WINTER
AT THE BOOKSHOP: POLITICS AND POVERTY:
By Sylvia Riley
Five Leaves Publications. 151 pages. £7.99. ISBN 978-1-910170-66-3
Reviewed by Jim Burns
For those who don’t know,
Riley’s experiences in St Ann’s, and especially in and around a
small, back-street bookshop run by Pat Jordan, clearly left their
mark on her. I’m tempted to suggest that the bookshop was like many
others which sprang up in the late-1960s and early-1970s and were
usually referred to as “alternative” , stocking radical newspapers,
“underground” press publications, political pamphlets, and poetry
and novels that traditional bookshops mostly ignored. They sometimes
claimed to be
“community bookshops”, but it’s questionable how often the general
community used them. But
Most towns and cities had, in the 1950s, little second-hand
bookshops tucked away in odd corners which largely catered to
working-class readers. They were also places where you could pick up
some slightly offbeat items, such as the afore-mentioned “men’s
magazines” then flooding in from
The Beats were beginning to attract attention and fiction and
articles by and about Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs, Allen
Ginsberg, and others, were spotlighted in the magazines. It amuses
me now when I see copies of
Swank for sale at high prices on Abe Books. It had four issues
in 1960 which had special sections of Beat writing.
I treasure my copies, bought despite the disapproval of my
then-wife, and the doubts of the friends who didn’t believe that
literature of any consequence could appear in such a context, and
that I wasn’t getting the magazines for the pin-ups. I wrote an
article for The Guardian
in 1963 under the title, “Pin-Up Lit.”, which pointed to the
interesting writing appearing between the breasts and buttocks.
The difference between the kind of shops I’ve referred to above and
the one run by Pat Jordan is that he was a political activist. A
one-time member of the Communist Party, he’d left in 1956 at the
time of the Hungarian Uprising, and had become a Trotskyist. His
bookshop wasn’t just somewhere to pick up a bit of light reading, it
was also where he had a duplicator (remember those?) on which he ran
off copies of a publication called
The Week, a newsletter
giving the Trotskyist perspective on national and world events.
Riley says: “Typed and duplicated, it consisted of small articles
and snippets from a variety of sources: the usual papers like the
Guardian and the
Financial Times, and in
addition, a wide circle of people built up over time sent in
snippets from various sources”. She also recalls that relevant items
were taken from radical American papers like
Militant and the
Spartacist. The
Trotskyist world was a tiny one and before the days of the Internet
the best way to keep in
touch was with a magazine or newspaper of one kind or another. I
suspect that, in some ways, they were like many small poetry
magazines, exchanging issues with each other, and their readership
largely limited to the people who wrote for them and a scattering of
fringe figures and oddballs who clustered around miniscule political
parties.
As an avid surveyor of both political and literary little magazines,
and a sometimes contributor to a few of them (Workers
Opposition, The Industrial Worker, to mention a couple of the
political ones, though I wrote poems, book reviews and articles for
Tribune for thirty years
so I suppose that identified me politically), I was always intrigued
by the way in which the Trotskyist papers often seemed to be at odds
with each other. Factional fighting on the Left was (and is) nothing
new, but the Trotskyists appeared to thrive on it. Riley lists a
baffling number of groups that forever split and re-formed under
different names: International Group, International Marxist Group,
Revolutionary Socialist Party, Socialist Labour League,
International Socialists, Socialist Workers Party. There was a
period when I tried to keep up with the parties and their
publications, but eventually gave up from sheer exhaustion. The
prose in them was often as hard to read as many of the poems in the
little literary magazines. Are any of them still in existence? There
are few outlets for such publications these days and it’s almost
impossible to find them in what bookshops still survive.
Theory has never been of much appeal to me, and Trotskyists
interested me more than Trotskyism. I’m not sure if the same can be
said of Sylvia Riley, but her memories of Pat Jordan come alive when
she writes about him and some of the other people who appeared,
disappeared, and otherwise hung around the bookshop. Students,
activists, drifters of undefined political persuasions, and the
local people who popped in to use the telephone, buy or borrow a
book, tell their troubles, or in winter just keep warm.
Winter at the Bookshop
isn’t just about Trotskyists and Riley has colourful descriptions of
streets and pubs and the people to be found in them. She worked at
various jobs, including as a GPO switchboard operator, so wasn’t
just mixing with politically-likeminded people, and has warm
appraisals of others she met. From that point of view, Riley quite
rightly emphasises that the Sixties were not quite as “Swinging” as
later, starry-eyed commentators have tried to make them out to be.
If you lived in an area like
I enjoyed reading Winter at
the Bookshop. It took me back to a time when many people were
active in one way or another. They sometimes seemed eccentric by
comparison with people I lived next door to, or worked with, and I
used to wonder what eventually happened to them. Very few seemed to
stay around for long, whether in politics or poetry.
There was a boom in little poetry magazines and poetry
readings, and I recall taking part in the
Poetry 66 gathering at
the Midland Group Gallery in Nottingham at which around forty poets
read their work. There was also a concert of poetry and jazz at the
Nottingham Albert Hall. If memory serves me right these events were
organised by Stuart Mills and Martin Parnell of the Trent Bookshop,
which opened in 1964. Riley doesn’t mention them,
their shop, or the magazine,
Tarasque, they published,
perhaps because the political had preference in her thinking in
those days. But in saying that I’m in no way denigrating her book.
It’s lively and anyone wanting to know what life was like for some
people outside
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