Dec. 9th, 2016
Iain Sinclair "London Overground" (Penguin)

The book opens with a memorable image of the author witnessing one bird after another being struck by traffic as each starts to feast on those that have previously been struck and killed. The author goes on to consider walking along the route of Chaucer's pilgrims, then meets some travellers on the Orange line and decides instead to walk round that - in a day. He enlists an artist film-maker friend and they make the trek. The author draws on trips he's made in preparation for the journey and on trips he subsequently makes to fill out his story of the route and the day. They travel past football pitches and cemeteries, and many luxury flat developments. The author recollects his previous experiences of east and (on a more limited basis) west London and in particular his memories of memorable people he has known, such as Angela Carter and J.G. Ballard.
There's also a memorable piece on Freud and the last months of his life spent in Hampstead. These are mostly the bright moments in the book. We learn there's a great deal, normally associated with the movement of market forces, that the author really isn't keen on. The book ends with an account of an accident later suffered by his companion on the walk from which he is luck to escape with his life.
This was my first encounter with the work of Iain Sinclair. I suspect that, for all the mixed feelings I experienced as I read this it may not be my last. It's not an easy read, stylistically, but it's certainly memorable and I'm glad I stuck with it.

The book opens with a memorable image of the author witnessing one bird after another being struck by traffic as each starts to feast on those that have previously been struck and killed. The author goes on to consider walking along the route of Chaucer's pilgrims, then meets some travellers on the Orange line and decides instead to walk round that - in a day. He enlists an artist film-maker friend and they make the trek. The author draws on trips he's made in preparation for the journey and on trips he subsequently makes to fill out his story of the route and the day. They travel past football pitches and cemeteries, and many luxury flat developments. The author recollects his previous experiences of east and (on a more limited basis) west London and in particular his memories of memorable people he has known, such as Angela Carter and J.G. Ballard.
There's also a memorable piece on Freud and the last months of his life spent in Hampstead. These are mostly the bright moments in the book. We learn there's a great deal, normally associated with the movement of market forces, that the author really isn't keen on. The book ends with an account of an accident later suffered by his companion on the walk from which he is luck to escape with his life.
This was my first encounter with the work of Iain Sinclair. I suspect that, for all the mixed feelings I experienced as I read this it may not be my last. It's not an easy read, stylistically, but it's certainly memorable and I'm glad I stuck with it.