Most of us are not subject to the demands made on TV news journalists such as Ros Atkins. They must, in just hours, familiarise themselves with a topic to which they have not necessarily paid attention until then. They must decide which information is reliable, vivid and important. They must then string these pearls in a logical sequence without gaps, non sequiturs or distractions. And they must deliver this information to camera convincingly, frequently in the face of unexpected glitches. Early in his career, which he chronicles disarmingly, missteps and all, the BBC’s analysis editor developed a technique to catch, sort, grade, clean, fillet, pack and deliver information. This book, The Art of Explanation, explains how he does it.
Many seven-steps-to and art-of books, however competently written and well meant, are not fully credible: the author often sounds dodgy (award-winning motivational speaker, etc) or is a compelling example of what not to do (Trump’s The Art of the Deal). Atkins has no such problem. Anyone who has watched one of his three-minute backgrounders on the BBC will have gone through the same stages of delight and disbelief as I have. Who is this guy? How, in the name of all that’s holy, does he pack so much info into so little time? Why do I feel he is talking to me alone? And where do I learn to make that microscopic pause before important words, just like he does?
I am sorry to report that this last question is not answered, but the others are. By the sound of it, Atkins has long been arguing that the space for facts inside people’s heads is not rent-free and must be earned second by second. Everything must either contribute to the push or be gone. He also believes, correctly, that every opportunity for communication demands our full attention and can be improved, streamlined and focused.
If you’re expecting shortcuts, you’ll be disappointed. Atkins’s dedication to his art is such that the book frequently feels like something Bruce Lee, with his thousands of one-hand, two-finger pushups on his balcony, would have endorsed. Atkins calls it assertive impartiality, a thorough presentation of the facts and their mutual links as if the listener were being briefed to make a decision, rather than passively expect one. Every step of this process is beautifully explained, with examples taken from his own experience.
Atkins is a natural writer, engagingly self-deprecating and generous with his admiration of exceptional colleagues. This is not a dry manual, and if he ever produces a memoir it will be worth reading. His account of how he fumbled a golden opportunity to work for the Independent by failing to answer a classic interview question “So what do you want to do for us?” clearly still hurts decades later, and he makes no secret of it. And I loved part where he credits Steely Dan for the idea that the final stage, after everything has been trimmed, tightened and smoothed, is to loosen the belt a notch and make it all sound relaxed. This relaxation prompted one colleague to ask how he managed to deliver a whole hour unscripted. The answer? “Every word was scripted.”
Now I am faced with the classic “gift of deodorant” problem: can I give this book to colleagues who need it without making enemies?
• The Art of Explanation by Ros Atkins is published by Headline (£14.99). To support the Guardian and the Observer buy a copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
