KEY POINTS:
A curious wee (186 pages) book, this. Curzon-Hobson is a local lad who spent some time in Britain, where his first novel The Journey Home was published. While he is has theatrical experience and has run various exhibitions, it is his work with a British charity for the homeless that he draws on most in this touching account. I sense some autobiography here, and often the novel flicks seamlessly between dream, fiction and something disarmingly close to reality.
Charles, the main character, is bored with his job publishing art books for a very successful house. One day, a girl who helps the homeless is killed by one of the psychotic ones in front of Charles. When he witnesses an instant and mass outpouring of grief - hundreds of people immediately flock to the church where the body is laid out - he begins to wonder about what the impact of his own life has really had and about who would bother to turn up to his own funeral. He decides to "be poor'', taking time off work to sleep rough and meet the people, and he very quickly discovers the discomfort of a London park bench, the wonderfully interesting people who shuffle the city's thankless streets and the people who tirelessly help them.
At a shelter for female drug addicts, someone suggests to Charles that there is no such generalised way to be poor and to instead accept his life and position and put his money to good use. Thus his aim of publishing a book about the fantastic, impoverished artists he encounters becomes a reality, and his life begins to take on meaning.
Yip, it sounds clichéd and a contender for Chardonnay Socialist Novel of the Year, but it is not. Crisply told, the story moves quickly; Curzon-Hobson's London is bleakly yet accurately rendered. The story is tender and touching, as Curzon-Hobson an inspiring morality tale into the midst of heartless thrillers that litter the book stands. Good on him, I say.
*Ebury Street, $24.95
- Extra, HoS
