I always used to set any stories I had written in America. There’s something appealing about setting narratives in places I don’t know. It helps that most of my favourite authors are American and I was trying to emulate them. But I don’t do that any more.
A couple of months ago, I was sat in a lecture where we received a talk from an author by the name of Joel Lane. Some of you may already be familiar with his work, but for the uninitiated – like myself – you can find his works here. But it was less what he wrote, than what he said that got me thinking. He informed me and the rest of the class that he’d set stories in Bilston and, even, West Bromwich. That’s where I live, I thought. Maybe that was when the lightbulb went off.
This past week I’ve been in Birmingham a fair bit. When I go to Birmingham I feel like a tourist – a massively fawning tourist – and that’s even with having a Birmingham postcode. Technically and geographically, I live in Birmingham; local identity and (waning) dialect suggest I live in West Bromwich. I’m more Black Country than Brummie.
Birmingham overwhelms me. It’s a massive metropolis and makes me feel like I’m in a Fritz Lang film, or, dread the thought, a Christopher Nolan film. The Wesleyan building and the area around there would make for a great legal thriller starring Ed Harris as a corrupt cop and James McAvoy as a wide eyed, ambitious lawyer in search of the truth. And nothing but the truth.
But what made me fall in love with Birmingham was today, sitting in that square opposite Snow Hill station. (Local people will know the one – it’s got a church in it and a fair few benches). Birmingham is a rush of activity at 8am, no-one stops. I stopped, though, and sat on one of those benches. The sun was making the back of my neck warm, gently tickling it with it’s heat. From where I was sitting you could see the buildings with their old architecture meeting with their ghastly concrete counterparts jutting out over them.
Like I said, Birmingham is a rush. Most people are marching along to their city jobs, and march they do. Sitting there watching it it looks like a procession or a military drill. There’s an order too and it goes something like this:
Someone with a briefcase, a schoolchild, someone with a pull-along luggage carrier, someone you’re attracted to, someone you’re attracted too – they usually come in pairs which makes it difficult to choose which one you’re attracted to more – someone with a briefcase, someone who stares at you funny because you’re sitting down, someone you’re attracted to, someone in a Villa shirt and someone you’re attracted to in a Villa shirt which is a catch 22 situation if ever there was one.
Something as banal as watching people walk past onto a shit day at work, an extra-marital affair or to visit an old friend made me like a city I’d never given much thought to.
And then some little girls started chasing birds as they flew from tree to tree. It wasn’t quite an epiphany, but it was cute enough. Sadly, then I had to get up and leave because I had appointments to keep.
So, rather than constantly set stories in midwestern cities I know nothing about, I’m going to set stories in Birmingham because this past week I’ve realised I quite like the place. And I don’t even know half of it yet, or half of what goes on around there which is exciting.
But Telly Savalas says it better than me. Birmingham, here’s looking at ya.
