In the early 1900s a box labelled ‘Old Papers, No Value’, was discovered in Wollaton Manor, Nottinghamshire.  It contained a manuscript of the Roman de Silence, a story from 13^th century France, in octosyllabic verse. It tells of a young girl struggling to find a fulfilling role in an unjust, patriarchal society that bans women from inheriting land. It may be that it was suppressed upon its discovery because those in power saw it as potential suffragette propaganda.

Now Rachel Rose Reid has revealed it once again in a translation that gives this ancient tale considerable contemporary relevance. Faced with a tiny audience at the Alma, she broke the ice at the start by chatting informally, explaining that this is a show unadorned with special effects, so we would have to use our imaginations to help her create the story. This proved to be well worth the effort, though some might find nearly two hours of monologue rather heavy going.  In fact, this is merely the second part of a planned trilogy.  It is therefore to some extent a work in progress, and at the close we were invited to make comments and suggestions.

There is much about Silence which is admirable.  At one level it is a tale very much in the Romance tradition, taking us back to a time when a queen might fall in love with a minstrel, and a heartbroken ruler could banish all music and merriment from his land.  But it also has an intriguingly modern take on sexual politics.  ‘Silence’ is the only child of the Count of Cornwall, and if she is to inherit her father’s lands she must disguise herself as a boy. Throughout the story Silence is referred to quite randomly as either ‘he’ or ‘she’.  Is this gender fluidity a modern addition, or is it found in the original? You find yourself guessing which elements are truly medieval and which are Reid’s modern inventions.

She is a very expert storyteller, and though she has given Silence a distinctly feminist twist, it never becomes overly didactic or preachy.  In fact, one of the great pleasures of the show is its sense of fun, much of it arising from juxtapositions of old and new, such as the minstrels ‘going on tour’, and the king with his collection of ‘classic swords’.  She has cleverly mixed earthy prose with lyrical flights of fancy.  In the first half there is a splendid scene where Silence finds herself the subject of an argument between fantastical personifications of Nurture and Nature. Should she accept the limitations imposed upon her sex, or be ‘unnatural’? This debate is resolved by sensibly dressed Reason – if you want property, become a man!

After a brief interval, the second half gets off to a very lively start involving some entirely unthreatening audience participation.  Silence is now in disguise as a teenage minstrel boy, and there is a spine-tingling moment when ‘he’ sings for the King of France. His pure voice and good looks make him irresistible to the Queen, and so she attempts to seduce him. When ‘he’ resists, she berates him for having no understanding of what it is like to be a woman in a man’s world! This scene, full of dramatic irony and erotic tension, is the highlight of the show.

There are sections where the interest flags a little, and I suspect that in later versions some of the fat will have been trimmed.  Reid generally does not ‘do voices’, though her Cornish pub landlord certainly sprang to life. The show would benefit from there being just a little bit more of that kind of distinct characterisation. But Silence is a project that it clearly very dear to its author’s heart, and her enthusiasm for it invests her storytelling with energy and conviction.  ★★★☆☆   Mike Whitton   19^th July 2018