Nightwalking: A Nocturnal History of London

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Away from the “sodium gleam” of street lamps and the strip lights of minicab offices, there are alleys where “the darkness appears to collect in a solid, faintly palpitating mass”. There were some lovely descriptions and interesting anecdotes but this was essentially a jumble of ideas.

It felt like there was no real purpose to the book until suddenly at the end I was being told light pollution can disrupt my sleep pattern and cause cancer. The topics should be interesting, and most often start off that way, but then Beaumont will slip into deep literary analysis that makes it impossible to stay engaged. Whilst I understand comments about his privilege and ability to walk unquestioned (as a woman that is not always a luxury we have), he was writing of his own experience. Liked the history of London opening but once the literary criticism started felt like he was trying too hard to show off. It is a fitting climax to a book that remains personal in tone even when it is flexing its considerable intellectual muscle.

Rich in imagery and idea, this is the kind of book that makes readers ask questions and explore further. That said, the build up contributed to the pay off of the Dickens chapters, which knocked it out of the park. However, human perception and the law often move at different speeds, and even though it was no longer a criminal offence to stroll or saunter at night, that did not prevent a newly formed police force from detaining anyone who gave cause for suspicion, even if that amounted to little more than looking a bit shifty. But mainly this is an analysis of the works of literary night walkers - both the famous (Chaucer, Shakespeare, Blake, Wordsworth, De Quincey, Dickens) and the obscure.

A book which envelops you in a dark, velvety embrace, full of the wonders of night in the British countryside. The author does an outstanding job of tracing how the simple act of walking after sunset has been viewed as morally suspect. Having to look up terminology every few sentences breaks any immersion I may have with a book and therefor this failed fundamentaly for me. Armed with a litre flask of espresso, and fortified by sandwiches from Tesco, eventually they reach their destination, with “an eggshell sky cloudily cracking overhead”, and gaze down at the city below them as it groggily stirs into life.The author himself mentions not wanting to become too accustomed to the night lest it loses its power (the "explorer's wonder").