Sunday at the Cross Bones John Walsh Fourth Estate, 480pp, £12.99 ISBN 0007139322
The year is 1932, the place is London. The rector of Stiffkey in Norfolk, Harold Davidson, is on trial for alleged misconduct in his work with the young prostitutes whom he tries to save from their own immorality.
John Walsh has reconstituted Davidson’s real-life story from a few facts into a novel that takes the form of his imagined journals. Walsh also throws in the diary entries of a few other characters:
a reporter, a bishop, some private investigators and the rector's wife. These characters exist solely to move the plot along, and ensure that the reader knows Davidson is far from a reliable narrator. It’s a shame that Walsh doesn’t credit his readers with more intelligence, as he deprives us of the joy of figuring things out on our own. The minute that Davidson starts kissing girls, prodding their breasts and describing their appearances in a lecherous way, his protestations of innocence, while undoubtedly convincing enough for him, are weak indeed.
When we are allowed to read long, unadulterated stretches of Davidson's journal, a portrait emerges of a complex human being whose actions cannot be reduced to any one motive. Hopefully, next time around, Walsh will put more trust in his writing and avoid resorting to gimmicks.
Post this article to
Post your comment
Please note: you will need to login or register before you can comment on the website
