I know a place...

[shewhomust]

mabfan reports on a project to map literary locations in Manhattan - not the places where authors have lived and worked, but the places where things have happened in works of fiction. This leads him to a consideration of reader indentification, the particular thrill you get when a book is set in a location that you know. He quotes Lawrence Block:

"Why does this identification with place resonate so vividly? Block suggests a few explanations, but the one that resonates most with me is this one: '...the presence of real parts of our own real world helps convince us that the writer knows what he's talking about... The more I can accept the idea that the author knows whereof he writes, the easier it is for me to believe further that the fictional story he's relating is true - and it is upon this voluntary suspension of disbelief that fiction depends for much of its power to move us.'"

At best, this is a high risk strategy. As the comments which follow mabfan's post make clear, this is fine so long as the author gets it right: but if the conviction of the narrative relies on our recognising parts of it as factual, an error of fact will jolt us out of the story. If a story doesn't grip me, dumping a street-by-street guidebook into it won't help; if it does, it may well sweep me past a certain fudging of details. Chaz Brenchley's dark fantasy / crime novels are set in a city which is never identified as Newcastle-upon-Tyne. He tells the story of how a friend praised the accuracy with which the city was transcribed in one of the books. "I could trace that entire chapter," he said, "It's the route I take to work every morning.". "No it isn't," said Chaz. He had substituted a railway bridge for a road bridge, but the switch had gone unnoticed.

Which leads me to the opposite conclusion to mabfan: when I get a buzz from recognising in a book a location that I know personally, what I feel is not satisfaction that the author's reliability is confirmed. My pleasure is not that the book is being anchored in reality, but that I am being drawn into the fiction. If I can walk down Baker Street, I'm one step closer to meeting Sherlock Holmes (well, OK, there's a slight problem of chronology here: pick your own example).

The proof is that there are books which make us want to visit the locations in which they are set. There is a section of the tourist business which offers to show us Dickensian London, or Rebus's Edinburgh, or Hillerman country - we seek out that thrill of being in the setting of a favourite book.

On my first visit to the States, my step-mother remarked how much she had enjoyed being in England and visiting such literary locations as Jamaica Inn. "We can't offer you anything similar here in the States," she said. We were driving down the New Jersey Turnpike at the time...