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Upon the Death of my Favourite Author

There is a distinct comfort in knowing that certain people are still around. A reassurance in knowing that there are people out there who see the world in ways that seem familiar to oneself. A relief that there are those who are able to put into words those things that at the time you are not capable of doing. When we lose these people, known intimately to us or not, then we are left with a certain empty feeling; not simply as a result of the physical yet metaphorical ‘hole’ they leave behind, but also the emptiness of knowing that we are losing a certain viewpoint on the world, one which we found to be sound, wise and safe.

I am reliably informed that a request to write this piece arrived shortly after the news broke, during which time I had received several messages from friends, enquiring as to my wellbeing and sending me love. Due to my complete ignorance of the current facts this was strange, but it being the 23rd December, a welcome addition to the festive period. Six days have since elapsed in which several paragraphs have been discarded after numerous failed reworks; my only success coming in the form of a few (potentially) throwaway sentences. Instead, on this, the sixth day, I have reread two collections of essays; Slouching Towards Bethlehem and The White Album, in the full knowledge that it is only once I feel comforted that I will be able to find my own words.

Several times over the past week I have been posed with one striking question: How does one go about writing a tribute to someone who is so immortal? Although I will gladly take any opportunity to crowbar the name ‘Joan Didion’ into any conversation, I have been consistently struck these past seven days with the futility that lies in trying to write about her life. She did it for us. If you require an obituary, read Where I Was From. Social critique: Slouching Towards Bethlehem. Intimate glances into the author’s psyche: The White Album. Advice on how to grieve such a loss: The Year of Magical Thinking. When talking to a friend yesterday there were three words I returned to over and over and over again: she’s eulogised herself.

I am unable to tell you anything about Joan Didion that Joan Didion has not already told us. It is impossible to write a legacy without simply using her own words. I do not mean that the odd quote here and there is useful in understanding her life, rather I mean it quite literally. Everything she wrote is so well crafted, so intimate, so personal and so subtly powerful that it would be wasteful of me to attempt anything new. Her legacy is a unique one, in that it is she who lays the most claim to it.

Five years ago, I experienced a grief so intense I felt I had lost my personality. I knew there were many things I had just lost in the space of three days, perhaps most importantly to me, a unique viewpoint on the world. Upon my uncle’s death there were certain people who wrote about his life, his work, whatever legacy it was he had left behind and I hated it. I do not remember much from those first few weeks and did not put pen to paper aside from once; in the haze of my memories I distinctly remember writing down how strange it is that when one dies we no longer have control over who we are. How it is so easy to be interpreted, reimagined and redefined. This scared me. The only thing I wanted was for him to be able to speak for himself. To lay claim to his own legacy. To fashion his own eulogy.

Joan Didion taught me about grief. The Year of Magical Thinking was avoided for as long as I still had other Didion to read. There was something within my being that knew that once I began her account on how to navigate unimaginable loss, the one I had felt would have some more finality. I knew that through the reading I would be moving closer to some kind of acceptance. It took me three years but it made me feel sane. I was acutely struck by the moment in which she is urged to remove John’s clothes and shoes, a task she logically understands but is unable to comprehend and therefore do. What will he do when he comes back, she wonders, as upon his return he will most certainly need both his clothes and his shoes. When you know exactly how this madness feels, someone writing it down and having the courage to publish makes you feel the sanest person in the world.

It was my closest school friend who introduced me to Joan. (Not personally, although it’s often felt that way.) As I’ve shared before, he had taken a work-related trip to the States and returned with an edition of Slouching Towards Bethlehem, which he promptly leant to me uttering the words, “you’re a woman who can’t help but include herself in her writing, you’ll like her.” At the risk of cliche, our first encounter was transformative. I didn’t simply like Joan Didion, as my friend had suggested, I was completely enamoured.

The first words I ever read of Joan Didion’s attributed suicide, divorce and prickly dread to the Santa Ana winds. She said they worked on the nerves, disrupted your breathing and helped hillsides to spontaneously combust. We are being told this as a prelude to a story about Lucille Miller, a thirty-four year old woman who was tried and convicted of murdering her husband on Banyan Street in the middle of the night via their 1964 Volkswagen. This is extraordinary journalism and even in my ignorance, with that first paragraph I was able to see that for her, place matters. It influences everything; lives, language, loves. It determines our attitudes and our destinies. It soothes us or it works on the nerves. It shapes our identities. It is not a mere backdrop for the players on this stage, rather a character within its own right, an integral part of the action, a plot device waiting to pounce.

Time and time again Joan’s own words have been used to describe her: a place belongs to the person who claims it the hardest. Although she is using this in relation to James Jones and how for her, he lays claim to Hawaii, the words unsurprisingly are the only ones that can do justice to what she was to California. I have never been to California, but in the California of my mind’s eye it is Joan Didion’s. It is sun-kissed, sixties hedonism and it is the Manson Family Murders. It is Jim Morrison arriving late, or not at all, to record with the Doors. It is San Francisco, Los Angeles, Sacramento and inevitable wildfires. It is a land where rain is a mystery, water a fascination, rattlesnakes a certainty. It is endless highways, the Pacific Ocean, car travel and the Beverly Hills Hotel. It is synthetic light, migraines, dinner parties and endless absurdities. It is one Pan Am flight from Honolulu and it is the final frontier. It is now, thanks to Joan Didion, one of my greatest obsessions. A mystery so intimate to me I wonder if I ever need go.

For days I have been attempting to vocalise how Joan’s writing actually makes me feel. I have come up with nothing aside from feelings of being overwhelmed. I am always overwhelmed by emotion, neither sad nor happy. As I write I come to realise that she encapsulates a certain melancholy; a word that for me evokes feelings of desolation, emptiness and heartache alongside a certain comfort or reassurance.

I have turned to Joan’s writing for consolation many times over the past two years. More frequently than not, the center has not been holding. I have turned to Joan as her work reminds me that there is a universality in chaos, in dread, in the impending sense of the end of the world. Generation after generation has stood on the precipice of the world collapsing in on itself and remarkably, every time, it does not.

