This is an older post about Blackburn, the setting of my short story Out of Shape, now part of my collection UNSEEN.
I love cities with character, and I love reading books set in them. Regency romances set in London. Science fiction in bizarre domed cities on other planets. Underground cities. Walled cities. Cities held in the arms of gigantic trees. Cities of spidersilk and magical glass. Ancient ruined cities. It’s my urban upbringing, I suppose, continuing to exert a fascinating pull.
Here’s some freewriting I did for Blackburn, the city which is the setting of Out of Shape. I wanted a handle on the city, turning it into a bit player, and solidifying it in my mind as the setting for future stories:
The sun never shone in Blackburn. The tall dark buildings marched shoulder to shoulder, closing ranks against the light. The sky was never seen in Blackburn, either, for the black smog hung low and thick like oily clouds. Occasionally, from the industrial district would come the belch and roar and hiss of fire shooting up tall chimneys; fire that fountained into sparks and quickly died amidst the gloom, and a movement of air would bring the sooty taste of smoke to the lips of the few pedestrians hurrying through the streets, eager to be inside.
The streets of Blackburn belonged to the machines. Trolleys trundled by on tracks; cars swung from cables overhead. Where they came from, where they went, no one knew. Sometimes empty, sometimes full of mysterious boxes and bundles, other times groaning with the weight of rusty iron and snapped cable, they came from the sullen gloom of the outerlands of Blackburn and disappeared into that same eternal night. For most, the machines were a backdrop to life in Blackburn, the clatter of wheels and whine of gears lullabies to Blackburn babies. There were people whose job it was to work with the machinery; soot-smeared cable boys as agile as monkeys; muscled trolley lads and raucous bridge workers. In the depths of Blackburn, down through many levels were more machines, bigger machines that demanded fuel and belched fire and there were operators down there, moving like shadows amidst the fiery furnaces – but polite people did not talk of them.
There were many ways of living in Blackburn, but for the majority, most of the living happened indoors; in apartments as close and hot as ovens, in smoky bars and noisy pubs, each with their doors and shutters closed tight against the bitter-tasting air. Blackburn was a city of darkness on the outside, but every time a door opened, it revealed a glowing orange interior, bright and jewel-like, quickly hidden again. The pedestrians who had been so wary upon the streets, muffled in scarves and coats, heads down and eyes sliding sideways, shed their outer clothing in layers, unfolded their bodies and became merry, laughing raucously. Sometimes a snatch of their laughter, the muffled groans of organ-grinders, the pounding of nailed boots upon bare boards in a jig, would drift out into the silent streets where the machines and their human workers went about their tasks.
Which cities, real or imaginary, your own or someone else’s, are you fascinated by?
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That is a fascinating description, and it makes me want a story beginning with it. Besides the lyrical writing and imagery, I love the details, the questions it provokes.
Setting has never been my strongest suit, unless it was interwoven extremely tightly to premise, which rarely occurs. I love the idea of cities and reading about them, but in the writing, I always end up swerving into the people and the ideas and the premise.
I think the best way to do setting is to think of it as another character in your story. Once you get into a city’s history and traits, it’s quite easy to think of it as a personality, too.
Wow! I love this description. It’s very evocative — makes me want to read more. You also inspire me to freewrite on setting more often. Thanks.
You’re welcome! I’m sure your lyrical style will help you create some memorable settings.
{delurk}
I’ve been looking around here since you guest-posted on Tia’s blog. I hoe you don’t mind if I jump in now. {Smile}
You got me thinking about cities, and for me, they’re problematical. {pause} I think you just helped me figure out why. Thanks; that’s puzzled me for at least a couple of decades. {Smile}
When you started describing Blackburn, you started with the smog, and went to the machines after that. I know you mentioned buildings, too, but they just didn’t seem as important or memorable. {bite lips} Valuing mountains, bays, parks, institutions and organizations over buildings is NOT what I learned to call “civic pride,” but it’s very much residents’ attitudes about Hilo and it’s surroundings. Buildings are just things. As things, they’re replaceable enough when necessary. Not like our culture, our mountains, our bays, our views… those are what make Hilo special. {Smile}
Anne Elizabeth Baldwin
I don’t mind at all if you jump in! Thanks for commenting!
Yes, there’s a lot that goes into making up the character of a city. For many modern cities (and suburban developments) architecture is not as important as natural setting, people, and culture. I get that, since I lived in Vermont for many years and we loved our mountains and forests.
I think for some cities, though, the architecture–the buildings–are very much a part of their character. It just makes them *feel* different and that’s what I was trying to get at in my freewriting of Blackburn. Especially for cities with a lot of history behind them, buildings matter a great deal. I think of London, for instance, or New York and Boston, Hong Kong (Hong Kong has some really cool buildings that stand out—including one built with a giant hole in the center so that the dragon that lives on the mountain has an unobstructed path to the sea), my home city of Karachi. I think for newer cities and towns, the community of people and the culture matters a great deal more.
Thanks for pointing that out! It’s a useful distinction.
Sometimes it seems like Hilo isn’t a city because it doesn’t care about it’s buildings, machines, and similar stuff. I’m used to cities like you describe: ones with pride and interest in their buildings and similar creations. {Smile}
I’m intrigued that you’ve noticed this as a difference between newer and older communities. I wonder if it’s a modern change in attitudes, or if it could be a stage many communities go thru as they get established and grow into cities. Either could apply to Hilo, since we’re pretty new to being a decent sized community (we didn’t officially pass 40,000 population until the 2000 census.) {Smile}
Anne Elizabeth Baldwin
I think it’s probably both–an attitude shift as well as the stage of development of the city. Also, not every community will grow into a city like London, or NY, or Hong Kong. Many communities just wither away into ghost towns–which is another interesting aspect of the city lifecycle to explore!
I know that not every community grows into a city, but Hilo is beginning to push it at 43,000 in the last census. No, it’s not in London’s, New York’s, or even Honolulu’s league, Still, some of my friends insist it ought ot count. {Smile}
Ghost towns are interesting, too. All those abandoned buildings… you can have abandoned buildings in any city, and a bunch of them in a “city in decline,” but it’s starkest when the whole town has been abandoned. {Smile}
Anne Elizabeth Baldwin
I’m always amazed by those small communities found tenaciously hold on in the middle of nowhere. Not close to any big cities, or big industries or any other big job centers that I can see. They seem to exist out of time, in a way.
Yes, I’ve noticed the same thing about small, isolated communities. They’re very tenacious, yet much of the modern world seems to pass them by. {Smile}
Anne Elizabeth Baldwin