By Christine Yunn-Yu Sun
The Silence Factory, by British author Bridget Collins, has a setting very much like Victorian Britain.
The story begins with the writings of Sophia in 1820, who accompanies her husband James Ashmore-Percy to a remote Greek island to search for rare biological specimens.
History tells us that the Victorians were obsessed with science and progress, confident that their exploration and growing knowledge of the natural world could help improve society in the
same way as they were advancing technology.
It is this confidence – or the arrogance that men are entitled to all of nature’s offerings – that casts a terrifying shadow over Sophia’s life.
Decades later, audiologist Henry Latimer is sent to the home of industrialist Sir Edward Ashmore-Percy to help cure the man’s daughter of her deafness.
Here, Henry’s encounter with Philomel and her governess Miss Fielding plays a crucial role in his journey of self-discovery.
As explained by Miss Fielding: “[Philomel’s] father is determined that she should learn to speak aloud, so that she can participate in society. She cannot be limited to conversations with other people who can sign. Better that she should say a few broken words to the people who matter, than express herself perfectly to those who do not. True speech is what distinguishes us from animals, is it not?”
These words reflect the commonsense of the time, and may cause some distress to readers today who are more informed about the aspirations and strengths of people with disabilities.
But the author’s illustration of Philomel is empathetic and delightful, capturing the beauty and fearlessness of a young girl full of curiosity and energy.
The portrayal of Miss Fielding as a courageous woman full of love and compassion is also endearing.
Meanwhile, as Henry is drawn deeper into Sir Edward’s world, he finds himself obsessed with the fascinating nature of the man’s business – spinning silk with a rare and magical breed of spiders.
The extraordinary silk shields sound, offering respite from the everyday noise in one’s surroundings – “the screech of traffic and the cries of street vendors, or the endless rumble of machinery… Not to mention the relentless background groan of the city, monstrous and unending.”
The result is absolute tranquility and soothing calmness.
In Henry’s words: “Silence is not only silence, sir, it is attention – it is sanity. It is sleep for infants, medicine for invalids, rest for the working man – it is money for the man who must think or starve. We build walls to shelter our bodies from the world, but we leave our minds open to assault on every side.”
Silence is indeed golden, but, as Henry soon finds out, it comes with a price, both personal and collective.
The Silence Factory is an intriguing book, its writing stunningly exquisite, its depiction of the mysterious spiders creepy yet memorising, and its detailed examination of the dark and insatiable greed behind the industrialised capital world then – and now – is both captivating and alarming.
Highly recommended.
