Helen Falconer's Blog - Posts Tagged "primrose-hill"
How the story of Primrose Hill came about
I've changed the cover. I can't figure out how to change it on Goodreads - what a complicated interface! - so here's a link. The new cover is inspired by Eleanor, one of the main characters in the book. Eleanor - among other things - self harms.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FPOHGNK/r...
Primrose Hill is a very posh part of London squeezed between Camden and Kilburn: Rock stars and supermodels live in houses not half a mile from working class flats and housing estates. Cheek by jowl with Ritzy London, there is wretched London. It was ever thus. Charles Dickens would be right at home there.
The story of Primrose Hill came from a story told to me by my 15-year-old son about a friend of his. This boy was being raised by his grandparents because his young mother was lost in a world of drug abuse. My son told me that his friend – I called him Danny – feared for his mother’s life. Danny believed she would end up dead at the hands of her violent boyfriend – a man who was also her drug dealer. Danny thought the only way to save her from this was to kill his mum’s boyfriend.
Teenagers see moral dilemmas in terms as clear as mountain spring water. Their moral clarity hasn’t yet clouded over, as ours does as we get older and “wiser”. They are also very, very funny, as any parent of teenagers will tell you.
In my novel, Danny seeks help from his closest friend Si, the narrator (“If it hadn’t been for Aids we’d’ve been blood brothers”).
The scene thus set against a backdrop of a scorching hot London summer, the plot pretty much roars off on its own – apart from Eleanor, that is. (“Eleanor was mad – seriously mad. She was driven by a mighty force I didn’t understand, like a little boat being blown along in a big wind. I shouldn’t have got tied up with her at all, but I did.”)
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FPOHGNK/r...
Primrose Hill is a very posh part of London squeezed between Camden and Kilburn: Rock stars and supermodels live in houses not half a mile from working class flats and housing estates. Cheek by jowl with Ritzy London, there is wretched London. It was ever thus. Charles Dickens would be right at home there.
The story of Primrose Hill came from a story told to me by my 15-year-old son about a friend of his. This boy was being raised by his grandparents because his young mother was lost in a world of drug abuse. My son told me that his friend – I called him Danny – feared for his mother’s life. Danny believed she would end up dead at the hands of her violent boyfriend – a man who was also her drug dealer. Danny thought the only way to save her from this was to kill his mum’s boyfriend.
Teenagers see moral dilemmas in terms as clear as mountain spring water. Their moral clarity hasn’t yet clouded over, as ours does as we get older and “wiser”. They are also very, very funny, as any parent of teenagers will tell you.
In my novel, Danny seeks help from his closest friend Si, the narrator (“If it hadn’t been for Aids we’d’ve been blood brothers”).
The scene thus set against a backdrop of a scorching hot London summer, the plot pretty much roars off on its own – apart from Eleanor, that is. (“Eleanor was mad – seriously mad. She was driven by a mighty force I didn’t understand, like a little boat being blown along in a big wind. I shouldn’t have got tied up with her at all, but I did.”)
