I’ve been obsessed with London since childhood. The English side of my family lived and worked throughout the city, and a day out with my father walking its streets was my greatest treat. He was a doctor, so a London trip could involve shopping for medical equipment, trawling bookshops, an afternoon at his tailor, or pub crawls where he seemed to know everyone. I’ve always been aware of the eccentricity of the place, which still thrills me. I really struggled to choose these books because there’s just so much material that I had to leave out. But I hope what I’ve chosen might be of interest.
Henry Mayhew’s sprawling record of nineteenth-century London can be overwhelming, but his ear for the vernacular and eye for weird detail means that the reader can dip in and find something.
London’s population exploded in the nineteenth century, bulked out by a huge number of itinerant workers. Mayhew interviews these people–in the prologue to the first volume, he describes himself as a "traveller in the undiscovered country of the poor"–and because he gives no judgment on their lives, the book feels more like a modern documentary.
The voices are one thing; Mayhew’s statistics are another–"expenditure in ham sandwiches supplied by street sellers is £1,820 yearly…a consumption of 436,800 sandwiches." Anyone who thinks that Dickens’ writes grotesques should read this. The first book that really brought old London alive for me.
London Labour and the London Poor is a masterpiece of personal inquiry and social observation. It is the classic account of life below the margins in the greatest Metropolis in the world and a compelling portrait of the habits, tastes, amusements, appearance, speech, humour, earnings and opinions of the labouring poor at the time of the Great Exhibition.
In scope, depth and detail it remains unrivalled. Mayhew takes us into the abyss, into a world without fixed employment where skills are declining and insecurity mounting, a world of criminality, pauperism and vice, of unorthodox…
London, allegedly, is vibrant, fashionable, taut, chromatic. However, most of us don’t live in the fleshpots; most of us live quiet, decent lives in the miles and miles of suburbs that cover almost two-thirds of the city’s area and house more than half of its population.
This book is a suburban comic novel (set in Holloway) written by George and Weedon Grossmith, originally published in Punch magazine in 1888. It records the daily events in the lives of Charles Pooter, a London clerk, his wife Carrie, his son William (who changes his name to the more aspirational Lupin), and their friends. We’re clearly meant to laugh at the Pooters and their pretensions, but actually, Charles, Carrie, and William are good people, if occasionally silly.
One of the ideas I tried to stick to when we wrote our book is that nothing is ugly, and no one is boring; it’s all about perspective. This book backs this to the hilt and is actually funny.
With an Introduction and Notes by Michael Irwin, Professor of English Literature, University of Kent at Canterbury.
The Diary of a Nobody is so unassuming a work that even its author, George Grossmith, seemed unaware that he had produced a masterpiece. For more than a century this wonderfully comic portrayal of suburban life and values has remained in print, a source of delight to generations of readers, and a major literary influence, much imitated but never equalled.
If you don't recognise yourself at some point in The Diary you are probably less than human. If you can read it without…
I know Dickens is an obvious choice, but he’s so good, and there’s so much to choose from, from legal London in Bleak House to the Thames scavengers at the start of Our Mutual Friend. But if you’re going to choose one–and you really should–take Little Dorrit.
First, the story is great all the way through, from the opening in Marseilles to the cataclysmic downfall of the House of Clennam. It’s strongly moral, with Dickens’ ironbound support for the underdog and his ever-present ability to make the reader seethe at injustice (I struggled to finish Martin Chuzzlewit, for example, because Seth Pecksniff made my blood boil so hard) and has less of the sugary sentiment that pollutes a lot of his other books.
It’s funny, moving, and for a modern-day Londoner, it's interesting because so much of the landscape remains in place; you can still visit Bleeding Heart Yard, the George on Borough High Street, and the site of the Marshalsea.
For all of her twenty-two years, Amy Dorrit has lived in Marshalsea prison, trapped there with her family because of her father's debts. Her only escape is to work as a seamstress for the kind Mrs Clennam. When Mrs Clennam's son Arthur returns to England after many years abroad, he takes a kind-hearted interest in poor little Amy. But when it is unexpectedly discovered that her father is heir to a fortune, some shocking truths emerge and Amy's life changes for ever.
This isn’t a London book per se, although the city features fairly regularly. Instead, it’s a hybrid examination of how a mob thinks and the ways people behave when they live cheek-by-jowl.
Mackay’s seminal work is still relevant, especially the chapters on financial manias like the Tulipomania and the South Sea Bubble; People Never Learn seems to be his main lesson.
The book is hard to describe but includes some of the weirder urban crazes. In the chapter on Popular Follies of Great Cities, for example, he discusses slang trends. Apparently, asking, ‘Has your mother sold her mangle?’ would reduce everyone to fits in mid-19th century London. As he notes, ‘the popular humours of a great city are a never-failing source of amusement’
Charles MacKay's groundbreaking examination of a staggering variety of popular delusions, crazes and mass follies is presented here in full with no abridgements.
The text concentrates on a wide variety of phenomena which had occurred over the centuries prior to this book's publication in 1841. Mackay begins by examining various economic bubbles, such as the infamous Tulipomania - wherein Dutch tulips rocketed in value amid claims they could be substituted for actual currency - and various follies spread by word of mouth in urban areas.
As we progress further, the scope of the book broadens into several more exotic fields…
I love comics, and here is the Master at the top of his game.
Ostensibly, it’s a reimagination of the Whitechapel Murders, how this narrative has been handed down to us, and a final dissection of and dismissal of its meaning. But like all his stuff, it’s brimful of ideas, notably an exploration of psychogeography, the effect of geography and architecture on behaviour.
Plenty of other London writers, like Iain Sinclair and Peter Ackroyd, also explore this, in greater depth, but Moore made me see it most clearly. Maybe because of the visual medium of the work? Perhaps. But the idea of a city that echoes and re-echoes with emotional triggers is really exciting.
Alan Moore (Watchmen) and Eddie Campbell (Bacchus), grandmasters of the comics medium, present a book often ranked among the greatest graphic novels of all time: From Hell.
From the squalid alleys of the East End to the Houses of Parliament, from church naves to dens of the occult, all of London feels the uniquely irresistable blend of fascination, revulsion, and panic that the Ripper offers. The city teeters on the brink of the twentieth century, and only the slightest prodding is necessary to plunge it into a modern age of terror.
Moore and Campbell have created a gripping, hallucinatory piece…
This book is the original and still the best of the alternative guides to London; accept no imitations. Regularly updated, authors Rachel Howard and Bill Nash continue to prowl the city streets, looking for the hidden and overlooked.
When King Priam's pregnant daughter was fleeing the sack of Troy, Stan was there. When Jesus of Nazareth was beaten and crucified, Stan was there - one crossover. He’s been a Hittite warrior, a Silk Road mercenary, a reluctant rebel in the Peasant’s Revolt of 1381, and an information peddler in the cabarets of post-war Berlin. Stan doesn't die, and he doesn't know why. And now he's being investigated for a horrific crime.
As Stan tells his story, from his origins as an Anatolian sheep farmer to his custody in a Toronto police interview room, he brings a wry, anachronistic…
When King Priam's pregnant daughter was fleeing the sack of Troy, Stan was there. When Jesus of Nazareth was beaten and crucified, Stan was there - one cross over. Stan has been a Hittite warrior, a Roman legionnaire, a mercenary for the caravans of the Silk Road and a Great War German grunt. He’s been a toymaker in a time of plague, a reluctant rebel in the Peasants' Revolt of 1381, and an information peddler in the cabarets of post-war Berlin. Stan doesn't die, and he doesn't know why. And now he's…