There is much uniqueness in Joan Didion’s writing but there are two things I find particularly striking. The first is her ability to explore some of the most mundane things with such intricacy that they become the most exciting and enchanting things in the world. The essays Holy Water and Bureaucrats are excellent examples of this. In one, she visits the Operations Control Center for the California State Water Project and in another Caltrans, the California Department of Transportation’s Operation Center. Neither of these are particularly exciting places yet as Didion notes the minutiae in their workings and how her own thoughts and feelings interact with these places they become sensational. I knew when I was gripped to an essay on ‘the 42 mile loop’ that I was reading a writer like no other.

The second is her capacity to include so much intricacy in the sensational that they in turn become mundane. As in Some Dreamers of the Golden Dream, (the story chronicling Lucille Miller and the death of her husband) where we are told that after Miller has given birth following her incarceration her elder daughter came to take the new baby home in a white dress with pink ribbons. We are consistently brought back down to earth. Told something suddenly, in an often offhand manner, that changes the whole feeling. This could happen to you. This could happen to anyone. One day you sit down to dinner, and life as you know it ends.

Reading Joan Didion did not make me want to become a writer. Reading Joan Didion assured me that I am a writer and taught me why. Why I Write is one of the most sensible things I have ever read. Why I Write taught me to unlearn everything I thought I knew about grammar. Told me to treat each sentence as if it were a melody, adding the rests and the short notes wherever I felt they should be. She taught me that writing is an art form, and that whenever I shift the structure of a sentence, I change it in the same dramatic manner as taking a photograph from an entirely different angle. She spoke to us often of her own doubts and reassured us that everyone has the feeling that they are sometimes simply passing as the person they think they are or would like to be.

In the preface to Slouching Towards Bethlehem Didion claims that there is one thing we always need to remember: ‘writers are always selling someone out.’ I reread this yesterday and, as always, was amused until I began to wonder who is it I am selling out by writing this piece. I still don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if it’s Joan, I’m selling out what she actually meant, what her true point was through some well-meant misinterpretation. I am, however, more inclined to believe that in this instance the person really being sold out is myself. Never will my (currently unfinished) novel land in the aged yet eccentrically expressive hands of the remarkable Ms Didion. Never will I be able to express to her how it was she who helped me make sense of my burning desire to work things out through the written word; that need to grasp a permeance in the midst of chaos.

Maybe I am selling myself out through what I now feel has become some kind of intellectual love letter to a woman born generations before myself, on the other side of the world, in a place I have never been, with whom I feel I have such a strong connection purely due to her exceptional command of the written word. Joan Didion taught me that there is a place in fact for women’s voices and that there is a place in journalism for the personal essay. Order can be found in the deepest disorder. Life is always there, even in the midst of grief. Nothing objective is interesting.

Remember what it was to be me: that is always the point.

Joan Didion

1934-2021

Saffron Rain lives and writes in Stockport. She was born and raised around Manchester, only moving away to get her degree and subsequent MA in English Lit in Sheffield. During this time she wrote ardently on the North, particularly female writers and filmmakers.

Her preferred form is the personal essay and she enjoys writing about topics that she connects to on a personal level. Some of these have appeared in independent publications and she shares longer pieces on her own blog. She loves to read, particularly women, and will take any opportunity to crowbar Joan Didion into a conversation.

Book Review: A Hopeful Manifesto for Change – Karen Lloyd’s Abundance: Nature in Recovery

Beth Barker’s final book review for 2021 comes in the form of Abundance: Nature in Recovery, a collection of literary essays by Karen Lloyd, a writer from the Lake District in the North of England.

As we entered the autumn season, the shelves of bookshops were flooded with fresh literary talent. One book that stood out was Abundance: Nature in Recovery, a collection of literary essays by Karen Lloyd. With the climate crisis becoming increasingly urgent, the publication of this book felt particularly important and necessary.

Abundance is a work of art in which the literary and natural worlds collide. For many, nature writing can be overwhelming, but Lloyd’s writing is refreshingly accessible. The book’s purpose is to explore abundance and loss, in part concerning itself with the damage done to our environment. Lloyd writes:

“When I turn on the news or read a newspaper, I am assailed by all the losses in the natural world. The natural world is being flushed out.”

The book opens with a bold question: what kind of future will our children and grandchildren have on this planet? The reader gets the feeling that in this book, we’re going to find out. Throughout several essays, signifiers of change are explored, from the toxic algal blooms in the Lake District National Park to the ferocious Storm Desmond and floods that ensued. While these events and occurrences draw our attention to the ever-pressing ecological crisis, causing us to dwell on them is not the author’s intention.

“Something in my neural pathways blocks me when I try (admittedly not very hard) to imagine what things will be like for my boys – for my two young adult sons – and for their one-day families. Will they have families? Is it OK to continue having families?”

Abundance, I believe, is a book partly about hope and partly about seeing things in a new light. Told through joyous narratives that weave between well-researched facts and personal experiences, Lloyd’s essays provide a manifesto for change. She believes the solution to our problem is to reconnect with and repair our relationship to the earth – to encourage the alignment of humans and the natural world. As well as documenting the disasters we face, Lloyd also draws our attention to the incredible work done by conservationists and calls for education reforms to make natural education a priority.

Among other things, Lloyd’s work exudes a pure love for nature and what it has to offer us as individuals, communities and as an entire species. Whether it’s wolves, whopper swans, damselflies or beavers, these essays are full of passionate explorations of the world around us. Wild swimming and woodland hikes remind us that there is so much beauty to enjoy outside of our echo chamber – seeing it might just change our perspective entirely. “Let’s seed the idea of return through the seeding of languages that wander through the world. If we want it, all we need to do is imagine it into being: 3… 2… 1… go. Hearts and minds. What you don’t love, you can’t save. Save what you love.”

Karen Lloyd is a writer and environmental activist from the Lake District. Abundance: Nature in Recovery was published in September by Bloomsbury. You can purchase it here.

Words: Beth Barker

Beth Barker is a writer and blogger from Blackpool. She is the co-host of Up North Books, a podcast celebrating books and writers from the North of England.

