Howard might answer.
"I don't know why he didn't just answer the question or say: 'I can't answer that right now; I will get back to you,' " he says. "But the interviews I do regret are the ones where I don't give somebody a rigorous enough examination. The ones I regret are where I feel I have let somebody off without pushing them hard enough."
Another accusation is that Paxman, who lives in Oxfordshire with his wife and their three children, is prone to adopting an overly aghast or outraged persona for viewers' benefit. When he curls his lip and casts his eyes to heaven at some piece of political baloney, he is surely acting up somewhat for the cameras. Certainly in person he refrains from theatrical grimaces. "I assure you it is not feigned. The other night with Alan Duncan, the Tory trade and industry spokesman, I began to think: How much longer do I have to listen to this garbage? And I put my head in my hands. He looked across and asked if I was praying."
Paxman's resoluteness on Newsnight was set into relief by his appearance earlier this year on Who Do You Think You Are?, the BBC's genealogy show. Moved by the poverty of his ancestors, Paxman was seen to shed a tear. The response in the media was so energetic you could be forgiven for thinking that Mr Spock has been caught blubbing.
"I remember looking at the producer when it happened and saying: 'You cynical bastard. That is the bit you will use.' To be fair, they dealt with it in a kind way. Then the BBC press department got hold of it. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised what happened then."
What's puzzling is that so many people were so surprised to see Paxman show emotion. Bill Oddie was allowed to reveal his sensitive side on the show. So was Barbara Windsor. But Paxman seems inextricably cast in the tough-guy role. "Yes, and tough guys don't cry. Well, you know, we all cry. We are all human beings." Don't let Michael Howard find out.
On Royalty is published by Viking, £20 in UK