Books - Dark Matter - Michelle Paver

Star rating - 9/10

If you are looking for a ghost story to warm these cold winter nights, then you need look no further than Michelle Paver’s excellent ‘Dark Matter’. Paver is better known for her children’s books, and this is her first foray into the world of adult spine chillers. And you really won’t want to put it down.

It is the story of a scientific expedition to the Arctic Circle in 1937 by a group of privileged young Oxbridge graduates, along with Jack Miller, who they take with them as the wireless operator of the trip. There are class tensions between the party- as you might guess from their exceedingly posh names such as Gus, Algernon and Teddy – and the middle class Jack. He has no family or friends of his own and is glad to leave his unsatisfying job as an office clerk to tag along on this boys’ own adventure, which has echoes of Captain Scott’s own ill fated enterprise. The story is told in the form of his journal, where he records his daily routines, thoughts, and eventually, his blackest fears about the malevolent force that he perceives and then confronts.

Their destination is the fictional Gruhuken, deep in Arctic Circle, which, despite the hostile environment and battle against the elements, was also the home mining prospectors in times past. It is a fantastically apt setting for a ghost story – with its harsh conditions; extreme weather; constant day then night for months on end; the spectacular Northern Lights; and the relics of animals and prospectors alike who have perished there. Paver vividly describes this inhospitable and bleak place, which the whalers on the boat that takes the men there, try to warn them against, but to no avail.

Gradually the others all fall by the wayside, leaving brave, or incredibly stupid depending on your point of view, Jack alone and isolated to carry on with the expedition’s aims. He is left there with his just his thoughts for weeks on end, which would be enough to drive anyone to the point of insanity – but he is not really alone, there is something evil and supernatural out there. Of course there is – it’s a ghost story...

Jack’s battles against the wild place he finds himself in, with only his husky dogs for company. It is touching that way that he comes to like, then depend on the dogs, – particularly Isaak, who comes to be his favourite, after his initial dislike of his canine companions. But it his relationship with Gus – the Adonis like leader of the expedition, who is fantastically good looking with his chiselled cheekbones and deep blue eyes, that is particularly fascinating. Jack does not acknowledge or explore his feelings in depth until after Gus has left the station, but the sexual tension and longing that he feels afterwards are sensitively explored.

In some ways his feelings for Gus battle for supremacy with his feelings, and horror of the ghost that haunts the place in which he finds himself so totally cut off from the world. Paver keeps the suspense and mystery going for just long enough to get you to the final pages of this gripping ghost story – perfect to curl up with and ignore the ice and snow outside.

Books - Orchid Blue by Eoin McNamee

Star rating – 8/10

The latest real life crime/fiction fusion from Eoin McNamee, ‘Orchid Blue’, is really a sequel to his excellent 2000 novel ‘The Blue Tango’, which was deservedly Booker long listed. In both McNamee takes famous criminal cases from the annals of 1950’s and 60’s Northern Ireland, and brings them to life in a wonderful yet disturbing way, and in the telling, brings a powerful social and political commentary into play.

The story starts with the brutal murder of a young girl, Pearl Gamble, who was on her way home from a local dance in Newry. Without much in the way of what we might call real investigation, the local police immediately point the finger at a local lad, Robert McGladdery. But McCrink, the detective who is assigned to the case having just returned from London with his tail between his legs, smells a very strong rat.

The link with ‘The Blue Tango’ starts to become clear with the judge who is assigned to try McGladdery. For Judge Curran is the same man whose own teenage daughter’s murder was the subject of this earlier book, and McNamee suggests here that the two cases are very much linked, not by having the same murderer, but by the thirst of Judge Curran to avenge his daughter’s death. He wants someone to pay for his pain, and McGladdery will do very well. And the death penalty was still legal in Northern Ireland at this time.

