I wanted to read this book as soon as I heard about it, and more so - I wanted to love it. Growing up working-class is a strange thing, but not without its artistic inspirations.
There are working-class TV shows (the soap operas are the biggest example), working-class film and film stars (those actors who grew up poor and fought for their place in Hollywood), and working-class music (whole genres created by poor, struggling kids on rough council estates).
But I don't think I had ever read a working-class book - or rather, I had never read a story written by a working-class writer. I may have done, and I apologise to any authors that I'm mis-class'ing. But nothing had ever felt really... gritty and down at the level I grew up in. I'm not saying I grew up a Dickensian orphan, but I was fully aware of the different class status of the kids at school - the houses and tastes and jobs the other parents had. And whilst it didnt exactly put a 'chip' on my shoulder, it is something that I have been vaguely aware of my whole life.
And so, to Bog People.
I think what struck me most of all, was the anger.
The anger of the characters - of their place in the world, their station and limitations.
But also my anger. The editor, and contributing author, Hollie Starling says in her excellent introductory essay that - "Those vested in the maintenance of capital-driven systems of control have worked hard to distract from one of history's most abiding truths: that there are more of us than them."
This was like a rallying cry, a call to arms, a stirring of my working-class soul to action. It was interesting to read that this country has always worked roughly the same as it does now - keeping the rich rich and the poor poor.
The stories felt like history, because maybe they have all been played out a hundred times before, in a hundred council estates and farming villages.
It is odd to glance over the notes I made of the stories as I read them, as the words that jump out time and again are - bleak, angry, sad, familiar, inevitable.
But there were also moments of lyrical beauty and solid, relatable characters who's story moved me.
And through it all, you come to understand (if you didn't have a firm grasp on the definition already) what folk horror is. Whilst it is linked with the land, it is also linked with the people who work it (in all the modern connotations that meaning now has). It isn't about lamenting your place as a working-person, but rather defending your rights and holding anyone who would seek to take advantage of you to rights.
I loved this book. For the stories, for the excellent writing and the slow, creeping horror. But also for the fire it stirred inside me. For the window it opened and the realities it showed me of what it is to be, and be seen as, a working-class person.