This is the story of Eric Tucker, an artist only dicovered by the world after his death, and the hundreds of paintings stored in his house, as told by his nephew who loved him.

Tucker sets off to discover how a northern man, gregarious and introvert, could have become the artist he did and hidden away so many paintings. There are many alleys Tucker can venture into: a love affair that meant more to the woman than to Eric; a mistrust of galleries; living with and looking after his mother; living with a step-father he did not get on with and a harsh time in service during the war at the hands of his officers, but to me none of these, or all of these combined, totally explain the conundrum Eric Tucker was.

We gain an image of an eccentric; faded bomber jacket, trousers tied up with string and a man who loved the seedier end of the bar and club nightlife, always on the lookout for places to visit. Here he felt at home, telling stories and drinking, and there is definitely a class element to this story both as the reader standing outside watching how difficult it is for a working class man to become and be seen as an artist, and for the material of his art to be considered relevant. Is there such a thing as realism in art?

Throughout the book are references to Lowry, probably because he was northern and considered an outsider in the world of art, but to me Eric Tucker’s paintings are more like Beryl Cook who painted people out on the town in Plymouth. She did focus on the women, but gender aside, they were both commenting on the sense of community held within the bubble of alcohol and pubs and daily life. Tucker paints a dog fight, Cook paints a woman in a large fur coat flashing a man in a bowler hat. Tucker’s street scenes are more Lowry like but in fact he was neither. He was his own man/artist.

What I found most interesting about Tucker was that he obviously had a need to paint. This wasn’t a hobby but a necessity and all completed away from everyone’s gaze. When his work was finally displayed, hundreds if not thousands queued around the block and down the street to visit and look at it and Joe Tucker states that those who seemed most moved by the work were those who were working class and who recognised what he was painting and perhaps missing it as younger generations became more upwardly mobile, perhaps moved away and found a different life, Joe Tucker included. Eric was nothing if not firmly rooted in his class and location even though he claimed he could socialise with anyone.

Although I knew much more about Eric Tucker when I had finished the book, I still felt that he hadn’t been fully explained. I wasn’t sure how the elements of his life defined him, particularly his time in the army and I suppose that is one of the losses when these things are not explored with the person when alive. What the book does very clearly is to explain how the scenes he painted were an integral part of Eric’s life, stored and recorded in painting to give us a glimpse of a time almost forgotten now.