Echoes and curiosities

[shewhomust]

On Monday afternoon we left the island and drove down to Newcastle for Phantoms at the Phil. I had not realised that the Lit & Phil is currently in the throes of a rediscovery of its origins, as a museum - a Cabinet of Curiosities - as well as a library; that is, I had seen references to a Return to the Philosophers' Table and blanked them, assuming this was one of the pieces of theatre they put on from time to time. But no, it is an exhibition: not a gathering in or a catalogue of their former collection, but an artist's reaction to it, sometimes very specific: the two full-length portraits of mummies, tactfully veiled by curtains and placed in the comparative seclusion of the gallery (originals now in the care of the Great North Museum) - sometimes less so: the flock of fluffy ducklings, blindfold and about to walk the plank from the top of one of the high bookcases.

The first story of the evening, Gail-Nina Anderson's Cabinet of Curiosities was set in an establishment very like the Lit & Phil on the verge of an exhibition much like this one. No ghost manifests, but there are strange events, objects apearing from nowhere, and a mysterious and suggestive atmosphere - plus a satisfying moment of conclusion which is, of course, no conclusion at all.

Sean O'Brien followed with During an Air Raid, a tale of death and disorientation in and under the streets of London. Again, there is no ghost, though this time the supernatural is more than suggested, it is real and present. There is an appearance by a character I encountered earlier this week in a short story by Margo Lanagan (I've been reading her collection Yellow Cake) but since this was the kind of story where to reveal anything at all risks being, by my definition, a spoiler, I will say no more; except that it is the kind of story where the questions are as much about what is happening and whether it is happening as what will happen next...

Then we took a break, and since Gail had urged her listeners to explore the gallery, I climbed the spiral staircase and looked down on the lines of butterflies arranged along the tops of the bookcases and almost invisible from below. I drew aside the curtains and decided that although I was not disturbed by the paintings of mummies, either wrapped or unwrapped, I didn't much like them either, and that the mask of the wrapped one bore too strong a resemblance to Elizabeth Taylor. What I did like were the stereoscopic viewers which showed a 3D image of the domed ceiling of the Lit & Phil, just as it was in front of me, but with an exhibit suspended above the room - a stuffed crocodile or, even better, an alignment of planets.

Downstairs again for a glass of wine and a chat before the final story, Stranded, from guest star Ann Cleeves. I knew that Ann was working on a series of stories set on islands - there's a thought there about the insularity of the short story, but it's a distraction - and that this one was about Hillbre in the Dee estuary, but had not realised that Hillbre is a tidal island, and that issues of catching or missing the tide would therefore be vital to the narrative. Tides, mists, mud-flats and a genuine ghost, an impeccably spooky end to the evening's proceedings.

Since Gail and S. and durham_rambler and I were the only ones with no plan for the rest of the evening but to eat, we headed for Mario's, and were shocked to be told that although we could see people eating inside, Mario's was closed: the evening was so quiet that the chef had been sent home. Understandable, but worrying. No immediate problem, though, we simply went two doors down the street to Puccini's: the food was as good if not better, the house wine was even more horrible (if durham_rambler says "for a pound or two more, surely we could get something better," it's bad) - but it wasn't Mario's.

At least we didn't have to race the tide - but as we headed north in the not quite darkness, a thick layer of mist spread over the fields to either side of the road...