The Playdate, Louise Millar

Using a split narrative The Playdate tells the story of three neighbours – Callie, Suzy, and Debs. Callie is a single mum, desperate to get back to work and rediscover herself, Suzy is a stay-at-home mum with a distant, secretive husband. Debs is new to their North London street and is wracked with anxiety and seeming distaste for others. Knowing that the premise of the book is trusting people to look after your child and that trust being abused makes the reader second guess Callie's relationship with Suzy from the off. Debs is built up in such a way as to seem she shouldn’t be left with children but there’s always a nagging doubt that this could be too obvious. When it becomes clear that Suzy is desperate for a girl of her own and that her husband Jez is unlikely to provide her with one, suspicion grows.

From the start Callie gives the impression of guilt, of needing to tell Suzy something. This is a common occurrence throughout as all three make it clear they have a secret. To me this felt a little over-done and by the time all was revealed I did not find myself to be particularly interested. There are attempts to give the protagonists complex characters, but they seem a little flat. Debs probably has the most engaging story and the most convincingly constructed psychology. I found the revelation of her backstory the most affecting.

Callie does not make for a likeable centre for the story. Her desire to separate herself from Suzy, but only at her own convenience, is selfish, as is her short-sightedness when it comes to awareness of her friend’s needs. Her character is most interesting when raising issues of guilt in relation to obligations to her daughter Rae. She struggles with conflicted feelings about going back to work. Working increases her sense of self-worth but trying to juggle motherhood and a working life raises a number of practical and emotional issues – this I’m sure is a dilemma many could relate to.

Suzy’s story allows the reader to feel for her most in Jez’s rejection of her and her loneliness. Her longing for her home country is also sensitively portrayed and adds depth to her character. Generally however her characterization feels a little exaggerated and although she does elicit some sympathy she does not prove to be a particularly memorable character.

The Playdate is an easy read and touches on some interesting topics. There is a certain sense of the naivety of a first novel and somewhat too obvious attempts to build suspense which fall somewhat flat. The novel would benefit from more trust in the reader to pick up on subtleties. However, the sense of place is well conceived and there are some nicely written passages. Overall a decent debut for an author with obvious potential. 

Portmeirion

Portmeirion , a small coastal village in North Wales, is the brain child of architect Sir Clough Williams-Ellis. His desire was to create a village where the architecture and landscape were at one with each other, and he spent fifty years in the mid-twentieth century carefully crafting just such a place. On arrival it feels a little like you are in a life-sized model village, a somewhat surreal experience,  but I defy anyone not to be won over by the unique charm of it.  The Italianate stylings of the buildings and the bright colours are a contrast to what you might expect to find in Wales, and if you are lucky enough to visit on a sunny day it is not hard to imagine yourself transported to the Italian Riviera. The buildings were constructed at different times, and indeed some were merely transported from other towns, but Williams-Ellis ensured that the unity of the village was upheld. Wandering around Portmeirion you can see its designer all around you and feel a sense of contentment at the realization of his dream.

It is a tourist village with many taking advantage of the opportunity to stay in this tranquil haven, but day visitors are made welcome. Beyond the village centre there are beautiful coastal and woodland walks to enjoy. Visiting at the end of winter meant flowers were beginning to bud, creating a delightful contrast to the sparseness of many of the trees still bare from the winter.

Portmeirion is one of the most calming, peaceful places I’ve visited and I would quite happily have stayed much longer. Whether it would have been quite so pleasing on a darker day I do not know, but if you’re lucky with the weather this seems to me the perfect relaxation location.

Polar Bears, Mark Haddon

Polar Bears by Mark Haddon premiered at the Donmar Warehouse, London on 1^st April 2010 to underwhelming reviews. Sadly, it completely passed me by at the time but at least there is the option of reading the script, and what a read it is. The play starts with a confession of manslaughter and the narrative continues out of chronology to delve deeper into the psychologies of the characters.

The story centres around Kay, a sufferer of bi-polar disorder, and her sedate, some may say boring, philosopher partner John. She is not, however, the only character struggling. Her father committed suicide and neither her mother nor her brother Sandy, who discovered the body, have fully recovered from the trauma. There is a particularly disturbing scene in which Sandy and Kay are younger, with him forcing her to recite the suicide note with a noose around her neck. Their mother seems unable to move forward with her life and warns prospective partners off Kay, potentially a defensive strategy to protect against loneliness and maintain control of her offspring.