Beth wanted to contribute a monthly review to NRTH LASS in order to shine a light on Northern women writing great books. The North is very much underrepresented in publishing and she hopes a monthly review throughout 2021 will showcase the talent Northern women have to offer.

For more book reviews and insights on publishing in the North, follow Beth on Instagram and Twitter.

Book Review: Masterful Short Fiction – Sarah Schofield’s Safely Gathered In

As the year draws to a close and the nights draw in, candlelit reading becomes an absolute essential. November marks the launch of the perfect accompaniment: Sarah Schofield’s Safely Gathered In. Published by the incredible Manchester-based Comma Press, this electric short story collection is definitely one to add to your winter reading list.

“A woman grows increasingly annoyed by her husband’s emails, offering advice and reminders even months after his death… A taxidermist dreams of preserving one of his clients after she takes him out for a coffee… A grieving nurse is troubled by her daughter’s fascination with The Iron Lady…”

With style comparable to Sarah Moss and the ability to evoke unease like Naomi Booth, Schofield’s storytelling certainly leaves a mark on her readers. One of the potent threads running through the collection is an obsession with objects. Schofield interrogates how they define us, our relationship to them and what they can eventually come to represent. This is the feeling delivered by the title story – Safely Gathered In – crafted in list formation to depict the contents of a series of storage units. While the idea seems simple, I loved how these inventories brought people and personalities to life without making their presence known. Powerful and unsettling, this story really sets the tone for the whole collection.

My favourite story opens the collection, cleverly entitled Dead Man’s Switch. Emmy, the plot’s protagonist, grows increasingly annoyed by her husband’s emails offering advice and reminders even months after his death. Whether it’s home insurance or her upcoming MOT, David’s words of wisdom continue to arrive in her inbox. Sharing the annoyance with her sister Kath as she tries to move on with new partner Gary, the speight of emails allow Emmy to reflect on her old relationship as well as the new. I loved how this story sparked thoughts about technology and how the modern age we’re living in allows us to extend our lives beyond expiration. Schofield also played with objects in this story to experiment with ideas of memory, loss and grief. Fisherman’s Friends, knitting needles, old books. All of these objects define something, and the author allows the reader enough space to decide what that is.

“It’s their last day on the beach and Emmy slips out her phone while Gary goes to get ice creams. There is another email from David. It is a reminder to cancel or renew their wine subscription. She scrunches her toes into the sand, heat flashing behind her eyes. She presses reply.”

Another critical theme reflected in Schofield’s stories is motherhood. Keenly observed and told with captivating honesty, she captures the trials and tribulations of family life. In Termination Happy Meal, a mother takes her teenage daughter to a McDonalds, presumably after visiting the abortion clinic. Told over less than two pages, the story casts a searing light on the wrought

nature of mother-daughter relationships. Again explored through objects in the story, Schofield brings to life the conflicts of growing up and the decisions that define our lives. For a story of so few words, it really is a triumph.

I was lucky enough to hear Sarah read from her collection at a pre-launch event: a short story salon hosted by Blackwell’s Manchester. Reading alongside the incredible Lucie McKnight Hardy and Vanessa Onwuemezi, it was a fantastic opportunity to hear more about the collection in real life after such a long time without in-person book events. Schofield read eloquently and gave some key insights about her craft, particularly how she likes to write and how her stories come together. If you’re looking for a true example of how to create haunting, bold and brilliant short fiction, Sarah Schofield is the beacon to look to.

Safely Gathered In was published in early November 2021 by Comma Press. Support your local bookshop or buy your copy here.

Words: Beth Barker

Beth Barker is a writer and blogger from Blackpool, now working in Manchester. She also co-hosts Up North Books, a podcast celebrating books and writers from the North of England.

For more book reviews and insights on publishing in the North, follow Beth on Instagram and Twitter.

On Being a Woman Part II: The Right to Choice

Dr John Sharpe of London, who in 1957 […] took the considerable risk of referring for an abortion a twenty-two-year-old American on her way to India.

Knowing only that she had broken an engagement […] he said, “You must promise me two things. First, you will not tell anyone my name. Second, you will do what you want with your life.”

And so begins the dedication to My Life on the Road. Gloria Steinem attributes a great deal to Dr Sharpe’s bravery, knowing that had she not met this man who believed the law to be wrong, the shape of her life would have looked extremely different. I don’t believe that had this baby been born it would have been at a disadvantage, suffered from bad parenting, nor had a bad life, but that is entirely irrelevant to the argument.

The abortion-row’s focus sits in the wrong place, so often focussing on the case of the foetus; the thing that is still within the realm of the abstract, that exists but is far away, indistinguishable, a possibility, a feeling. The pro-life camp views the child-bearer as a secondary concern and the pro-choice contingent spend their time trying to re-establish the primary focus, to shift it back to the woman. For it is she who is tangible, who is present, she who has thoughts, feelings and dreams. And it is she who has ironically been allowed to believe she has options.

It has been possible in the UK to access a safe and legal abortion, financed by the National Health Service since the Abortion Act of 1967. The language used in the act leaves room for interpretation, meaning that all women could effectively choose abortions, citing a negative impact on their own, the child’s, or their family’s mental health. The Women’s Movement’s focus on reproductive rights as responsible healthcare assisted in the passing of Roe v Wade in the US Supreme Court, which in 1973 set the precedent that it was unconstitutional to deny women the right to choose whether to go ahead with pregnancy. These acts however were not the beginning of abortion. Abortions and, perhaps more significantly, attempted abortions, have been taking place for millennia. The problem is not abortion, it is the criminalisation of women’s autonomy.

