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  • -1 - The Nature of Monsters
    • Clare Clark - The Nature of Monsters

    • Rating: * * * * * no star
    • Publisher: Viking £16.99
    • Reviewed by Simone Baird
    • Posted: Mon Mar 5 2007
  • Clare Clark’s London of 1719 is a putrid place which roars like the ocean, where the ash-heaps crawl with beggars and people rush about on business so urgent that the loss of even a minute would have dire consequences. Into this chaos is cast our co-narrator, headstrong 15-year-old Eliza Tally, after she falls pregnant by the local landowner’s cad of a son. The capital is a world away from the small parish outside Newcastle where Eliza grew up with her mother, and the house to which she is sent to work as a servant (in return for the abortion of the loathed maggot inside her, or so Eliza believes) is a dark prison.

    The dual narrative also lets us into the mind of her master. While others see Grayson Black as a mere tradesman, really he is intent on proving himself a scientist, thanks to his theory that whatever a woman feels or sees during her pregnancy will be written all over the unborn child. He sets about attempting to prove this through experiments he conducts within his home on his two pregnant servant girls – one of them, of course, being Eliza.

    Eliza he wishes to terrify; to the hare-lipped, childlike Mary he gives a monkey, so that a monkey might be born. As Grayson slips ever further into opium addiction and madness, the rest of the household desperately try to save themselves.

    Clark’s impressively atmospheric historical novels (this is the follow-up to ‘The Great Stink’) are steeped in London as it really was. Both page- and stomach-turning, ‘The Nature of Monsters’ pulls no punches and gilds no edges for the modern reader.

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1 comment

  1. Posted by WILFRED JOHN on 13 Mar 2008 01:21

    after street crossed
    There was a day when I saw how,
    in time, the dead would blacken the sky –
    uncalled except by the stirring of a drink
    or today, biting into a
    the light dusting of flour on my lips
    tasting like skin.
    And more than that, how even
    the unnoticed transits we make through this city
    become afterwards, journeys;
    the street names white in the headlights:
    Street after street crossed
    until the river winds around a boneyard.
    The sky is full of men on ladders
    placing silver against silver,
    building a long curve
    that settles over the roof tops like a rainbow.
    Promises, promises. When I am old
    my eyelids will droop under the weight.
    © 1987 WJ
    Tars with You
    A long time erupts into minutes
    tears with You
    These moments almost baptismal
    I am Your sworn allegiance Lord
    You have felt me fall...
    hard on my face
    creeping; scattered; groans
    Hear this cry...
    Undo this tie; so many times I cry.
    Still You surround me
    Oh these moments with You
    Infinitely too short
    I am wholly Yours
    With all these cuts
    all these bruises
    You have felt me fall...
    in love with You.

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