2 Ennerdale Drive: An Unauthorised Biography
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2 Ennerdale Drive is a memoir of a house and the family that lived there; a work of text and image encompassing architecture, social and personal history, town planning, photography and representation, carving a space within and between new forms of memoir, cultural studies and creative non-fiction. The house in north London, built during the phenomenal interwar wave of suburban development, begins an exploration of public and private lives, architectural and family narrative, charting territory between documented evidence, personal and cultural memory, association and emotional response. 2 Ennerdale Drive questions the veracity accorded to documents produced across institutional, public and private family contexts. Textual analyses of images relating to the house, the family (and its business: theatre) frame each chapter, generating stories and responses to the factual and the remembered. Visits to archives and to other houses document the existence and/or absence of such material. An epilogue locates the author, a family member and sometime narrator, in the frame and offers, perhaps, a final privileged glance into the family archive.
other still lived at home with his mum, where he continued to live until first her death and then his own. Antony is standing back, receding into the background, disappearing into his jacket, gallantly allowing his older has-been brother the glory of front position. Antony might have been positioned as taller, the better to be able to take care of his older brother, though I would have been certain that my dad was the taller one. Certain that is, until I realized how big and safe my dad loomed
London. After a two-year absence due to a breakdown and lengthy convalescence, Henry remains secure enough in his position that no visual reminder is needed to promote himself in the newly published Spotlight. Henry’s entrance in his comeback appearance in The First Mrs Fraser at the Theatre Royal in Haymarket was met with several minutes of show-stopping applause. The story goes that he broke both his big toes in an accident when he fell off the stage but another version has it that the fall
subjects in their tracks using material already beginning to degrade. She built her story of Henry out of these fragments of representation gathered from disputable facts. It’s the only way for her to know him. Other representations of Henry and sources of information about him come from all over: books; those letters in the British Library Special Collections; recordings in the BBC audiotape archive; the British Film Institute (BFI) film archive; the Shakespeare Centre Library; the V&A Theatre
behind. No nostalgic, drunken passing around of charming versions of who and when and how. It’s brutal, and the evisceration is not only physical. This is a room, a house, a wall striped of meaning. It’s an obscenity, something not supposed to be visible. If its physical presence was audible, it would be the sound of the building shrieking and wincing, as it flails around trying to cover itself. It’s roughly turned inside out, innards showing, dripping. All that dirt, all that intimate fluid
Ant’s Lothario act a front for being gay? Why did they stay in the house? Why did he go so far to live and Ant stay put in London? And what and how and who?? What do you mean? How did that happen? What?? Tell me tell me tell me. Even if she could ask the questions, and even if answers were forthcoming, it’s never the right information, for all the sweet stories. Something to hold around your heart but nothing there to answer any questions except possibly those forever unformulated. Both times