The trouble with Tartarus in general, and Tartarus Central in particular, is that it never had any overarching design. No one really owned it as a project, decided what it should be, or even what it was for. As such there are no maps, or none that you would rely on, the signage is terrible and the lighting rarely lifts the place out of a murky gloom. On top of that the style ranges wildly from a sort of primitive crumbling, chunkiness that looks like a failed Neolithic DIY project right through to vast chambers of high baroque as well as modern brutalist towers – all styles blindly abutting on one another.
Suffice it to say that getting out of here is no simple process. I mean standing right where I am now I have a choice of paths leading out of Tartarus Central. To my left there are paths of polished granite, one of red marble and another of concrete; to my right the paths are concrete, turf, mud and one unevenly paved with slabs of some sort of pale stone. I’ve no idea where any of these paths might lead, whether a step down one of them represents a step of progress or regression, whether it will take me out of this place or just lead me back here in ten years time. Ahead of me there is a path made of rocks, one paved in iron and another, just off to the right, paved with good intentions. I take this path mainly because, of all the routes, this one has a comforting look of familiarity about it – who knows where it will lead.
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