Texas has always been a key battleground. It was Texas where Jane Roe tried and failed to receive an abortion and took her case to the Supreme Court, and it is Texas that seems to have been trying to reverse the decision ever since. To disallow the termination of pregnancy from any time after the six-week period is akin to disallowing the termination of pregnancy in its entirety. There are no exceptions, including cases of rape or incest. It is simply illegal to aid in facilitating an abortion for any woman who has surpassed the six-week mark. As a woman, I know what this means, but I’ll put some of it into context for those readers who don’t go through a menstrual cycle. Most women will notice something is amiss when they skip a period. This could be a few days after sex occurred, a couple of weeks, or in some cases, if a cycle had just begun, another four weeks. This is of course assuming that the person has a regular cycle, keeps track of her cycle, or knows when her next period is due. If none of these apply, NHS England advises waiting at least twenty-one days after sex to take a pregnancy test in order to get an accurate result. That’s three weeks, half your time. In blatant terms it is unrealistic for women to notice a change in their body, find out they are pregnant, make a decision and book an abortion prior to six weeks. This law says to women if you have sex, if you enjoy being sexually active, or if you are the victim of assault, you must bear the consequences, quite literally, for the rest of your life. There is no comparative law regarding a man who impregnates a woman for, as has been famously observed, ‘if men could get pregnant, abortion would be a sacrament.’

As long as women can get pregnant there will always be successful and unsuccessful terminations. What effective legislation does is eradicate the need for ‘backstreet’ abortions, procedures that are vastly different depending on what women can afford, what their social background is, their race or their level of education. Prior to equal access to reproductive healthcare lucky women could afford to access safer abortions by bribing doctors and manipulating health assessments. Those not-so-lucky accessed abortions in high-risk settings; where the procedure was not performed by a medical professional, the environment unsanitary and the tools unclean. The women who suffered this fate and the women who have died accessing illegal abortions throughout our collective history is countless. When these facts are taken into consideration the issue goes beyond being for or against the act. The war on abortion is a war on women, where the casualties, although often anonymous, are in their thousands.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg argued, ‘The decision whether or not to bear a child is central to a woman’s life, to her well-being and dignity. When government controls that decision for her, she is being treated as less than a fully adult human responsible for her own choices.’ These laws maintain female oppression. It tells women they are not responsible enough to make decisions regarding their own bodies, yet paradoxically are responsible enough to raise a child. Steinem believed, “female bodies are still the battleground, whether that means restricting freedom, birth control and safe abortion in order to turn them into factories, or abandoning female infants because females are less valuable for everything other than reproduction. Anti-abortion laws reinforce ideas that a woman’s worth is her capacity to reproduce. They limit social, personal and professional progression. They maintain an order that is best suited to eras gone by. They regulate social mobility; rich, white women will continue to have access to safe reproductive healthcare. They enforce psychological and physical trauma on fifty-one percent of the population and all this in America; the land that proclaims itself to be so civilised and so free. Yet, as Ginsburg noted, at no point in the Constitution of the United States does it feature either the word ‘woman’ or ‘freedom’. Until the notion of the ‘land of the free’ is universally applicable then the USA is built upon a lie and masquerading its civility.

I am privileged to live in a country where I have the right to a safe and legal abortion, without question, but this does not leave me unaffected by events in the US. Every time a court rules against women it sets the prescient that it is okay to treat women in this manner; it is okay to not respect women and to not allow women the dignity to make their own choices. The right to life, which the pro-lifer’s hold so dear, does have an essentiality in this argument, it just depends which you value more. The right of the woman, she who is here, who is conscious, who has agency, who is taught she has choices, or the right of the unborn.

I’ve never seen the decision to abort as one taken lightly. I’ve always witnessed it approached with an element of doubt, with a concern for the practicality of the situation and a consideration of how well they would be able to provide for a child. The decisions to terminate that I have witnessed have come not only from a place of self-care but care and love for the possibility of their child. I’ve never seen the decision made with no talk of regret or without the wonder as to what life may look like if they were to follow through. I have only ever seen this decision taken with courage and trust in their inner voice, that engagement with a deeper intuition that tells us our most blatant truths.

For me, the central argument is not whether abortion is morally wrong. As long as women can get pregnant, women will get abortions; there is no legislation, no law, no fine, no jail-time that will stop that simple fact. The central argument, for me, is whether society respects women enough to allow them the basic human right of being able to access a medical procedure in a safe and professional environment. The central argument is whether women’s lives are valued enough to let them be lived. Do we value women enough to not pursue needless criminal charges, to not let them die in back rooms from unsafe and unsuccessful interventions.

The sheer joy at the success of Roe v Wade and the countless women who put pressure on government to change the law is under threat and has been for a long time. Because the right to access legal abortion has been commonplace for the entirety of my life it is easy to slip into habits of believing that this is an already conquered fight. But it is not; when it is so easy for laws to be reversed, when reproductive healthcare is not a basic right globally, there is still work to be done.

Until all women have access to safe, legal abortions and are afforded the dignity to make their own decisions regarding the body they inhabit, we are not equal. And until we are equal we deserve the right to be angry and we reserve the right to demand change.

‘I ask no favours for my sex. All I ask of our brethren is that they will take their feet from off our necks.’

Sarah Grimke

Image: Milos Tonchevski

Book Review: Pat Barker’s The Women of Troy – Survival, Sisterhood and Subverting the Classics

August marked the publication of Pat Barker’s The Women of Troy, one of my most anticipated reads of 2021. Having devoured The Silence of the Girls, Barker’s feminist retelling of Homer’s Iliad, it only felt right to dedicate our August column spot to its continuation.

While The Silence of the Girls ends by describing the fate of Troy, her latest novel delves into the aftermath. The book recaps the Greek invasion, beginning from the packed interior of a wooden horse. Barker describes the scene as the men await the coming battle, namely Pyrrhus, the teenage son of the late and great Achilles. He is nervous, fearful of death and desperate for the glory that will define his future. From a reader’s perspective, it’s easy to question why a book about women should begin with such an extended look at a group of men. However, we soon realise that interrogating masculinity, hierarchy and power is central to understanding their story.

Survival is a defining theme throughout The Women of Troy. Like all wars, both ancient and contemporary, Barker reminds us that they are brutal and unrelenting. In this case, the tragedy of war leaves behind a group of women, captured into an unknown future after the sacking, burning and massacring of their home city. We receive a stark and lasting reminder of this from Briseis, the book’s central narrator.

