West: Tales of the Lost Lands

Myth, history, personal memoir, fiction. As seen from North Worcestershire.

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 28 February 2023

Even more than its predecessor, The Magical History of Britain, West: Tales of the Lost Lands will appeal to those who have the very specific belief that the western midlands of England – Worcestershire, Staffordshire and parts of Warwickshire – are in some way haunted. This belief is manifest throughout the book, which makes no sustained effort to convince the sceptical and will, consequently, have little appeal for those who are not prepared at least to suspend their disbelief until the final page. However, for those who are, if only temporarily, happy to try out Martin Wall’s locally specific mixture of faiths and folklore, there is much to enjoy.

The book is quite content to switch mid chapter – sometimes mid-paragraph – between myth, history, personal memoir and fiction; its intention is synthesis, not analysis. Much of the history is convincing enough and the memoir varies from the touching to the very funny to the frankly bizarre. Some passages will strongly appeal to readers of fiction by Archie Hill, Kerry Hadley-Pryce and Joel Lane.

The oddest things in the book are the overtly fictional chapters. The first of these, narrated by the medieval poet Layamon, is most impressive, reminiscent of the Alan Moore of Voice of the Fire and almost as good: we are left with little doubt that the England of King John was little different to Amin’s Uganda or Pol-Pot’s Cambodia. The second, set in Roman times, is the one chapter in the whole book that’s likely to puzzle most readers: its attempt to evoke the collective consciousness of the druidic belief system by switching between first and third person narrative is not wholly successful. The third fictional part, set in a credibly grim near future, is again reminiscent of Alan Moore – though this time of V for Vendetta.

The overall tone of the book is summed up in the word ‘lost’; there’s a sense throughout of things passing and decaying. What exactly is being lost is not always clear: Wall never painted a rose-tinted picture of the area’s past in his previous books and he doesn’t start now. But I sense an anger that the promise of something like Raymond Williams’ ‘common culture’ has grown less attainable over the past forty years. The current collapse of the role of the humanities in education suggests he may not be far wrong.

I live in the same area as Martin Wall and have an attitude to it that’s not entirely unlike his. I could not help but read the book from two widely different perspectives – one, prepared to enjoy its charms and not worry too much whether or not the Goddess Sabrina was in any sense real; the other, all-too aware of the groans and complaints that many parts of it would inspire in the sceptically-minded, evidence-based historian.

If the latter position is yours, perhaps you’d better look elsewhere. However, if you’re closer to the former, you can dive into this one expecting that it will resonate.

[Amazon Customer – Five Stars]