Calabash (Paperback)

If all this sounds unworldly, well, then it is. And then it isn't. Some readers may be surprised by the fact that Joanne Harris of 'Chocolat' fame has written the exuberant cover blurb, since Christopher Fowler's previous work had seemed to be mired in the seedy world of horror, whilst Harris' writing has recently borne fruit in the literary marketplace. Yet, if you compare Calabash with Blackberry Wine, Joanne Harris' latest novel, you'll see that there are similar themes. The most obvious bridge here is that both novels feature the experience of adolescence in the early 70s (although Harris' hero is younger). As Fowler himself has written, this theme of growing up is very powerful, since everyone can identify with it. No doubt most people will have felt isolated and alone as they were going through their teenage years, whether they were one of the legendary 'Quiet Ones', or not. Fowler also shares with Harris a love of the fantastic, especially as escape from the mundane. Since Joanne Harris also wrote the sublime Pre-Raphaelite novel 'Sleep, Pale Sister', you can't help but think that she supplied the detail in Calabash that Lizzie Rossetti, "unhappy wife of the artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti... topped herself with an overdose of laudanum in 1862". Harris and Fowler have also trekked deep into Tales from The One Thousand and One Nights (Fowler calls the hotel in Cole Bay 'The Scheherazade'). With a recent excellent television adaptation, it seems that these magical eastern stories are now very much back in fashion. There's also a hint of Ray Bradbury in Venice, California as Kay likens the Cole Bay pier to "the bones of some great forgotten animal".

Although Christopher Fowler says that he is attempting to forge some new ground in his writing, I don't think that his themes have changed as much as his tone has. Admittedly, I'm only using Soho Black as a comparison here, but this earlier novel also featured a protagonist in an altered state of reality. As the title would suggest, Soho Black was very dark and ugly. I must admit here that I have a gnawing distrust of novels which feature Soho (i.e. - every other book I've read this year seems to have featured Soho or Sohotype film execs). So prevalent are these Soho fictions that I'm tempted to compare them with those early nineteenth century novels which revolved around Bath, with huge contrasts between lightness and dark (I'm willing to bet that 'Soho Black' will attain literary immortality for so ably capturing the feel of the times). Cole Bay is also a Victorian recreational town, a Bath that has fallen into bleak disrepair because its inhabitants have lost their will to care, to achieve, and to make something of themselves.

Because his hometown is so dire, Kay seeks escape. He researches and makes models of the old cities of lore like Babylon. Pursued by a bear, in the form of a bully from his school, Kay arrives in the fantastic land of Calabash. In contrast to Cole Bay, this sea city is built around a warm harbour. The people are friendly too, especially the exquisite beauty known as the Princess Rosamunde. Not only is Kay welcomed into the fantastic land of Calabash, but also it seems that the people there have been waiting for him, and might actually have summoned him... Kay relaxes into his fantasy world, doing what he wishes, dropping school. But is Kay really the master of this domain? Can he really leave his life in Cole Bay behind?

Christopher Fowler should also be allowed to escape the morgue that is currently known as 'horror', to be let out into the mainstream, to flee the zombies he's been placed next to on bookshelves. However, Fowler hasn't completely turned back on his roots. There's a very powerful colonial theme residing in 'Calabash' which places this book amongst the most imaginative of the Victorian Gothic period, like Haggard's 'She' and Stoker's 'Dracula', with the exception here being that Fowler is the much more competent novelist. Cole Bay in the 70s seems to be at the very nadir of the Victorian dreams of empire. What Fowler seems to be tackling is that most stimulating of paradoxes: how can we use our imaginations in the real world without subjugating the wills and dreams of others? For what reason does the imaginary exist, for good or for ill? Why do we feel the urge to walk through the wardrobe into Narnia? And why, like Harry Potter and Hogwarts, are these dreams shared en masse?

Christopher Fowler questions our need for fiction, and weaves a quite seductive answer. Like Kay, you'll find that Calabash is very difficult to leave....