Wreckage

I wouldn't say CS' review is spot on, or even moderately close. So yes, I do disagree to some extent. Wreckage is a novel containing seven short stories that each hold their own well, and quite possibly connect in some way. They start off with the background information and introductions, and then once you delve into the core you are taught the deep secrets which is the true climax of the short stories. But each ends on an oblivious note, and some few leave you questioning their intents and what may happen after. Crackanthorpe doesn't tell us of his own world or misery, as any novelist might, he tells us of another world, another place that may or may not contain his beliefs and views on certain subject matters. The disarray of women is quite a popular plot for Crackanthorpe to write about, he tells of their sorrows in such a way that this reader can't help but believe he connected with them in some way that he felt the need to speak for these unfortunate individuals. These stories were tales of the truth from that time, the truth that everyone shunned and blissfully passed by on the street. They were unique and well written in their own way, that is if you're a fan of these types of stories. I'd recommend it to anyone really, and this is coming from a sci-fi and romance fan. I didn't think that I would like any type of story from a time so long ago, and I just found the perfect book. tl;dr read it. (SM)

I agree with CS that Crackanthorpe provides his readers with a view into a world that they would other wise stray away from one of poverty, prostitution, and loneliness. In Many ways Crackanthorpe is no different then his readers he is fascinated by the lives of the depressed working class but in no way is he apart of it. The closest Crackanthorpe came to living the tragedy found in his work was at the end of his life climbing up on the edge of the bridge. AO

Hubert Crackanthorpe's "Wreckage" was not a telling of an "existence bereft of genuine beauty, kindness, goodness," etc. There was genuine love and compassion from Maurice in "Profiles," when he tries to go save his ex-finacee from a life of depravity; and from Lilly in "A Conflict of Egoisms." The stories were ultimately tragic, but tragedy does not negate love. I agree, CS, that, as readers of Crackanthorpe, we "look but don't inhabit" his world. The relationships and general suffering he tells of are familiar enough to let us relate to, but only up to a point. Crackanthorpe goes well beyond that point when he delves into topics like prostitution, suicide (actual suicide, not just suicidal thoughts) and debilitating grief. I don't agree that Crackanthorpe was slumming with "Wreckage." He wasn't trying to earn 1890's London street cred. The emotion and truth he was moved to express could not fit so aptly in any other class of story as those of total despair and misery. Crackanthorpe didn't slum. Rather, he chose the appropriate medium for his message: an extremely personal telling of human experiences. The difference between us and Vivian Morston is that even though we were just visitors to this grimy little world, when we leave, we carry a bit of it with us. -PH