Since she is carrying the last child of Achilles, she is married off to one of the Greeks and granted her own servant – Amina. Strong willed and fearless at times, Amina insists on giving their former leader a proper burial after his body is dishonoured by the victorious soldiers. At this moment, Briseis brings her back to reality: “Look, Amina, if you’re going to survive, you’ve got to start living in the real world. Troy’s gone. In this compound, whatever Pyrrhus wants, Pyrrhus gets.” From the very beginning, survival is firmly in the minds of the Trojan women – no matter what it takes.

As established in this scene, sisterhood is incredibly important to The Women of Troy. Much like The Silence of the Girls, Barker skips out on the glorification of military success and instead pays real attention to the relationships, thoughts and experiences of the Trojan women. Their sufferings are intense, and while the classics may have explored this to a degree, many feel their stories have gone untold for far too long.

Subversions and retellings of the classics have grown increasingly popular over the last decade, particularly those that offer fresh and feminist perspectives. While the likes of Madeline Millar, Natalie Haynes and Elodie Harper have put their own stamp on the myths of the past, Barker reaches new levels of originality. By combining a contemporary voice and completely overthrowing the language that you’d expect to find in an epic, she brings something new and accessible to these stories like no other. At times comical and at others heart-wrenching, she makes the stars of classical mythology likeable, intriguing and painfully real.

As the Greeks look forward to their glorious return, equipped with the spoils of war, the bonds between them quickly begin to wither. While centering and elevating the experiences of women, Barker tells a tale that brings power, masculinity and the fragility of war into sharp focus. Perfect for people who enjoy viewing ancient history through a contemporary lens, this is a glittering achievement from the highly-acclaimed writer.

Pat Barker’s The Women of Troy is published by Penguin’s Hamish Hamilton. Support indie bookshops by purchasing it here.

Words: Beth Barker

Beth Barker is a writer and blogger from Blackpool, now working in Manchester. She also co-hosts Up North Books, a podcast celebrating books and writers from the North of England.

For more book reviews and insights on publishing in the North, follow Beth on Instagram and Twitter.

Getting to know Kelly Bishop: Editor & Musician

This week, we speak to Kelly Bishop, Musician and Editor at Confidentials about growing up in the North, the women who have inspired her and her favourite places to eat in Manchester.

Could I start by asking you a little bit about yourself, where are you from and what do you do?

I was born in Lancashire but have lived in Manchester now for nearly 24 years. I’ve tried to leave many times, but it lures me back like a siren every time. It’s truly an addictive city. I’m Executive Editor at Confidentials which is a fun, irreverent, hyper-local lifestyle website covering mainly food and drink but also news, property, events, arts and anything else relevant and interesting in the local area. We have individual sites for Manchester, Liverpool and Leeds. We are also just about to launch Confidential Guides which is a curated and super helpful restaurant directory that will eventually cover the whole of the North West.

I’m also an indie musician and have played in bands for about 25 years. I sing, write songs and play bass and guitar and rudimentary piano. My current band is a fuzzy, 90s alt influences power trio called The Empty Page. You can find us on Spotify.

What are your memories of growing up in the North?

Sitting in the back of my parent’s car driving down to Blackpool in the rain to see the illuminations – all the more dazzling through a drizzle-flecked windscreen at night. Walking, ruddy cheeked in the rolling, cut grass and manure scented Lancashire countryside with my dad and the dog.

My first visit to Manchester with my mum and being absolutely mind blown by Affleck’s Palace and The Corn Exchange, resulting in a lifelong love of incense, rosewood oil and tie dye.

Hanging out with punks on the monument that used to be on Market Street. Record shopping for hours on end at X Records, Bolton. Many breathless train rides after legging it to catch the train from platform 14 at Piccadilly. Playing some of my sweaty palmed first gigs at The Roadhouse and The Met in Bury and spending half my life in a musty scented rehearsal room plastered with posters of Bob Marley and cult films on an industrial estate in Radcliffe. Almost fainting as I lost my shit about seeing the firebrand Courtney Love in her torn nighty and smeared lipstick with her band Hole (and many other bands) live at Manchester Academy when it was quite a bit smaller. I could go on.

Which women have inspired you as a writer and a musician?

The aforementioned Courtney Love whose intelligence, confidence and massive talent left an indelible impression for life. Kate Bush when I was tiny, listening to my dad’s copy of Hounds of Love and yodelling along. Whitney Houston who taught me to belt my heart out via much hairbrush/mirror practise. Patti Smith whose poetry gives me shivers and whose androgynous cool empowers me. The holy trinity of the 90s: PJ Harvey, Bjork and Tori Amos for their absolute commitment to being their authentic selves. Skin from Skunk Anansie for reinventing what a rock frontperson could be and bringing ballsy political fire into the Dawson’s Creek schmaltz of the decade.

I was also a big fan of Sylvia Plath, Poppy Z Brite, Elizabeth Wurtzel and Margaret Atwood growing up. Later on, discovering Charlotte Perkins Gilman whose book The Yellow Wallpaper massively inspired me lyrically. As far as food writers go, I love Marina O Loughlin’s scathing and sarcastic Scottish tones and who doesn’t adore Nigella?

Do you see yourself as a creative individual?

Yes. I don’t like being too tunnel visioned and most of my life I have had at least two jobs at once for variety and flexibility around my music life. I like to escape as often as possible; few feelings are better than being in a van or on a train heading somewhere, anywhere. That gets the cogs turning. I often write on trains. I was a creative kid that spent a lot of time alone, reading and making up songs. For a long time, I didn’t have the opportunity to utilise my creativity at work, but I definitely do now. Looking after four websites and a large team of writers as well as writing myself as much as possible keeps me busy and allows me to push myself creatively. I try and write non-work stuff at least weekly if not daily too. I think it’s a good habit to be in. Creativity is a really transferable skill in the workplace and should not be underestimated.

How did you first get into journalism?