We see the pressures Kay has had to contend with that would have shaped her personality as well as getting a glimpse of the confusion and fear that her illness causes. The focus on the resultant relationships with those closest to her is interesting and complex. Her brother Sandy is unsympathetic to her suffering, seeing the illness as an excuse, a way of blaming others for her failings. John tries his best to understand and be patient, attempting to gain a clearer sense of what Kay is going through by talking with her incredibly unhelpful family who remain closed. His struggles with this continue throughout.

Many reviewers of the play have bemoaned the lack of relief from the dark, that the story is just too confronting. Personally, I devoured it with great eagerness - there are moments of humour within the intensity of the bulk of the play. The characters are well drawn and their development is cleverly constructed. It would be interesting to see the piece performed but for now reading more than suffices. I don’t usually read plays but was very glad I made the exception for this insightful work. 

Conwy Castle

The formidable Conwy castle dominates the skyline of this small Welsh town, the medieval walls, still largely intact, snaking around its border. The castle and walls were built in the same major feat of construction by Edward I during his conquest of Wales in the late thirteenth century.

There’s a remarkable amount of castle left considering the wars it has witnessed, being the site of several revolts between the thirteenth and fifteenth century, and continuing to be a stronghold in many conflicts beyond. It was damaged by the Parliamentarians after they took control in 1646 in the hopes that it would prevent use during future wars. Further damage was inflicted in 1665 when it was stripped for its valuable materials. With its eight towers and heavy defences it is clear the structure would have been an intimidating prospect for invaders. Most terrifying of all, for me at least, is the twelve-foot deep prison – a dungeon with no way out and no easy way down. Staring down into its dank darkness conjures images of the unfortunates who fell out of favour, flung down remorselessly to rot with the remains of previous inmates, a harrowing thought.

Thankfully, even disobedient modern visitors do not face such a fate, and can enjoy the atmosphere of this impressive piece of history. The views from the towers are worth the climb, although you may feel a little queasy if you’re not a fan of heights. The history of Conwy castle is palpable as you explore the ruins of this great fortress and is bound to ignite interest. Well worth a visit.

We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Shirley Jackson

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The opening of We Have Always Lived in the Castle is an exquisite piece of writing. It starts simply enough – we are introduced to the protagonist, Mary Katherine Blackwood, ‘Merricat’, and she is doing nothing more complex than going to the local shop. In her introduction however, she breezily passes on snippets of concerning information – her obsession with magic and knowledge of poisonous plants, and the fact that the majority of her family are dead. Although we have just been told she is eighteen, the games she plays in her head make her seem far more child-like, an unsettling juxtaposition with her more violent imaginings.

The trip to town is claustrophobic, her tension and discomfort palpable. It is so masterfully constructed that months later my stomach still knots with unease at the thought of it. Even at this early stage there are hints that although her family may not be popular, her anxiety may be a result of paranoid constructions of her mind rather than genuine ostracisation by neighbours. Certainly as the novel progresses we see how desperately she does not want others entering their home, upsetting the balance.

Home life for Merricat is certainly an unhealthy mix of anxiety and forced normality. Living with her sister Constance, accused and acquitted of the murder of the rest of their family, and their Uncle Julian, wheelchair bound as a result of the events that ended the lives of the others, they rarely leave the house and are almost entirely isolated from interaction with outsiders. The relationships are strange – Merricat’s desire to protect Constance from judgment is laced with a sense of wanting to control her, of not letting anyone separate them. Julian is obsessed with remembering what happened the night of the murders but talks about it almost in jest. He believes, however, that Merricat is dead and she is not allowed in his room, or to do many tasks around the house.

This seething bed of distrust and claustrophobia chips away at their mental states despite obvious attempts to continue as if all is well. When their cousin Charles arrives and becomes closer to Constance we see Merricat flailing in desperation as she tries to protect her family and the strange cocoon in which they live. Events culminate in a dramatic night and as the dust settles a distorted ‘happy ending’ is reached.

