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Stolen Letters

It falls upon one PC Roger Topping to solve the crime, taking over the case from his old school friend Sargeant Laurence Everill without any great hope of success — but the village is in turmoil and something has to be done.

A bag of 27 undelivered letters is recovered from behind a hairdresser’s salon in Skipton and once the policemen start investigating it becomes known as the Burley Cross postbox theft, as it was in the village of Burley Cross, just before Christmas, that the postbox was forced open and the mail was stolen.

We are invited to read from the stolen letters, which range from the believably absurd, (a tirade about dog poo) to the surreal (forbidden seduction techniques), the touching (declarations between two lovers) and the self-referential.

Each ‘chapter’ takes the form of a letter and each one could stand alone as a short story (or the plot of a Barker novel) but, taken as a whole, they form a portrait of a village in Yorkshire which is inhabited by eccentrics, although by the end of the novel the characters are no more eccentric than you or me. Each voice is rendered pitch perfect — from the ‘insane’ local councillor, to the Internet-deluded teenager, and the topics covered (technology, environmentalism, love and a hint of magic) that create a sense there is more being written about than this village alone.

Anyone who lives in a village will recognise the people. They’re prominent in local affairs (in more than one sense) and you’re likely to see their names in the local paper — often in the ‘letters to the editor’ section. They jump from the pages and assault you, larger than life, as they are in real life.

What makes this book so special is the letters — all of them. They’re all written at about the same time and none are responses, yet they give a picture of the village and the people — and eventually lead to the solving of the theft.

The paradox is that the letters being the draw in this book are also its weak points. I nearly gave up after the first couple of letters. They are too long and some are weirdly out of place (very annoying footnotes). Am I to believe that people hand wrote these letters? Their hands would probably fall off and they would be handicapped for life. Letters should be succinct and to the point; Barker writes them like mini essays that go on for days. Also, I can just about believe that someone would write in an overly intellectual and stupid way, but several people? The book is basically an excuse to show off Barker’s linguistic techniques. It’s evident that there’s only one person writing them, though in a voice of many people. But oh, I am glad I carried on reading. This book has taken the epistolary form to a new height.

Barker normally wouldn’t be associated with comic writing, but there are parts where it’s impossible not to laugh out loud. It’s 
delightful mischief making mixed with bawdy humour. Sometimes it’s poignant and thought-provoking too.

You also wonder why in these technology-obsessed times people are not using their cell phones or emailing and instead are writing long-drawn letters? She does dole out a couple of reasons which are justified. Without doubt the novel would have failed had it not been in a letter-writing form. Also, the length of these letters would never work in an email format. Most importantly there’s this tinge of nostalgia in this book which is a tribute to letter-writing. When there is something more substantial to say it’s feels different to actually pen it down on paper. That gives it a personal touch — maybe it’s more human. Barker does remind one of the good old days when writing by hand was more prominent then a click of the mouse.

raziqueh@khaleejtimes.com

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