I think it’s fair to say that Priestley isn’t so much a ‘novelist’ as a storyteller. And like so many top rate weavers of tales he can take quite meagre resources and spin a web of detail that ends up feeling and looking much more substantial than it actually is. His 500 page blockbuster, They Walk In the City, which was first published in 1936, is a perfect example of his art and as I sit here writing this review I’m struck by just how gossamer-thin the plot of the book is around which such a bulk of detail has been grafted.
Appropriately enough, the book is dedicated to H.G. Wells and it’s impossible not to have Priestley’s mentor in your mind when you’re reading it – there is something essentially Edwardian in the style and content despite the rude intrusion of very much more contemporary problems like the rise of Fascism.
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If there is a saving grace to this novel it’s Priestley’s capacity for good, readable, homespun prose that is deceptively easy to read. I’m not being snobby or patronising when I say that this felt like the perfect story for serialisation in a weekly magazine – or maybe perfect stuff for a Radio 4 dramatization in their afternoon theatre slot.
I’m pretty sure the book is out of print at the moment but you can find copies listed online for not very much. Buy it if you love a yarn well told with plenty of period detail and just a hint of nostalgia.
Vrlo dobro