The novel is dark and mysterious, creating an atmosphere that is deeply unsettling. There is an element of magic with Merricat’s attempts to ward off evil and her interactions with her cat Jonas, who is reminiscent of a witch’s familiar. After such an intense, psychologically interesting read I found the final section somewhat lacking. Nonetheless, this is definitely one to read for fans of the Gothic, psychology, mystery, horror, indeed, anyone who enjoys good quality reading.

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Grace and Mary, Melvin Bragg

Bragg’s Grace and Mary is a touching portrayal of a son desperately holding on to his mother as Alzheimer’s takes away her memories and sense of self. The ageing John makes the long drive from London to Cumbria as regularly as he can but always with a sense of guilt that he is not there more often. His visits are clearly painful to him as he ponders the impact of the loss of personal history. His love for his mother, however, is unceasingly apparent as he attempts to recreate her memories of the past.

In her distress Mary calls out for Grace, her mother. Initially this feels a statement of longing for parental comfort that never leaves us, a desire for the innocence of times past. As the novel progresses, however, and the story of Grace is revealed to us by John, we come to realise that perhaps it is a distress at a life unlived, now forever out of reach.

Grace’s story is a sad one from the moment of her birth, her mother not surviving the ordeal. She grows in to a beautiful, intelligent, strong-willed young woman but is faced with numerous tragedies. The past is clearly evoked in the descriptions of her experiences and the frustrations of a judgemental society. John’s narrative is so detailed, so evocative, that the reader forgets that we have an unreliable narrator. He is reconstructing the past from tales his mother told him, fabricating where necessary.

He questions Mary, attempting to nudge her memories, to bring her back to herself. At some moments he is successful, at others he pushes too hard. Although clearly painful for him, when asked about his father, deceased over a decade previous, he constructs an account of his day as though he were no further than down the road, at their home. John delights in the effect this has on his mother and allows himself to indulge in the fantasy.

A touching novel that deals with very real issues. The distress of coping with losing a loved one to Alzheimers is accompanied by the pressing struggle of an ageing society to support its elders. John’s grief and guilt are very relatable and the palpable love he has for his mother makes this an emotional read.

The Crime Museum Uncovered, Museum of London

The Metropolitan Police crime museum was founded in the mid-1870s, the objects coming mainly from unclaimed items at the Prisoners’ Property Store. Until now it has not been open to the general public. Predominantly for the training of new officers, the visitors’ book reveals journalists and writers such as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle have also mined its treasures. Bizarrely so have a previous Australian cricket team.

The first few rooms set the tone of the exhibition – death masks surround the room, nooses line one wall. Prepare yourself for a dark exhibition. The rooms will likely be bustling with other visitors. The museum seems to have pre-empted its popularity and have created a guide for the first few rooms, making it unnecessary to have lengthy labels next to the objects. Unfortunately, this fails to keep the traffic moving as people try and work out what text relates to the item, or for those who didn’t pick up a guide confusion ensues.

The penultimate room, largest of them all, has a long series of tales recounting murders through the decades and the innovations in policing that led to their resolution. Personally, I found it a bit much reading one after another of these grisly tales. ‘Light’ relief comes in the form of cabinets of murder weapons, both obvious and disguised and a discussion of police procedure, including identification techniques – earprints as opposed fingerprints was a new one to me! There is also consideration of how crime itself has changed, how the major threat is now terrorism, and how policing must continue to push forward if it is to stand a chance against the constant evolution of crime.

Feeling thoroughly depressed and wondering why it is that people are so fascinated by crime, the final room’s discussion of just such a question was timely. A curator from the museum argues that just because it is uncomfortable doesn’t mean it should be forgotten. Professor Leif Wenar claims the fascination goes beyond mere desire for high drama but that it sets out the rules we all have to live by. The final video was valuable in setting the exhibition and its importance in a wider context.

An interesting exhibition, albeit not one for the faint of heart. The focus is very much on murder and you’ll likely leave in gloomier spirits than you arrived in. Worth a visit for those interested in criminal history – seeing murder weapons up close is a disturbing and powerful experience.

The Crime Museum Uncovered runs at the Museum of London until 10^th April 2016. Advanced booking is recommended.