McNamee has a wonderful writing style, and he brings to life the characters, and also recreates the seedy, murky world of local police and politics in Northern Ireland at the time with great detail. You can almost smell the muddy field and septic tank he describes. He gives voice to working class youngsters who have no real life chances to speak of, in particular Robert McGladdery, who is portrayed as an enigmatic and enquiring person, but a victim of class and circumstance.

The book deserves all the plaudits that its predecessor gained. McNamee has a wonderful way of uniting truth with fiction, and giving us a window into the corruption and injustice at play. And it is also a great crime story, although not so much of a whodunit, and a who didn’t do it.

Books - Black Diamonds - Catherine Bailey

Star rating – 8/10

This is the fascinating true story of the fall of an aristocratic family who owned the largest stately home in the country – putting even Buckingham Palace to shame – but failed to resist the changing times and the ridiculous rules of male inheritance. It was published in 2007, but chimes perfectly with our new awakened interest in the English aristocracy courtesy of the smash hit (and very watchable) ITV series ‘Downton Abbey’.

In her first book, Catherine Bailey tells the fascinating tale of the Fitzwilliam family, and their family pile with its five miles of corridors, Wentworth House, in South Yorkshire, from the turn of the twentieth century. She uncovers some dark and murky secrets that the family went to great lengths to conceal, such as possible conspiracies to swap a baby at birth to secure a male child to inherit the earldom; to hide away any trace of perceived mental illness in the form of fits; to swindle each other out of their ‘rightful inheritance’; to disown their own for marrying beneath them; and obviously your common or garden affairs, even involving one of the Kennedy clan.

And it is a brilliant read, a page turning, keeping you up at night sort of a tale. But it is much more than the story of the Fitzwilliam family and their ultimate demise. It is a detailed account of the social and economic history of the period. Because the Fitzwilliam’s wealth came directly from the 120 coalmines that were on their estate, and from the miners who worked in these dirty and dangerous pits.

Bailey maintains that the Fitzwilliam family were loved and respected by the miners and their families, opening up the estate to them on a regular basis, and helping them through the hard days of the General Strike and coal strikes. She may be right – they may have been conscientious and paternal landowners. But her story brings the class conflict into sharp relief, and ultimately, it was the privatisation of the coal mines, not the internal family squabbles, that meant the end of the Fitzwilliam riches.

The details about the poverty and hardships of the miners are very well related, and the contrast between their lives and those of their lords and masters is brought into sharp relief by the visit of King George V. While he and the Queen were staying at Wentworth, there was a terrible tragedy in one of the Wentworth mines, where many miners and people who tried to rescue them were killed. But the royal couple soldiered on and tried not to let it spoil their visit, and didn’t even refer to the tragedy in the thank you letters they wrote to their hosts.

Wentworth House is still there today – home of an elderly recluse and not open to the public. How I would love to peek inside and imagine the goings on of yesteryear. I’ll just have to wait for the next series of Downton Abbey instead...

Theatre - Zack - Royal Exchange

Star rating – 7/10

For its Christmas offering this year, the Royal Exchange has chosen a quintessentially Northern comedy by Salford born Harold Brighouse. ‘Zack’ is set in the 1920’s, and is really a morality play about how being kind to other people, and a good hearted person will get you through in life, and will outweigh any minor personality flaws such as laziness, and a little too much liking for a good plate of food.

Zack lives with his mother and brother Paul. They have a failing joinery business, and marginally more successful catering business. Both come from the northern school of hard work, and telling it like it is, with little refinement. But they both also seek betterment, and think that they see it in the form of cousin Jenny and her family’s fortune, and seize their chance when she comes to stay with them to convalesce from an illness.

The title role of Zack is played by comedian Justin Moorhouse, a brave choice as he better known for his stand up than for his acting, save his performances in the TV series ‘Phoenix Nights’ and Ken Loach’s wonderful film ‘Looking for Eric’. And he is very good in the role, it has to be said, even though the inevitable romantic ending with his beautiful and glamorous cousin Jenny is a little hard to swallow in the believability department. And forgive the spoiler re the ending but believe me it is that obvious and well telegraphed anyway.

