I wanted to review this book because I’m particularly interested in new work which comes from my ‘home district’ in West Yorkshire. The author has evidently worked in Leeds for a time, because one of the districts is mentioned by name, and some of the cityscapes are oddly familiar. In fact the location described in her standout story ‘Discrepancy Matrix’ sounds / looks pretty much like where I grew up, and it’s a pleasure to read how the accuracy and empathy depicted throughout is at once both beautiful and empowering.
And that’s the thing about this collection; no matter how clueless or downtrodden her citizens may be, there is always someone, somewhere or something which makes the struggle worthwhile. These characters are not being written about from the outside: they are sat along with, interacted with, and lived through. Take, for instance, the hapless council workers in ‘The Gordon Trask,’ who are having their premises and jobs wrestled away from them by costcutting bureaucrats. Everyone knows that the game is up, but they hang in there grimly until the end because they fundamentally believe in what they are doing, with ‘all of it together and nothing lost, and equipment staying where you had left it.’ Now, as someone who’s had jobs similar to the one in the story, I can tell you it is so believable and on-point that it could have been me in the office.
Bradley’s clarity of style and naturalistic dialogue hides a substantial talent in the ‘less is more’ department. She hits on the exact word for describing how a neglected child takes an apple core from a bin - the picture is completely there in the word ‘draw,’ from the slowness, the concentration and the delicate picking motion. After all, you wouldn’t want your apple to touch the bin on its way out. Meanwhile, the entire background to Tan’s life in ‘The Stonechat’ is indicated with an admirable brevity just by mentioning his robes, the name of his former cult leader and his agricultural work. We know, by the end of three short paragraphs, that he was enticed away from a shopping centre when he was very young, but this information is delivered casually in passing, and from his point of view, as though yes this is what happens to people round here. On the surface, this lost / found young man might seem vague and unprepossessing - but at the end of three pages I was rooting for him as he attempts to rescue a live bird being used as a prize on a fairground stall.
The author’s vision of the near future is only a continuation of the broken-down present, according to this collection. No, it’s not a world of whizzy gadgets, flying cars and unlimited media - it’s a grungey land of unwilling house shares, allotment co-operatives and low tech, definitely post-industrial and without any competent system in charge. I expect she’s right. At times, stories might have been continued past their natural closure - ‘The Stonechat’ mentioned above being a case of this, although I can see why the lower-key ending would fit alongside others in the same collection.
And Bradley is very good indeed when hinting at darker overtones without going all out to depress the reader. For instance, domestic violence and coercion lies behind ‘Dance Class,’ but the protagonist and her daughter find redemption and care through the escape mechanism she initiates for herself. The focus is ultimately on the happiness of the child, who can at last run free in the garden. The same theme runs through ‘Harmony Grows,’ where a seemingly impossible situation for Harmony’s Mum becomes more bearable as she discovers her wider network and reaches a point of transformation by the end. In ‘Coming Attractions,’ the would-be actor runs the risk of being ground down by his job at Cineworld, with the claustrophobic presence of his fast-tracked partner Alan being part of the problem. But no, the fella wins out, packing his bags at last and heading for uncertain lodgings in London. He’s going somewhere, unlike the similarly trapped northerner Billy Liar, who never actually leaves. Bradley gives us hope under the desperate lives. It is possible, no matter where you come from.
Rennie Parker is a poet living in the East Midlands, and she is mostly published by Shoestring Press. Her latest collection Balloons and Stripey Trousers, a nightmare journey into the toxic workplace, came out earlier this year. She works in FE and blogs occasionally here. She is also on Twitter/X and Bluesky.
You can read a review of Balloons and Stripey Trousers on Everybody's Reviewing here.
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