New Crime & Mystery Fiction Titles From Blujah Books 2005 Jan-March

File Updated: 16/12/2006

New Crime & Mystery Fiction Titles From Blujah Books JAN-MARCH 2005

Rebecca J Cunningham Three Days with Della Quinn Pbk published February 2005 by Blujah Books at Ł6.99 ISBN: 0954261690

The story and its characters develop through letters. Clay is a sculptor. He likes numbers not women. It’s summer 1976, and in a damp basement flat in South London this solitary and fragile young man stands over the body of Della Quinn, a woman ten years his senior. Frantic and helpless, he is drawn to a box of correspondence on her table, and taking a seat beside her, begins reading the letters – there are some charming exchanges of young love, others talk of art, music and fashion of 1960s London. There are more, dark and disturbing. As he reads on, he becomes increasingly erratic. But when things get too difficult, Clay can fly away, leave his body and drift off. And from the safety of the ceiling he watches himself as man and boy and narrates his own story. With only her words to give him comfort, he discovers that he and Della Quinn are meant for each other.

About the Author
Even though peripatetic, I have spent most of my adult life in and around Della Quinn’s Twickenham. (Now St Margaret’s) A safe haven of niceness, and good charity shops. But on returning home from Australia in the late 70’s, found a job with Southwark council as road sweeper. A non-feminist, I had no trouble basking in the treatment afforded by the novelty of being (probably) the only female pushing broom and barrow in South London - enjoying such privileges as lifts in the dust lorry while my ‘cart’ went on ahead, bacon and egg sandwiches, and of course the daily pick of the semi-precious rubbish acquired by my colleagues.
My first assignment was to knock oft mentioned Camberwell Grove into some kind of tidy shape, and I do recall those fabulous Georgian houses and sad, battered dignity of the area, and the occasional conversation with topless working-class radical lesbians who were (oddly) keen to enjoy the fridge carrying benefits my dustman contacts.
After ‘losing’ my barrow and broom one afternoon, I was demoted to Peckham, where in the summer months, would sashay down Peckham Rye clad in bikini and clogs, daring anyone to drop so much as cigarette butt. I kept a tidy street.
Since my degree, I have often thought maybe I should accompany the ‘dust’ on their diunral sweeps, as sort of Art Valuer. But suspect they’re far better at it than me. They've had a more rigorous training.
You learn a bit of alchemy living in South London.

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