Brighouse’s play is very funny, even though the first half feels a little stronger and much funnier than the second. It is not his most famous play, that accolade possibly belonging to ‘Hobson’s Choice’, and has not been performed at the Royal Exchange since 1976. Director Greg Hersov does a fine job of entertaining the audience, but the storyline and humour do seem to fade a little towards the end.

But Moorhouse aside, there is some strong and hilarious acting, especially from Pearce Quigley as the cunning and devious brother Paul, and from Polly Hemmingway as Zack’s hard and unloving mother. It is not an Exchange classic, but it is very fitting Northern fare for the festive season.

Gigs - Belle and Sebastian - Manchester Apollo

Star rating – 9/10

At eight members in total, the stalwart Glaswegians Belle and Sebastian are enough to fill any stage on their own, but the crowd at the Apollo were treated not only to the band themselves, but to wonderful backing from the near 30 piece orchestra in the form of the London Contemporary Orchestra for their latest visit to the city.

Cards on the table – I hadn’t seen them live since around 1997 in Manchester Town Hall, which was an enjoyable but fairly restrained gig. So with eight albums under their belt, I wasn’t expecting fireworks, just a pleasant night of happy memories plus a few good new tunes. How wrong can you be? The soaring sound achieved by the ensemble was truly electric (with a few non electric instruments thrown in for good measure of course). And how Stuart Murdoch has grown in stature as a front man since then. He positively thrilled the crowd and projected an ease with both himself and the audience which was unexpected and very welcome. He handed out medals to selected audience dancers, and wandered into and over the seats of the audience playfully.

I know it is not trendy to like B&S – they are felt to be too whimsical to be taken seriously by many. But take the trouble to delve a little deeper, and there is a treasure trove to be appreciated there. From old favourites like ‘The Boy with the Arab Strap’; ‘Sleep the Clock Around’; and ‘Fox in the Snow’ (aptly dedicated to their friends braving the worst of the Scottish weather); to new tunes from their latest album ‘Write About Love’, they really never missed a beat.

Murdoch raised the seated crowd to their feet; got selected fans up on stage dancing (and when the Apollo bouncers seemed unsure of the mini stage rush , he reassured them with ‘It’s a Belle and Sebastian gig - nobody minds’)…and to be sure no-one did.

The songs, many of which Murdoch terms ‘pathetic defiance’, are about the anti fashionistas of the world; the ones that are not picked, not chosen; but pick themselves up and carry on regardless. The lyrics are wonderful, the melodies are soulful, and the tunes are stomping. The audience was a refreshing mix of die hard fans and new converts – and all were treated to a great mix of songs; to great fun, and to a great night.

Books - English Journey – by J.B. Priestley

Star rating – 8/10

I make no apology for reviewing a book first published in 1934 here. If you read my recent review of Owen Hatherley’s great polemic, ‘The New Ruins of Great Britain’, (and hopefully subsequently even the book itself), you may realise that it was through this recent work that I have come to Priestley’s much older travelogue and homage to the places and people of England. This is no mere historical dalliance on my part, it is still a very relevant book, from a man who clearly has great respect for the ordinary people he comes across on his travels, and who cares a great deal about our country, and what he felt was happening to it, as does Hatherley today.

Priestley is also a fantastic writer, with witty and pinpoint accurate observations of life in the towns and countryside in the England of 1933. He is in effect looking at how people were recovering from the years of the Depression, following the First World War. Many of his opinions are made all the more poignant by our knowledge that the Second World War was to begin just two years after he was writing, thus changing the shape of this landscape and its inhabitants radically again. As well as being a humorous journeyman, his travelogue is touching and very keenly observed.

