Escaping by Misha Herwin
Mass shootings in the USA, stabbings on the streets of
London, the threat of Brexit, the overarching shadow of Trump, to say nothing
of famine, drought, authoritarian governments and a rising tide of refugees and
asylum seekers; there are times when the world seems such a fearful and
threatening place that you want to run and find somewhere safe to hide, or stay
in bed and pull the duvet over your head and pretend it’s nothing but a very
bad dream.
Or, if you’re a writer, you can move away into a world that you’ve constructed; a world where you are in control of events and characters; a world which is both familiar and therefore comforting, but also magical, exciting and full of possibilities.
As the news grows more and more gloomy, the nights
draw in and the days become colder, I find myself more and more engrossed in my
city of secrets. This is an alternative Bristol to the city where I grew up.
Something akin to Philip Pullman’s Oxford in his “Dark Materials” trilogy.
The streets of my city do exist, but in
the book they take on a more sinister quality. “The apothecary’s shop was in a crooked house on the Christmas Steps. A rusty bell tinkled as Letty pushed open the door and stepped into the musty dimness. The back wall was lined with small wooden drawers, their contents inscribed in gold, some in letters Letty did not recognise. A stuffed owl glared from the top of a bookshelf full of ancient leather-bound volumes. Another shelf held vials of coloured liquids; some were red as newly spilled blood, others blue as the veins on a corpse, or green as the grass growing over a cesspit. A single candle burned on the counter. The girl, who stood behind it, was tall and thin; her head almost brushing the bunches of herbs that hung from the beams. Her skin was yellow as wax and her eyes were pinpricks of black in her gaunt face.”
Then there is Tobacco Wharf, where the sailing
ships dock with their cargoes of sugar, rum and slaves. Now that part of the
city is full of shops, restaurants and riverside apartments.
The Landogandcrow where Letty, Jeb and Mango
eat their steak and kidney pies is just another Bristol pub, though a very
ancient one and the Theatre Royal, where Bella de Vere, the Bristol
Nightingale, sings for her devoted admirers has just undergone another re-vamp,
though again as the Bristol Old Vic it is one of the oldest theatres in the
country.
When I was a kid walking to the bus stop after
school though streets of Georgian terraces, I would make up stories about who lived
there and these have given rise to both “City of Secrets” and all the
subsequent adventures of Letty Parker, as well as my novel “House of Shadows.”
Were they an escape from reality, imagination
at play, or a way of keeping sane? Whichever they were, if I want a break from
the news, all I have to do is go up to my office and switch on the computer…
And “City of Secrets” HERE
And most other formats including Apple.
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