Manchester, so much to answer for

As a Sheffielder, albeit having blown in a mere 37 years ago, I’d be expected to take a dim view of Manchester.   It’s the wrong side of the Pennines, for a start.  It feels like a huge sprawling metropolis, whilst Sheffield, big city that it is, feels still like a city centre surrounded by villages.   Here, one can look out over fields and moors, but be 20 minutes from not only shops but wonderful cultural opportunities – the Crucible theatre, the Showroom cinema, Music in the Round.  And it really does rain a lot over there.  I commuted to Manchester in the early 1980s, and going through the Chinley tunnel always felt like leaving one country and emerging in another, emerging in a different climate, a different season.

There’s a view that northern cities are much of a muchness, a view that those of us who live in them would dispute vigorously.  When the narrator of Passing Time, Jacques Revel, says that ‘Bleston is not unique of its kind, that Manchester or Leeds, Newcastle or Sheffield, or Liverpool… would have had a similar effect on me’, I’ve always felt inclined to argue that had the author come to OUR University instead of Manchester’s, he would have found digs in Crookes, where the air would not have choked him, from where escape would have been easy, out on Manchester Road, or up towards Redmires, or down to Rivelin, and from where he would have been able to see the lights of the city, the kind of bird’s eye view that  Revel could only approximate when he spread his map of the city out  and ‘surveyed its whole extent at a glance, like some hovering bird about to pounce’ (p. 41).

Bleston is undoubtedly inspired by Manchester (Butor said as much),  and draws on Manchester’s iconic status as the archetypal city of industry and of the worst aspects of industrial life.   His descriptions echo those of Alexis de Tocqueville, 200 years earlier, who described the ‘damp, dark labyrinth’, the ‘half-daylight’, and the sun seen through the pall of black smoke as a disc without rays.  Part of the reason for Manchester’s status as ‘shock city’ of the Victorian era is that its growth was unplanned, ‘an incoherent environment shaped hastily to exceed earthly standards … it inspired wonder and dread in equal measure’ (Crinson, Fabrications) – see this upcoming conference, noted on the Occursus blog.   Eric Hazan has described three models for the growth of cities:  an onion adding outer layers as it expands (Paris),  mathematical grids (New York), and bacteria in a petri dish.   Butor uses an even less appealing metaphor when Revel, armed with his map, sees himself as a scientist studying ‘this huge cancerous growth’ (p. 42).

W G Sebald, arriving ten years after Butor, was struck by many of the same features that Butor, Engels, de Tocqueville, and so many others, have described.   In The Emigrants, he describes how Max Ferber, approaching Manchester from the moors in 1945, ‘had a bird’s eye view of the city spread out before him’ (Emigrants, p. 168), of the ‘solid mass of utter blackness’ of the city centre, the chimneys towering above the flat maze of housing.  Sebald’s narrative charts the decline of industrial Manchester, from the constantly belching chimneys of 1945 to the decay and neglect of 1990/91.

The geography of Sebald’s Manchester is that of the real city, whereas Butor’s Bleston is a transformed Manchester, a composite , as Dickens’ Coketown, ‘where Nature was as strongly bricked out as killing airs and gases were bricked in’, was an amalgam of Manchester, Oldham and Preston.    Thus the frontispiece map would not serve a visitor as a guide, despite the claims of some commentators, though it borrows features from the real city.  Both Butor and Sebald draw attention to the distinctive star shape of Strangeways Prison – a design common to many late 19th century prisons, including Paris’s la Petite Roquette – and Butor’s city is very much a carceral space.   Revel tries to get out into countryside, fails, and never tries again – when he asks a pub landlord how he might get there, he’s referred to ‘some nice parks’, and to the wastelands between the towns; his colleague Jenkins has never left at all.

As Revel finally leaves, in the moment of  his deliverance, he addresses the city for the last time: ‘as you lie dying, Bleston, whose dying embers I have fanned’ (p. 288), and Sebald’s ‘Mancunian Cantical’ ends with ‘Flutes of death for Bleston’.   Both Butor and Sebald found that Manchester triggered associations and memories which inspired their writing.   If one considers some of the repeated motifs that both writers use – ash, fog, darkness, shadows, silence, fires and wasteland – it’s hard to escape the notion that for both those associations and memories were rooted in wartime Europe, the Europe that Max Ferber had escaped with his life.

Notes:

For all matters Sebaldian, Terry Pitts’ Vertigo blog is essential

http://occursus.wordpress.com/2012/02/02/unplanned-wildernesses-narrating-the-british-slum-1844-1951/

http://www.thenewsignificance.com/2011/05/10/eric-hazan-the-invention-of-paris/

Asa Briggs, Victorian Cities (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1990)

Michel Butor, Passing Time, translated by Jean Stewart (London : John Calder, 1965)

Mark Crinson, ‘Towards the Beautiful City’, Fabrications: New Art and Urban Memory in Manchester (Manchester: UMiM Publishing, 2002)

Charles Dickens, Hard Times (1854)

Friedrich Engels, The Condition of the Working Class in England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999)

Eric Hazan, L’Invention de Paris: il n’y a pas de pas perdus (Paris: Seuil, 2002)

J B Howitt, ‘Michel Butor and Manchester’, Nottingham French Studies, 12 (1973), 74-85

Musée Carnavalet, L’impossible photographie: prisons parisiennes 1851-2010 (Paris: Paris Musées, 2010)

W G Sebald, The Emigrants (London: Vintage, 2002)

W G Sebald, ‘Bleston.  A Mancunian Cantical’, Across the Land and the Water : Selected Poems, 1964-2001 (London : Hamish Hamilton, 2011)

Alexis de Tocqueville, Voyages en Angleterre, Irlande, Suisse et Algérie (Paris: Gallimard, 1958)

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  1. W G Sebald’s Bleston « Passing Time

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