Contemporary British poets read original poetry on the subject of incarceration & imprisonment. Tim Atkins / Richard Barrett / Julia Calver / Tom Chivers / Matthew Gregory / Stephen Emmerson / Jeff Hilson / Colin Herd / Holly Hopkins / Kirsty Irving / Antony John / Mendoza / Tamarin Norwood / Chris Page / Holly [...]
The Making of London is an ambitious project, and one that would inevitably leave many people disappointed by the author’s choice of subjects. London writing is a phenomenon so vast, for every name mentioned there are bound to be numerous omissions. Why Ackroyd but not Jeanette Winterson with her magnificent historical canvas, Sexing the Cherry? Why Iain Sinclair but not Stewart Home who is, in the words of the former, “commanding the desert around the northern entrance of the Blackwell Tunnel” (the only nod to Home made in the book)?
This is a book well worth the trouble finding and reading. There are some pretty wild things happening in this area of thought at the moment and its important that we don’t get locked into the idea that only the pop philosophy and psychology books are worth reading or accessible. Machery is a fast thinking and sharp guy, a young turk with loads to say. He’s written something that gives us more smart things to think about and is part of an ever-changing landscape that’s trying to grasp what we are and what we’re becoming. Like a great novel, it is a piece of writing that gives us insights to inscapes that are mainly invisible.
Is London an alienated creature? Is this book a story of alienation? Alienation from what? As a postfuturist response to the perplexities of postmodern ramifications, it clearly speaks about a “nonexistent” feeling of being isolated from something that “does not exist,” as Terry Eagleton reflects on postmodernist culture in Against the Grain: Essays 1975-1985 (1986): “[T]here is no longer any subject to be alienated and nothing to be alienated from, ‘authenticity’ having been less rejected than merely forgotten”.
Stewart Home himself was fictionalised in a passage read from one of Iain Sinclair’s books and later when I asked Stewart about this he said that they had just met accidentally and Iain Sinclair had used the meeting in his book with some added colour to expand a train of thought. I began to wonder if the whole weekend was a self-referencing literary exercise and any one us could become a character in a number of different works. This was when I told Stewart Home I was superimposing grid references over the text of this weekend. Sinclair had me thinking that events could be seen through various literary prisms; as if relating a walking scene to a memorised text. It may be that as Sinclair was intimating, things have been so psychogeographically and psychopolitically circumscribed and redrawn as to be gasping for breath and existence. We have to maybe superimpose new maps.











