Victoria Park by Gemma Reeves

While dementia claims his wife, a recently retired foodie smokes salmon. A teenage thief breaks into his benefactor’s house and is shocked by what he finds. A couple who married too young maintain the facade of their marriage, while boredom and adultery demolish it from the inside. Same-sex lovers plan their future together, dictated by the wishes of the partner who loves less. These are some of the narratives in Victoria Park, a striking debut by author Gemma Reeves.

Victoria Park follows the disparate lives of twelve people over the course of a single year, told from their multiple perspectives in episodes which capture feelings of alienation and connection.

Following the seasons, twelve linked stories guide the reader through a year of contemporary life in a London community. In this multi-perspective narrative, characters drift in and out of each other’s stories, sometimes playing a significant part, sometimes no more than a figure in the background. Memories are woven into this complex mix: the arrival of the Kindertransport in London ahead of WW2, childhood on an Italian farm, the early days of Columbia Road flower market.

‘There’s nothing a brisk walk can’t fix,’ says Mona, the dementia sufferer. Sadly, although a brisk walk will improve the spirits and make all problems appear to be soluble, some never can be. Mona’s health deteriorates and difficult decisions must be made.

Finely crafted language demonstrates Reeves’ ability to alter style and tone to match the various personalities she brings to life. Visual descriptions cleverly imply more than is conveyed by the text: a mother secretly reading her daughter’s diary criticises the colour of its binding; a despairing teacher’s classroom contains cluttered drawers and faded wall displays; aspirational young mothers litter the floor of a delicatessen with wet wipes.

One recurring theme is key to the book’s meaning. A young man has recently suffered an acid attack in Victoria Park. The characters are disturbed by this horrendous crime, and their awareness that the perpetrator has not been arrested undermines their sense of security. This is an excellent way of conveying the downside of life in London, where even in moments of happiness and relaxation, danger awaits those who lower their guard.

To me, Victoria Park seems more like a collection of short stories than a novel. I’ve always associated novels with five-part or three-part structures, and a detailed resolution in the final chapter. Although Victoria Park has a strong structure and the stories are intricately plotted, not all of its story lines are resolved. Perhaps the definition of a novel is changing. After all, real life rarely provides us with a resolution, so why should a novelist be expected to do so?

Victoria (Vicky) Park in Tower Hamlets, East London, was opened in 1845, in response to a petition started by groundbreaking epidemiologist William Farr. Covering over two hundred acres, it was the first public park in London to be built solely for the benefit of people living in the surrounding communities. At that time, it was hoped that the space, fresh air and opportunities for exercise the park provides would relieve health issues created by devastating poverty. Victoria Park is an invaluable amenity for local people, but in 2021, 57% of children are still living in poverty. The wealth of the gentrified parts of its neighbour, Hackney, throws this statistic into painful relief.

Tower Hamlets is within easy commuting distance for me, so its community and locations are familiar, and I’ve encountered some of the issues Gemma Reeves raises. I found the book difficult to review, because I could not help reacting to the various scenarios and desperately wanted to join in the conversation. However, this response forced me to engage in detail with the book. In addition, I liked the way the various story lines broke Victoria Park up into chunks I could read at one sitting, while maintaining an overall sense of purpose.