I've read all my Wisdens! (1977, 1982, 1994, 2003, 2006-2018). Strictly speaking, I didn't read everything. There are more than 1,500 pages in a typical Wisden. For each, I pretty much read all of the Comment, Review, England team, and selected sections (i.e., Surrey) from Domestic cricket - about 300-400 pages each time, adding up somewhere between 4,500 and 6,500 pages of cricket.
Overall, it was magnificent. It wasn't really what I was expecting at all. They aren't designed to be read in such a fashion, but it worked. On a standalone basis they were even better. Some articles were simply brilliant and though obviously the quality varies, it was usually excellent. It also inspired a re-joining of Surrey which turned out very well indeed.
Here some wider reflections:
Change. I'd rather imagined that the format stayed pretty much static. I knew that early Wisdens were fairly eclectic in their source material, but I thought the approach stabilised pretty early on. Turns out that's wrong. The order and content is constantly being tinkered with. New sections get added (and the whole idea of sections - absent in 1977). Slightly unexpectedly, the logic for this change seems always be with accessibility. All the various shifts seem to be to help the casual reader (though who the casual acquirer of a Wisden can be I have no idea). A more discerning man would identify the personalities of the editor here, and even I note that much of the innovation came from Scyld Berry, since when we have had a sleek consolidation under Laurence Booth, though this year's edition took the highly radical step of introducing a new section covering domestic Twenty20 leagues.
As a result, it is actually better now. The current order puts all the articles I want to read at the front - and there are a lot more of them than there used to be. In 1977, there were only a handful and they were mostly extended obituaries and retirement pieces. This constant changing also means that a lot of new bad ideas get ditched quickly. 2003's experiment with a literal drawing of key at the start of sections to tell you what was in them has fortunately been dispensed with. Likewise, the brief interlude (2000-2003) where the cricketers of year stopped being judged on performances in the English summer alone (so that Matthew Hayden and Shaun Pollock got recognition despite neither playing in England). Good innovation tends to stick around - the new writing competition is delightful - though not always. I rather liked the test team of the year, but it only lasted a couple of years. The most obvious shift is probably with regard to women's cricket. 2018 made three women cricketers of the year; in 2006, women's cricket was literally the last thing they covered.
In this, it parallels the changes in cricket itself. Reading a sequence really drives home the pace of change of that. This is easy to forget even having followed it closely at the time. Lots of aspects of cricket can seem unchanging (it's part of its appeal), but this really shows how untrue that is. In 2003, which I tend to see as being pretty recent, no-one understands the Duckworth-Lewis method and T20 is described as an experiment purely for laughs. The domestic scene still had three one day competitions. Some of the same players are still playing in 2018, but the ground has shifted.
Not that Wisden itself moves with such speed. As a publication, it is fundamentally retrospective. By its nature it is nostalgic. Each Almanack includes an extract from one a century ago, including in one the vignette about how many days were lost to the funeral of Edward VII. Reading it, I dread to think what will happen to the County Championship when our current monarch dies. Its writing, perhaps inevitably in articles of record, look back. Reading a succession of articles, this makes for a rather delightful experience, being transported back, not always predictably, to crickets past. In a section of those never made cricketers of the year, I stumbled on a wonderful appreciation of Jeff Thomson by Ian Chappell. Benaud's obituary in a later year was expected, but no less affecting. Retrospection is nowhere more evident in the discussion of statistics. Successive editors are highly invested in their role as custodians of stats and frequently the editor's notes contain extensive justification for the treatment of, inter alia, obscure matches involving W.G. Grace. The corrections section on more than one occasion referred to matches from the 1890s.
At times, this retrospection can tip into reaction. In fact, this happens a lot of the time, even with regard to statistics. New developments in the game are viewed with reflexive suspicion: in 2003, discussing the Duckworth-Lewis method, the editor noted 'Stats are one of the joys of cricket, but there is a place for them and it is not on the field'. Matthew Engel, as editor, frequently chuntered against various innovations even before the advent of T20. In recent years, editors have fulminated against the the failure of global governance, the decline of English participation and the destruction of traditional long form cricket for T20 and the 100 ball new abomination. They're not wrong, but I feel they may lack perspective.
Curiously, the Almanack is generally mediocre at perspective on recent activity. 2006 and 2012 are triumphant - in discussing the 2005 Ashes Wisden does not hesitate to talk about the 'greatest series'; a year later all is despair. Some of this isn't their fault of course, and some of England's performances have had a little of rollercoaster about them, but you would hope Wisden was better at recognizing it. Of course, the prediction game is difficult. For every accurate pick - Jos Buttler was schoolboy cricketer of the year in 2010 - there come ones which lack precision: in 2012, Steve Smith is mentioned for his bowling. This perspective problem is also visible in the narrowness of view in the obituaries section. Simultaneously focussing only on cricketing prowess, yet keen to be relevant, we find in 2014 an entry for Nelson Mandela which has to concentrate on his fleecing of the national team for money for a school and in 2017, Jo Cox's tragic death allows Wisden to remember her having attended some local games in he constituency. None reach the heights of Rupert Brooke's obituary, which only really talked of his 1906 schoolboy season, though at least he had one.
Finally, for me, it all highlights the difficulty of memory. There are moments of Proustian clarity when reading the reports of Test matches I have attended or followed closely. I can remember vividly following India's Laxman-led fightback against Australia in 2001 and its recollection in Wisden brought that flooding back. But there are plenty of occasions where I struggle to recall whether I was there, and only meticulous diary keeping has allowed me to cross-reference back to the actual dates. In some cases, my memories of matches are treacherous. Reading it, I could have sworn I was at the Oval for Sachin Tendulkar's final innings in the UK when he came tantalisingly close to the perfect end. My 'diary' - read: spreadsheet - confirms beyond doubt I was in Wales. As a result of this I did some checking of the c.25 days of test cricket I attended in this period. Some are completely obscure to me. Wisden brought others back. In both cases, I am very grateful I read them.
