David Lassman's Blog: Follow Your Bliss

The city of Bath is designated a World Heritage Site and it is not hard, as one walks its streets and takes in the architectural splendour of its Palladian buildings, to see why. Yet alongside these iconic structures, there existed at one time another area, one less salubrious and downright dangerous. And if you truly want to know the city’s history, you have to learn a little about that aspect.

In 1702 and again the following year, Queen Anne visited Bath and it is true to say that the city never looked back. Before her visits, the city was firmly entrenched within its medieval walls. After her patronage, however, the self-contained conurbation rapidly expanded outwards in all directions. To the east, parades were swiftly built; to the west, magnificent squares; and to the north, the crowning architectural triumphs of the Circus and Royal Crescent.

To the south of the city walls, towards the river, was a different matter entirely though. Despite being one of the main routes in and out of Bath, the majority of the southern region had not been built upon. Historically and practically, there was a very good reason for this: the whole area was situated on a flood plain.

It had been suggested, during one of the initial outpourings of building work which sprung up elsewhere in the city, that the whole area south of the city walls might be cultivated into a pastoral area, along the lines of Oxford’s Christchurch Meadow. This was quickly dismissed, however, within the climate of unbridled greed and expansion that held the city in its tight grip throughout the entire eighteenth century and it was not long before elegant and fashionable lodging houses were being built with only the flimsiest attempt at flood prevention.

Once the inevitable and regular flooding happened, the fashionable lodging houses swiftly became unacceptable as dwelling-places to the upper and middle class visitors they were intended to attract and as the buildings became almost unlivable to all but the poorest of occupants, the whole area soon became run-down. It was not long before the place became known after the largest street within it, which itself had been named after the river it led down towards. And so it was that the Avon Street district, known by many of its inhabitants simply as ‘the hate’, became synonymous with the most poverty-stricken and desperate section of the population that resided in this most fashionable of cities.

The majority of the Avon Street district was demolished during the infamous Sack of Bath of the 1960s and 1970s, and for many residents the phrase ‘good riddance’ was no doubt applied. Yet although it may now be gone, it should not be forgotten, for whenever one thinks of Regency Bath, one should always remember there are two sides to every story.

Welcome to the first entry in my new blog. As its description says, I hope to reflect on various topics relating to the craft of writing, as well as thoughts, recommendations and anything else I feel might be of interest. In a recent interview I said that The Magus, by John Fowles, was my favourite book, and so I have decided to use my good reads review of it as the remainder of my first blog entry.
The Magus by John Fowles

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


This had a profound influence on me when I read it for the first time, which was while on an island hopping holiday in Greece during the 1990s (including the island of Spetses, where Fowles taught in the 1950s). It certainly does not appeal to everyone, as I think some of the other reviews attest to, but if you are able to fully immerse yourself within its pages, it becomes an incredible and rewarding experience of (self) discovery. In many ways, looking back from this present day vantage point, it was one of the key books that inspired me to become a writer. And ultimately, it led to my living on a Greek island for three and an half years while I wrote my first (unpublished) novel, which I now see was my own small homage to what I consider to be Fowles' masterpiece.





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