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A few years ago, Spitalfields Life ran a nice piece on oral historian Clive Murphy
, who sounds like the East End version of Studs Terkel - although while Terkel's books were told by a vast chorus of voices, each of Murphy's books portrays a single individual. I found the Murphy profile after this week's post
on the writer's Brick Lane apartment which, I'm afraid to admit, has unsettling overtones of an episode of Hoarders
. I wouldn't mind picking up a few of his books, most of all for the writing, of course, but also to ease the dangerous clutter.
September 30, 2012 in Books | Permalink