It wasn’t so much journalism that interested me, more creative writing. What I do now I guess is a light form of journalism but there’s not as much pressure as if I worked for a newspaper and I have a lot more freedom of expression. I had a pretty sketchy CV – because I mainly focused on my music for my 20s and early 30s – but I knew I had writing and creative skills so I started doing a bit of freelance copywriting to show my ability. I actually wormed my way into the place I work now by taking on a minimum wage Xmas internship calling up restaurants to ask about their upcoming January deals. I was in my 30s and working as an EFL teacher at the time. I didn’t enjoy the call-centre type role at all but I slowly got to know the team and kept pestering the then editor to let me do some writing. It’s funny because in my interview I remember him saying, you never know, you might be editor one day. And I laughed, thinking, I’ll be lucky if they even publish any of my writing. Well, the rest is history.

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Did you ever have a mentor or someone to help you get into this field of work?

I didn’t have a journalistic or writing mentor, but I had a few friends that were much more experienced than me in getting “proper jobs”. My friends Sam and Issy taught me how to make my CV pop and how to fill in the gaps in experience or skills by doing some courses or getting a bit of work experience. They taught me that all my transferable skills from doing band stuff for years were really valuable in the workplace. They were basically amazing cheerleaders and helped boost my confidence at a time when I wasn’t feeling too great actually. The best kind of female friends. After that I suppose it was all me pushing to prove myself to myself as much as anyone.

As Executive Editor of Manchester Confidential, what does a typical workday look like?

Days vary quite a lot, but I usually start work before I get to the office, checking a few emails and Trello and doing some social media posts. At the office, I check in with my core writers and freelancers to see what they are working on and where they are up to, giving them whatever support they need.

If I have time, I try and do as much writing as possible myself too because I love it. Daily tasks can include brainstorming ideas, editing and subbing writers’ work and giving constructive feedback, making calls about which of the many, many stories that come to our inbox should be covered that week and which ones should be prioritised. Keeping an eye on Google Analytics and other stats. Social media. Lots of meetings. Editing and resizing photos. Several times a week there are restaurant or bar launches to attend – sometimes on the hoof – and we try to get out and about as much as possible to see what’s happening in the city. My team and I also spend time interviewing people that are doing exciting things in the North. Another big part of the job is restaurant reviews which we all do once or twice a month. It’s a pretty varied role to say the least.

What do enjoy most about working in journalism?

I just really love writing, so wherever I get to flex my creative muscles on that front I am happy. I’m also hugely passionate about food and wine (I am Level 3 WSET qualified) so I consider myself ridiculously lucky that a large part of my job involves eating everything from burgers to Michelin tasting menus and drinking everything from coffee to cocktails.

The hard part of being a critic is that people react really emotionally sometimes in response to reviews and all of our writers have had personal attacks on social media whenever they have published a particularly critical restaurant review which can be hard to process sometimes. But it’s really important to us to be honest when we review a restaurant. We pay our bill, don’t announce that we will be coming and have an experience like any random customer would have. Sometimes, that’s unfortunately not a good one and our readers trust us to give them the truthful lowdown. In a world of endless PR gush, I’m proud that we tell it how it is and that we have high standards of writing that make everything we write entertaining in some way too.

What are you most excited about doing in your new role as Executive Editor?

I’ve been in this role for four months now so not much is going to change but I am excited that the pandemic is starting to seem like it could be in the rear-view mirror soon. So much of our job is social, it’s been tough not having that side of it for 18 months or so. I’m excited to be able to move around the country a bit more, get over to Leeds and Liverpool more, things like that. What also excites me is finding new, talented writers. I’m always on the lookout for more of those and I love mentoring them to be the absolute best they can be.

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Who will you be working with?

A lot of people think Manchester Confidential is a load of dusty old blokes because we have been around for almost 20 years now as a publication and our published Mark Gordo Garner has, shall we say, a strong personality.

Actually, my current team is largely female. Aside from me, there’s Vicky Andrews who is our Liverpool Editor. Vicky had freelanced for us for several years but when we decided to take on a full time Liverpool editor this year, she was my first choice. I was so pleased she accepted the role and she is absolutely smashing it.

We also have Sophie Rahnema who was brought in to be the editor of our new Confidential Guides site. She looks after that and also contributes to Manchester Confidential as a restaurant reviewer and feature writer. Sophie is a presenter on our video reels too. She’s doing a cracking job too in such a varied role, nothing is too much trouble for her. A real can-do gal.

Lucy Tomlinson is our News Editor and one of the smartest, sharpest women I know, she manages to balance motherhood (she has two kids under five) with eyeballing Andy Burnham, reporting on societal issues and waxing lyrical about baked goods – we’re so food focused that everyone has to write about food too. Lucy has been a restaurant reviewer for Confidentials for many years and her reviews always make me laugh, without fail. Our office in general is full of big, varied, diverse personalities. We have a lot of fun.

How do you balance your work as an editor alongside being a member of The Empty Page?

To be honest, I haven’t been able to tour since the pandemic started so it’s hard to say how difficult that balance will be now I have more responsibility at work. I’ve always managed by using my holiday allowance to go on tour or play one off shows so not much is likely to change on that front. I’ll just probably be checking emails in the van a bit more than I used to. My employer is really supportive. I’ve been in the recording studio for the past few weekends which has been a massive tonic after a year of not much music action but I do tend to burn the candle at both ends so my main focus is to stay healthy and not completely wear myself out.

When you’re not working, where can we find you?

At home in my city centre apartment watching John Waters films with my two cats and long-suffering partner. Watching live bands at one of the many cool music venues in Manchester or further afield. Rehearsing or playing live with my own band. Doing a bit of yoga, weights or cardio down the gym. Cooking far too much food on a Sunday afternoon. Having breakfast with my mates whenever we can synchronise diaries. And hopefully travelling the world again when it’s allowed.

In your opinion, where are some of the best places to eat and drink in Manchester?

THAT is a really difficult question because I could list 50 or so easily and because new places are opening every week. I’m a massive fan of Erst’s inventive, perfectly executed small plates, I love Indian food so cafe Marhaba for a fresh naan and old school rice and three or Mughli, Asha’s or Bundobust for something more modern, The Creameries for comfort food and great wine, Tast Enxaneta for a special occasion, Siam Smiles for face melting Thai food, Ca Phe Viet or Pho Cue for restorative broths. But this really is just scratching the surface. There is a preposterous amount of good food here.