His journey also begins in Southampton, with which Priestley is not very impressed, and feels is does not live up to the majestic ocean liners which come and go from its harbour. He is pleasantly surprised by the vocal civic pride of Bristol, which he feels ‘remains a city that was strong yesterday and still lively today, a city that is old, dignified, historic, and at the same time a bustling modern commercial centre.’ He ominously reports on a meeting of fascist black-shirts near the docks which he attends, out of curiosity rather than any sympathetic leanings.

In Coventry the descriptions of its historic buildings before they were mostly destroyed in the Blitz are both ironic and poignant: ‘I was surprised to find how much of the past, in soaring stone and carved wood, still remained in the city.’ and utterly relevant, especially his commentary on the amassed wealth of the banks, which could have been written today: ‘If you do not understand why our banks give so little interest on our loans to them and demand so much more interest on their loans to us, or why they are encouraged, for private profit, to exchange mere credit for solid buildings and machinery and businesses at work, you should go and have a look at these colossal white stone pillars of theirs in Coventry.’ We surely would if they were still there…

On his travels what he is most interested in is the working, domestic and cultural lives of the people he meets. He finds joy in conversing with commercial travellers, maids, miners, and booksellers. He was from Bradford, and his Northern roots are probably one of the main reasons for his genuine delight in, and admiration and respect for, the people in the great cities and small villages there alike. He is not particularly complementary about his home city itself, but accurately describes how its inhabitants loved nothing more than to escape to the beautiful surrounding moors and wild countryside on their doorstep at every available opportunity when they were released from their dark, and inevitably probably satanic, woollen mills. I know this to be true from my own grandparents and their friends who had static caravans and weekend boltholes in their rural West Yorkshire retreats, no matter how working class they were.

On my own home city of Stoke on Trent, he is harsh but fair. He is shocked at the lack of celebration of its cultural heritage in the shape of Arnold Bennett there. I dare say the youth of modern day Stoke would be just as ignorant of this rich literary inheritance as were their forebears in the 1930’s (‘Has he been on the X Factor then?...’). And Priestley was absolutely accurate in pointing to the city’s absence of any feeling of being one, made up as it is of six (not five as popular myth would have it) small and parochial towns. But he does try to turn his hand to making pottery, with mixed success, and is full of awe at the skills of the people who do this day in and day out, producing fancy wares for rich tables in their potbanks with billowing smoke that cast a dark all pervading smog over the whole place. Sadly the air is much cleaner there now with the demise of the pottery industry. And as someone who left Stoke for the bright lights of Manchester myself, I can hardly argue with his view that the people of the city are ‘unique in their remote, self-contained provincialism’. Sorry Stoke – on behalf of myself and I am sure Priestley too.

His journey to Manchester resulted in much more complementary observations about this magnificent city than the aforementioned Owen Hatherley makes, I am very glad to say. Priestley points to its foul weather (who could argue with that – except perhaps if arguing with a southerner?); its discerning theatre lovers (complement taken thanks); its fiercely independent women (no comment); and its zest for pleasure. In Blackburn he sees the ravages of unemployment at first hand, where he feels that the skills and self respect of decent working people are being flung on the scrapheap through worklessness, and the effects of this are particularly noticeable in the young adults he meets. How true then, and how heartbreakingly still true today.

He records for our posterity and future enlightenment perhaps, the misery in Jarrow and the coalfields of Durham alike, as shipyards close down, ironworks ground to a halt, and decent people endure backbreaking and dangerous conditions as a matter of course if they do have work.

But this is most of all a love story to the people and places of England that Priestley takes the trouble to explore on their own terms. It is not meant to be an expert book on economics, architecture or politics, although he is actually very wise on all these counts. One lesson that perhaps we can all take from Priestley’s example (particularly note this you southerners) is that you should always take the time and trouble to have a chat with the person next to you in the café, or on the bus or the train. And there is no nicer, or very often more amusing, way to spend a few idle moments than chewing the cud with your fellow travellers in life - you never know what you might learn from them.