One day in the early 1990s, while covering the famine in Somalia for Reuters, Aidan Hartley found himself watching a television soundman who was on his knees, poking his furry microphone boom into the face of an old man lying stretched out on the earth. The man, whose eyes were closed, lay absolutely silent until, with a faint exhalation of breath, he died. The soundman waited a few seconds, switched off his microphone, clambered to his feet, and said briskly: ‘I’ve been wanting to do that. I’ve captured the sound of death on tape.’

Subscribe or Sign In to read the full article

Literary Review

Jul 2003

Categories

Caroline Moorehead

Roads to Somewhere

Faith and Hope in the United Nations

His Writing Was Love

Witnesses of the Persecution

To the Bitter End

Occupational Hazards

Justice Defined

Farewell to Arms

Glossed in Translation

‘Save Europe Now’

Both Sides of the Lens

Ravenous for her Roots

Waiting For Glory

Place of Terror

Life & Death in the Susa Valley

The Second Sex

Mayhem All Around

The Great Aid Caravan

Fire In the Blood

Against the Dying Light

Soldier, Soldier

Oncle Sam

A Fearful Freedom

The Garden Party