If you could tell your younger self one piece of advice, what would it be?

You never have to get a normal hairstyle or start wearing grey suits to get a good job – do things on your own terms. Stop dropping out of college, your brain is a great asset and studying is fun if you pick the right subjects. Travel, read, make music, dream and don’t worry about being ‘grown up’, it’s overrated.

Interview: Jenna Campbell
Band images: Debbie Ellis/A Supreme Shot

Book Review: Loneliness, Class and Coming of Age – Anna Glendenning’s An Experiment in Leisure

One of the best things about writing this column has undoubtedly been the chance to discover so many incredible debut authors, beginning their journeys into the world of publishing. Last month marked the publication of Anna Glendenning’s An Experiment In Leisure, a novel that was deeply thought-provoking, relatable and at the same time, completely unique.

The book follows Grace, a twenty-something Cambidge graduate from the northern landscape of West Yorkshire. Talented and intelligent, the narrator appears to have climbed the ranks of the social ladder by achieving her Oxbridge degree and living an independent life in London, despite her humble working-class beginnings. What we soon learn is that much like her identity, she too is in a constant state of flux – unsettled and unsure of where she belongs.

One of the things I enjoyed most about Glendenning’s writing was her purposeful use of dialect and accent throughout. It fluctuates: in London, her northern tongue is carefully edited; in Yorkshire, she plays up to her roots. As a reader, this idea in itself provided a lot to think about, especially in the form of a novel. The publishing industry is well-known for policing dialect, dulling it down to avoid alienating certain audiences. In An Experiment In Leisure, accents reign supreme and offer unparalleled depth to the characters who hold them.

Whether it’s class, geographical location, sexuality or identity, this novel is full of crises. While sad at times, there were moments in the text that left me laughing out loud. Grace is a character that the reader roots for as she tries to figure out her life, no matter how hard it might be for her to work it out. She notices minute details about the world around her, normal moments brought to life by Glendenning’s acute and masterful writing style. In the beginning of the book, Grace sees a therapist. Written in short, pacy lines of dialogue, we begin to understand that she is deeply lonely, often caught up in her own thoughts. This is reflected by the text itself, both chaotic and well-structured. It mirrors the experimental life the narrator seeks to lead as she hopes to become a lady of leisure, whatever that might mean.

It was really intriguing to read a novel that captures the intersections of northern and working-class identities. While Grace moves to London following her graduation from Cambridge, she soon finds herself fleeing between both locations. Her identity is constantly in question, strained by her changing position in society. The novel questions the idea of social mobility – is there a ladder that can simply be climbed? Or is the process of moving up a little more complex? Whether the answers are discovered in the novel or not, one thing is clear. An Experiment In Leisure celebrates working-class identities and offers an alternative perspective – one that suggests we don’t have to leave our roots behind to live a joyful life.

Heart-warming, tear-jerking and written with complete stylistic elegance, this book is a force to be reckoned with. Anna Glendenning is certainly one to watch. An Experiment In Leisure is now available, published by Chatto Windus. You can purchase it here.

Words: Beth Barker

Beth Barker is a writer and blogger from Blackpool, now working in Manchester. She also co-hosts Up North Books, a podcast celebrating books and writers from the North of England.

For more book reviews and insights on publishing in the North, follow Beth on Instagram and Twitter.

Book Review: Vanishing Husbands, Unconventional Love and Razor-Sharp Humour – Jenn Ashworth’s Ghosted: A Love Story

When June came around, the anticipation for a new book from iconic Northern author, Jenn Ashworth, was finally relieved with the release of Ghosted: A Love Story. Published by Sceptre, it’s the latest in a string of diverse, gripping and unforgettable reads written by the Preston-born, now Lancaster-based author.

On first impressions, Ghosted may appear to be a book about the modern dating concept of ignoring someone into non-existence. While the author does touch on that idea being the origin of the title, her book subverts it, taking it to new extremes. Her husband literally vanishes without a trace, whether purposefully or not.

The premise of the story is really that simple — it’s the vivid complexity of the self, relationships and navigating those two things which makes this book so incredible. On one ordinary morning, Laurie’s husband, Mark, disappears. Leaving his phone and wallet behind, he vanishes from the face of the earth, seemingly without a trace. The story explains how Laurie tells no-one for weeks, going about her daily life as if nothing has changed at all. As far as elevator pitches go, it’s certainly a book I was very intrigued to get into.

Laurie decides that in order to establish why her husband has disappeared from the present, she must revisit the past and retrace the steps of their relationship. One of the most enjoyable aspects of Ashworth’s brilliant novel is the way she captures the complexity of love and the way we interact with others. In Ghosted, marriage is ordinary in moments, exceptional in others; dull at times and warm in glimpses. There is no black and white with Ashworth’s characters — every person and the relationships they’re entangled in are laced with excitement, intrigue and multi-layered complexity.

While diving into the depths of love and all of it’s mysteries, the author delivers the story with some of the wittiest and most humorous writing I have ever experienced. Despite the content being deeply sad and heart-wrenching at times, Ashworth’s storytelling is cackle-inducing to say the least. In one instance, the narrator refers to Penelope, the wandering Odysseus’ faithful wife as a ‘poor daft sap’. While reminding the reader that the author is definitely northern, she makes use of classical parallels in the funniest way possible. Rivalling the likes of Otessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation or Raven Leilani’s Luster, the book combines tragedy with wit in a way that makes an unsolved mystery satisfying — it was truly a delight to read.

As well as razor-sharp humour and complex relationships, Ghosted also explores class, physicality and memory, all with absolute writing excellence. There’s no doubt that this book deserves a place on everyone’s summer to-be-read pile, especially if they’re particularly interested in flawed women narrators and on the lookout for a Northern setting. Jenn Ashworth is a stellar writer and Ghosted is the perfect addition to her already-iconic list of books, all entirely unique and eccentric in their own special way.

Ghosted: A Love Story was published in early June, now available to buy here.

