The author Megan McAfferty once said:
‘New York is an ugly city, a dirty city. Its climate is a scandal, its politics are used to frighten children, its traffic is madness, its competition is murderous.’
That could have been said of any city.
Our literature suggests that urban life is grubby or abject in some way. Blake famously wrote of industry corrupting the earth. The grime and menace of Dickens’ London in Oliver Twist is recalled by photographs of the slums that ooze from Sao Paolo, Mumbai or some nameless Chinese metropolis. The Waste Land tells of comfortable people commanded by the ‘dead sound on the final stroke of nine’, captives of unreal cities. Those who could afford it fled to the suburbs and their doings, and more particularly their hypocrisy, were subjects for writers such as Updike and Ayckbourn.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in