Review of The Night Lawyer, by Michelle Spring
Random House, 2006
Rarely does a novel do so much to capture the visceral as well as the
visual energy of both a place and state of being, than does Michelle
Spring's new novel, The Night Lawyer. The book offers up an experience
of East London and its towering financial centre at Canary Wharf,
imposed against a night snapshot of a city in a moment in time: in stark
contrast to the last few remaining rows of Victorian workers cottages,
abandoned shipyards and dock warehouses of the Isle of Dogs. It
describes the social and architectural discrepancies of rich and poor,
stainless steel and old wood, imported marble and muddy footpaths, all
bound together by the energy of the people who live in the Thames
Gateway, and who travel in and out via the DLR (Docklands Light
Railway), which connects this urban but remote eastern waterway area to
the city of London, and the world beyond.
The language of the novel is at once sparse and elegant- evoking the
simplicity and stunning chiaroscuro of a skyline at night, where the
unseen facets of cranes, towers, and plumes of smoke fuse above and put
into perspective the toiling of people on the ground.
Yet all this, rich as it is, is merely the backdrop for the story of a
remarkable young woman: Eleanor Porter, the night lawyer hired to do
the lonely late night shift at a tabloid newspaper- a dangerous job in
more ways than one, but the right job to test the mettle of a woman
newly returned to work and life after a serious breakdown.
Like the Docklands of the novel's setting, the main character is
herself a set of contradictions that flow into a solid whole. Eleanor,
or Ellie, is petite, but strong. She twirls like a dancer but also
kicks with the best in her karate club. She has learned how to live
alone, how to keep her space simple and clean, without the clutter of
domestic objects, but with easy to follow walls and boundaries. She
lives alone but has an empathy for others that takes her, against her
will and better judgment, out by foot through the winding streets and
canals and between the wealth of her office tower and the mixed economy
of her new neighborhood. She stands up to the hooded youths who hang
around menacing along her street, and traverses the great divide of her
own safe garden wall to help the young neighbor girl whose boyfriend
contributes to both women's senses of uncertainty in a hard world.
The Night Lawyer is the story of a woman who comes to terms with the
process of being stalked, and who does so alone. The police do not
help, the neighbors do not help, the office colleagues who try to help
fail to understand the magnitude of the problem. Ellie helps herself.
Her story is one of the transformative female experience of emerging
from victimhood to survivor. Her is also the story of emancipation from
the burden of deep memory of abuse, unearthed by the stirrings of a
photograph, brought to her attention by a shadowy figure encountered
too close to home.
What is striking about Ellie, and the novel as a whole, is the energy
that the story drives ahead. Eleanor is edgy: she makes some bad
choices as well as some good ones, acts uncertainly and unstably when
faced with unexpected danger, and finds it difficult to trust the
social systems that are meant to protect her. This makes her a
realistic character for our modern age, when social systems are
breaking down and the edges of the 'urban regeneration' areas express an
uncanny mixture of possibility and the end of certainty.
Without wishing to give the story away, I would simply say that readers
of many ages, women and men alike, will find in this book an accurate,
energised and uneasy description of an urban area in the process of
change, and of a woman who learns to live within that process of change.
This story is ripe for dramatisation, either in film or perhaps in TV
serialisation, for surely there are many more stories cases to be
solved and resolved by this night lawyer, in a world that 'never
sleeps'. This reader is very much looking forward to Ellie Porter's
next encounter. . .