Review by Ella Beales

Bill Hodson’s Worktown is a fascinating work of historical fiction inspired by the Mass Observation project, established in Bolton in the late 1930s. The novel follows Tom Harrison, who realises that his anthropological work abroad means he knows more about people from distant countries than he does about ordinary British citizens. He believes that if politicians were able to genuinely understand ordinary people’s problems, hopes and fears, they would be unable to ignore them and would be better equipped to improve living conditions. This idea leads to the creation of the Mass Observation project and brings Harrison to Bolton, where he sets out to create a scientific record of its population. In 1938, he is joined by Edward, an enthusiastic volunteer who soon finds himself confronting the practical and ethical difficulties of the project.
One of the novel’s greatest strengths is its vivid descriptions of Bolton. Hodson creates a remarkably strong sense of place, bringing the industrial town and its people to life through descriptions of sights, smells and sounds. Readers quickly become immersed in the mills, pubs, streets and cramped homes of the town, with the physical environment helping to communicate the difficult circumstances in which many of the characters live.
One of Tom Harrison’s volunteers and ‘scouts’ for the project is Molly, a young mill worker. Through her, we see the realities of working in the mills, particularly for women – many having to develop their own silent language to communicate with one another because the noise of the looms is too intense for verbal conversation. Molly’s story also provides an insight into the limited independence available to working-class women at the time, with her wariness about marriage showing how quickly she fears her independence could be lost. Her experiences provide a useful counterpoint to the rather detached observations of the Mass Observation researchers. Molly reminds readers that those being observed are not simply objects of study: they have their own opinions, ambitions and understandings of the world around them.
Other characters similarly allow Hodson to introduce perspectives that the original project could never fully capture. Through Frank and Len, he explores the lasting effects of dangerous work, bereavement, war and trauma. Frank experiences the claustrophobia, noise and fear of working underground in the mines, as well as the trauma of his father being killed in a mining accident. Len’s alcoholism is revealed to be a result of his grief and experiences of combat in the Great War. Both are ‘observers’, recording their findings as part of Harrison’s study. Their own experiences, however, demonstrate that the observers themselves are never detached, neutral recording machines. Rather, they inevitably bring their own experiences, prejudices and traumas to what they see.
The issue of objectivity is one of the most interesting aspects of the novel. Initially, the observers are instructed simply to record what people do and say, rather than trying to explain why they do it, as Harrison is keen for them to remain impartial. Yet the project remains inherently problematic because the people being observed are not being asked what they think about being observed. They have little control over how their lives are represented, creating an imbalance of power between the observers and the people they are studying. Hodson therefore raises and important question about whether it is possible to understand another people’s experience simply by watching and recording it.
Hodson captures the absurdity and ambition of the project particularly well through Edward, who eventually realises that Harrison wants to record everything. As such, the volume of material quickly becomes unmanageable, and Edward is tasked with deciding what is actually ‘worth keeping’. Here, Hodson perfectly captures some of the central questions of the book: how can the enormous complexity of everyday life possibly be reduced to a manageable archive? And who gets to decide what is worth keeping? The problem is not simply that the observers might fail to record everything, but that the process of selecting and preserving information inevitably shapes how people’s lives are remembered.
One of the most effective features of Worktown is that many of the chapters begin with extracts from Mass Observation reports. This helps to blur the boundary between the historical source material and Hodson’s fictional narrative, reminding readers that the novel is rooted in a genuine attempt to create a detailed record of everyday life. Characters such as Molly, Frank, Len and their families help bring these records to life, allowing readers to see beyond the statistics and reports, to the realities that these people faced: dangerous work, poverty, pour housing, bereavement, illness, limited opportunities, and the small pleasures people found in their leisure time. Hodson presents the Bolton Worktown project as an ambitious attempt to document working-class life, whilst also exposing the tensions and contradictions involved in trying to turn people’s lives into data.
Throughout the novel, Tom Harrison’s desire to provide information that could lead to a more effective government is apparent, as is the reality that this ambition is somewhat idealistic. His belief that better understanding could lead to meaningful political change raises questions that remain relevant today, with Hodson making this connection with the present explicit by suggesting that politicians still do no truly understand the lives of many of their fellow citizens.
At the heart of Worktown is the question of how we understand the lives of people whose experiences are very different from our own. Through the Bolton project, Hodson explores poverty, working conditions, gender, class, and the difficulties of objectively recording everyday life. He also raises a more fundamental question: who has the right to observe, interpret and record the lives of others? Worktown is a fascinating exploration of class, observation and objectivity, as well as the tension between recording people’s lives and actually understanding them. It also reminds readers how Mass Observation has changed and developed, suggesting that its value today lies not simply in learning how people live, but in listening to what they have to say.
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