The Music Maker opinion
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The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines charisma as 'a special magnetic charm or appeal', while the boffins at Collins see it as an ability to 'attract, influence and inspire people' by means of personal qualities. I don't know what the Oxford English dictionary's opinion is because it's behind a pay wall but we can safely assume that it will be something in the same vein. I suspect, however, that there's a rather more prosaic explanation: charisma is, very often, simply a question of good manners.
Bill Clinton, generally recognised as a charismatic figure -even by his opponents - would, famously, make anyone he was speaking to feel like they were the most important person in the room. But surely, that's just good manners, isn't it? What's the alternative? Yawning profusely and glancing around the place for more interesting/useful people? Well, that's just bad manners. Consequently, a man who was a proven cheat and a liar is labelled 'charismatic' for simply doing what every seven-year-old is told to do by their parents - pay attention to who you're talking to.
The old adage 'empty vessels make the most noise' is borne out on a regular basis down at the pub where those indulging in mirthless braying are given short shrift by companions and strangers alike. Well-mannered people, by contrast, will draw others in like the child catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - first the lollipop of an 'Excuse me' or a 'Would you mind..?' Next thing you know their victims have fallen through the trap door of politeness and into their web of infinite charisma.
All of which brings me to my handyman village neighbour, Rafael, who is reforming an old, ruined house opposite mine. Often we'll stop to chat about the different jobs in hand and I'll nod sagely - wishing I constantly had a pencil behind my ear like he does - and not really understanding a single word he's saying because it's all about wall widths and nail guns and sandpaper textures and other stuff that turns my brain to strawberry blancmange. I like him though - he works hard and I always offer my undivided attention whenever he is speaking. Except for last week, that is.
He was in the throes of pointing out a technical detail about my weather-beaten window frames when I suddenly spotted some quite considerable damage to my newly painted white walls. This caused me to turn instantly on my heel and dash over for a closer inspection which was very rude indeed. Rafael was left, quite literally, talking to the wall. Bill Clinton would never have done that. I felt terrible and tried to muster some dignity from the wreckage by mumbling something about the mortise and tenon joints which I'd made a pig's ear of at school, but it was all to no avail - the damage was done. Rafael offered a cursory 'Hasta luego', picked up his sander like it was an AK47 (maybe that was just my imagination) and zipped back indoors to resume his labours.
Frankly, I don't think I'll be known as 'that charismatic bloke who lives by the church' down at the village bar any time soon.
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