Words: Beth Barker

Beth Barker is a writer and blogger from Blackpool, now working in Manchester. She also co-hosts Up North Books, a podcast celebrating books and writers from the North of England.

For more book reviews and insights on publishing in the North, follow Beth on Instagram and Twitter.

The Education Gap: “That’s Too Posh For You” and Other Lies

Words: Faye Kirwan

I don’t know the exact moment I became aware that my experience in school was different to the people whose parents had more money, or more connections. Don’t get me wrong, I loved going to school growing up and wouldn’t change my education experience. However, coming from a working-class family and living in an area of particularly low school performance, I knew I had to work harder than those better off just to achieve the same things.

So, I did just that, and with my As and A*s I made my way to one of the top universities in the UK in the same manner as the students from higher performing schools down south did. Yet, I was seen as ‘breaking the mould’ and congratulated for achieving the unheard of – but why? Why should I be ‘grateful for these opportunities’ as though I succeeded out of luck, rather than performing at the same standard as more affluent private school kids? And whilst I was – and still am – extremely grateful that my situation allowed for me to uproot my life and move across the UK to better my education, I guess I just wondered: what’s the big deal?

Spoiler alert: the ‘big deal’ is the education gap.

It really is no secret that for the most part, access to private education is accessible only to those of wealthier households, or for families living in well-funded areas. I found myself falling into neither of those categories and my access to opportunities definitely represented that. Before delving into the world of educational inequality, and what that truly means for young people in the North, I would like to say that I genuinely enjoyed my experience within the education system and I am thankful I am able to say that. Some of the teachers I have had the honour of knowing throughout my life have truly helped shape me into who I am today, but the point of the matter is, I’m one of the luckier ones.

It goes without saying that thousands upon thousands of children from less economically sustainable backgrounds suffer within their school life, through no fault of their own. There is an obvious lack of access to and knowledge shared about opportunities for their educational growth, and this is before the issue of school funding is even mentioned. Linking nicely into the fact that none of these issues should produce blame aimed at families, teachers, or the children themselves. Government mishandling of resources is the real enemy.

Now I’m not one to dismiss somebody just because of their educational background, some of the loveliest people I have met at university thus far have had some form of experience in private education. But ultimately private education is not fair. And the reality for children in state schools – particularly in the North – is less about experiencing education and more about figuring out how to work the system when the system doesn’t work for them. Education is not a material asset, it should not be something that some are just able to afford whilst others can find a knock-off replacement; it is something that is fundamental in creating who we are, and I don’t believe that there should be a hierarchy of deservingness when it comes to shaping lives.

My experience is one of privilege, because whilst it was definitely not the easiest, I still managed to utilise the things I could, to get myself to where I am today. But truthfully? I didn’t even know that the University of St Andrews even so much as existed until the year that I applied. And, upon showing my interest, I was met with the responses of “that’s too posh for you,” and “your accent will really stand out there.” So that’s exactly why I decided to apply. I figured that if my entire 15 years of education up until that point had worked against me, it was time for me to work against it. So I made it to a fancy school but was cut from a different cloth.

It’s one thing to break the mould and ‘succeed’, but it’s another thing to have a mould that produces success. My point being, we need to make it a common occurrence that children from all socio-economic backgrounds have equal access to all forms of opportunities. Not only do I just think this is fair and right, but how people from different economic backgrounds supposed to empathise with each other if their only opportunity to mix is by knowing or by being the token scholarship kid?

I’m so lucky to have the experiences that I do, but I wish it wasn’t a case of luck.

Faye is a 19-year-old student from Liverpool studying English at the University of St Andrews, who also writes freelance in her spare time. she particularly enjoys writing personal essays and opinion pieces on topics involving feminism and LGBTQ+ equality, whilst also drawing from her own experiences as a young, working-class woman.

Spotlight: luxury knitwear brand Ellis and Low

To kick off our new series spotlighting the women creating the next generation of Northern brands, we spoke with Em and Jess, creators of Ellis and Low, a Manchester-based start-up that makes conceptual pieces for bold, contemporary women looking to shop small and sustainably. Named after the pair’s two glamorous Grandma’s, and with all the designing, making and packaging overseen by Em and Jess, we were keen to find out a little bit more about Manchester’s latest fashion design duo.

Tell us a bit about Ellis and Low, what is your USP?

We’re a startup luxury knitwear brand that creates conceptual pieces for bold, contemporary women looking to shop slow, small and sustainably. We love using colour and pattern to tell stories through our handmade knitwear, including tales from our own family history. Vintage knitwear and history in general really inspire us.

How did the two of you meet and how did you come to the decision to work together?

Believe it or not, we met at nursery so we’ve grown up together from the age of two! We’ve always wanted a business together and had many different, sometimes far-fetched, ideas. But, after university we realised knitwear was our passion and thus, Ellis and Low was born.

What was the inspiration behind Ellis and Low?

Audrie Ellis and Lily Low are our glamorous Grandmas. They taught us to knit and crochet at a young age so it’s only right we named our brand after them. We saw a gap in the market for fun, eye-catching sustainable knitwear and with our design styles being very different from each other, the juxtaposition makes for even more interesting designs.

Tell us about how you created your last collection?

We used our uni work as a starting point for our first two collections, the last of which was inspired by Jess’ textile designs based on the natural textures of wood and the cold-blooded nature of reptiles. We used a mix of handknit, crochet and wooden pieces to create a range of textures and the ideas for the shapes came from vintage knit patterns that our grandmas passed onto us.

What is something you both love about the North?

Other than the brill weather (!), our favourite thing about the North is definitely the people. There’s a real friendly vibe up here, you can spark a conversation with almost anyone. It’s full of creative minds so it’s a constantly inspiring place to live and work!

What can we expect next from Ellis and Low?

We want to grow our brand and get out there, attending maker’s markets and seeing our knitwear in stores. We hope to build our customer base so we can offer our bespoke heirloom knitwear service. This is where we’d use people’s family history and the stories they tell to design and make personalised pieces that can be passed onto future generations. We also have lots of exciting ideas for new collections so keep your eyes peeled!

Shop Ellis and Low here.