(Lyn Gardner's article appeared in the Guardian, 1/6.)

The Waste Land 

Wilton's Music Hall, London 

TS Eliot apparently penned The Waste Land in a seaside shelter in Margate while recovering from a nervous breakdown. He wrote staring out over Margate Sands where "I can connect/Nothing with nothing," ransacking the literary voices of the past to conjure ruined civilisations and crumbled cities. But it is London, a broken place full of ghosts, bones and ashes, that haunts the poem, and no more so than in Deborah Warner's staging in Wilton's Music Hall, still one of the capital's hidden gems.


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