The euphoria of a small, balding character is the image people recall most happily of England's 1966 World Cup triumph. But, as After The Ball proves, far from being the genial uncle of our collective memory, Nobby Stiles was just 24 on that historic day at Wembley, a vindictive and vicious onfield hard man at the summit of the game-and only five years away from a bitter slide out of the big time into penury. Naturally there's plenty of 1966 in Stiles' autobiography After The Ball-much of it charmingly candid about the small humanities behind the legend-and plenty too on Stiles' hugely successful Manchester United career, touched by the tragedy of the Munich air disaster. But the darker side of a life in football-whether it be the love-hate relationships Stiles enjoyed and endured with bosses Matt Busby and Alf Ramsey, or the bloody Anglo-Argentine feuds at club and national level-are unexpected highlights. As is the honest appraisal of how and why life after football went so wrong for Stiles. Skint, and slogging round the country in jobs on the fringes of the game, when he was once football royalty, Stiles is honest enough to express the bitterness, resentment and hopelessness he felt, never more so than when sacked by Alex Ferguson after it had seemed United had rescued its former star from the wilderness. Stiles' collaborator, award-winning sports writer James Lawton, may well have given the recollections some structure and polish, but there is a real sense of immediacy and relish in the telling of even the more familiar tales. No doubt Stiles' late-blooming career on the after-dinner speaking circuit has played the major part in the process of reviewing and refining the story of his life in football, with the result that the personal and the humorous drive the narrative to happy effect, but "After The Ball" is no "great times, great mates" sleepwalk. As a player, so as a man: Stiles has plenty of bite. -Alex Hankin.

Few political memoirs have caused quite the stir that Mo Mowlam's Momentum has, and it's not hard to see why. When most accounts of Cabinet ministers' time in office are so desperately anodyne (Margaret Thatcher's Cabinet were famously close-mouthed and unrevealing in their autobiographies-and all quickly sank without trace), Mowlam's book is a work of remarkable passion and frankness. And, more to the point, Mowlam pulls no punches about her turbulent time in Tony Blair's government. It's all here: the clashes, the whispering campaigns, and, yes, the commitment and enthusiasm that have won Mowlam so many admirers. It's a rare British politician who is as popular with the British public as Mo Mowlam. As Secretary of State for Northern Ireland in the first Labour parliament under Tony Blair, she advanced the peace process towards the Good Friday Agreement unlike few of her predecessors-until she was unceremoniously shifted to a low-key role in the Cabinet office, amid accusations (from Unionists and fellow ministers) that she'd become "too close" to Sinn Fein (Mowlam's blistering passages on these events make for riveting reading). Her personal demeanour always seemed the antithesis of the duplicity of most politicians (of both the Left and Right) and won her a reputation for unflinching honesty-a quality all too evident here (although it has to be said that many politicians-and not just the enemies identified in this book-have accused her of sour grapes, and have pointed out that the "Saint Mo" image is not the whole truth). But as Momentum makes clear, Mowlam is too clear-sighted a politician to see herself as a saint (her sense of the ridiculous would quickly torpedo such an idea), and while her attacks here on ex-colleagues whom she considered undermined her career are anger filled, they still retain a dispassionate quality that makes for more than simple score-settling. This is a book that may make uncomfortable reading for the government; for the rest of us, it's a wonderfully candid and revealing memoir. -Barry Forshaw.

That The Pythons by the Pythons is going to be an absolute treat is evident even from the book's blurb. The six men behind Monty Python's Flying Circus-the most influential of all British TV satires-are actually four Englishmen, one Welshman and an interloping American, and it's largely in the words of John Cleese, Eric Idle, Michael Palin, Graham Chapman, Terry Jones and Terry Gilliam that we're told about the fractious process through which one of the great glories of British TV and film came into being. Yes, Graham Chapman is here too, although sadly he died some years ago. The acerbic Chapman would have loved the frequent irreverent references to the fact that now he's dead. But nobody is spared in the hilarious introduction: its unsparing analyses of the post-Python careers of the participants would have most showbusiness types phoning their lawyers. But that's just one of the many joys in this chunky, arm-straining celebration of the glorious and surrealistic humour of the Monty Python team. Bob McCabe, the man who managed to corral the unruly members of the team here, has helped create this marvellous tome. It functions as a history of a well-loved comedy phenomenon, a biography of six extremely talented men and also a really eye-catching object: the book's design utilises the unmistakable animation style, created by Terry Gilliam, that was so much a part of the TV series and films. The iconoclastic attitude to the participants is perfect, but who would have accepted anything less from social critics as deadly as the Python team? In fact, the revelation here that they were often at each others' throats suggests that inter-Python conflict may have been the catalyst that produced their inimitable humour. The only problem with The Pythons by the Pythons is resisting the temptation to read it at a sitting. [+]