I Find Dead People

One of the main focuses I have while in London is learning about London writers. To be fair, I know a lot about them from studying English literature for about three years now, but actually seeing where they lived gives them a whole new life. I feel that a lot of people don’t like literature because they feel it’s old and they can’t relate to it. Billy Shakespeare was such a hit though, because his stories are timeless. Sure, no one talks like that (they didn’t even back then, that’s just how theatre was), but what Billy’s trying to say is what matters. People can still understand pure, innocent, irrational young love, so when Romeo and Juliet go cold, we totally get it. He wrote that centuries ago; does it not say something that we can still make sense of those crazy love birds?

21 Fitzroy Rd. Primrose Hill: Yeats first residence

Other writers are no different. W.B. Yeats, an Irish poet, lived in both Ireland and England. He’s one of the few poets who the Irish and English fight over. Yeah, he’s so awesome that depending on the class they’ll either call him Irish or English. I’d say he’s Irish though, just because he was pretty pro-Irish. As I was saying, though, I decided to set out on a mission. On March 17, 2011 (St. Patrick’s Day, for those not as familiar to the holiday as I am), I explored London for traces of Yeats. Turns out there are two places marked where Yeats has lived. The first is in Camden, where he grew up for a time. It’s really close to Regent’s Park, but of course I got lost a few times on the way. I didn’t mind; the weather was fantabulous. He also lived in Central London, near Charlie Dickens’ house (if you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a little dorky when it comes to what to call writers). It was on a street called Woburn Walk, and was a hop-skip away from King’s Cross Station. Both places were modest and quiet; perfect for writing.

5 Woburn Walk, Bloomsbury: Yeats lived up on the right.

Now to most people, I suppose seeing where Yeats had lived doesn’t matter. Then again, it proves that he had really lived. Sure, we may know of Beowulf from his epic, but he was a character and that doesn’t mean he actually went around killing monsters and dragons (this may be a bad example, seeing as I don’t know how many people know Beowulf… too late). Yeats on the other hand, had been a person. He lived and breathed and wrote his poems. His actual existence brings so much more to his work than any explanation of the text could.

The Charles Dickens Museum

And I’m not done yet! Today I went to The Charles Dickens Museum, which is where Charlie lived for a decent amount of time. To be fair, he lived all over London because he grew up there, but because his family lost all their money, times were tough. He moved around a bit, but fortunately his grandma croaked and her money helped pay for his education, which later lead to his success. Going to the museum, I actually saw how he lived, and had an insight to his personality that I never knew. For instance: did you know he was an actor and could also draw? Some of the portraits in the house are of Charlie as different characters in plays and then they also have a few of his illustrations. He got an illustrator later on though, so I think he liked writing more than etching.

This room looks exactly like when Charlie lived here.

I am aware I am a literature dork, and therefore find these sort of things terribly fascinating, because it is my passion. At the same time, I think if more people understood that there are humans behind works, it makes them come to life. Even if you just know a little about J.K. Rowling, and how she always wanted to be a writer, but it wasn’t until her life was in shambles did she find Harry Potter… I think that gives depth to the tale.

I don't think Charlie would have a bust of himself next to his desk, but okay...

I’ve always had to read biographies before reading a certain piece for class, and I love reading the “About the Author” at the end of books. There are so many different stories out there, don’t you ever wonder what compelled the person to write it?