Dancing at the Asylum, Marilyn RicciThe jacket is white. Text is red: the title centred in fairly large italics over two lines in the top quarter. Below this is an image on a white rectangle, shaded to give a 3D effect on two sides. It shows a man and a woman dancing, simply drawn impressions/sketches. The woman's dress is red. The author's name is centred just below this.

Quirky Press, 2021     £5.00

Blurring the genres

Dancing at the Asylum tells the story of Carlton Hayes Hospital in South Leicestershire, originally Leicestershire and Rutland Lunatic Asylum. The asylum is real, and the book is dedicated to those who died at the asylum between 1908 and 1994, buried in an unmarked mass grave.

Throughout, the pamphlet blurs genres in several ways. Firstly, although it is formatted in lines and stanzas resembling poetry, it functions in a way that’s similar to a novel. This work is highly narrative and serves to tell two characters’ stories — we learn how Edward was traumatised fighting in the Second World War, and how Mary has had multiple pregnancies out of wedlock, resulting in miscarriage or adoption.

The language is undoubtedly poetic — take Edward’s description of one of his comrades:

Trooper Doyle’s face was a freckle
under a red shock of hair, blue orbs
circled in white desert dust.

However, the ultimate purpose of the poetry remains to tell a story, and to characterise Edward and Mary. Ideas of sanity and insanity, and how we treat those whom society deems mentally ill, are explored not through abstract imagery but through human tales.

At times, this pamphlet also seems to cross over from poetry into script, with moments of dialogue acting to move the story forward. For example, we learn through dialogue that (on admittance to the asylum) Mary is pregnant, and not for the first time:

When did you last have relations, Mary?

                                                                Aunt Jane came with a cake

No, a man. [...]

You’re three months gone.

This snippet of conversation conveys the facts of Mary’s situation at the same time as revealing her vulnerability and naiveté.

Perhaps the most significant way in which Dancing at the Asylum blurs boundaries is when it comes to fact and fiction. The setting’s a real one, but the characters are fictionalised. Despite this, the work paints a believable picture of these two individuals, even supplying admittance reports resembling facsimiles of real hospital documents.

Edward and Mary push against neat boundaries of sanity and insanity, presenting as complex, full human beings with rich histories. So it’s fitting that their stories be told in a way which is, in itself, innovative and genre-bending.

Isabelle Thompson