My
Memories of a Future Life – Roz Morris
This remarkable novel reminded me of The End of Mr. Y
and Our Tragic Universe, by Scarlett Thomas. (Thomas is one of my Top
Shelf Authors = I Want To Write Like That When I Grow Up.)
An unusual blend of the esoteric and the practical, the book
follows a pianist diagnosed with RSI (Repetitive Stress Injury). Carol's safe place, Carol's home, is in front of her piano. But her curious
condition locks her out. An accidental encounter with an old acquaintance peels back various layers of memory, truth
and trust, revealing rather more than she expects. Both reader and narrator are
left with more questions than answers, but plenty to think about. And Carol discovers the strength to face life away from a keyboard.
As a sufferer of RSI, I sympathised with the narrator and
her frustration at being unable to express herself in her own art form. But
most of all I was seriously impressed by a writer of such skill and confidence.
She dances between plausible reality and the shadowy realm of interpretation, underpinned by evident intelligence. A real corker, in fact.
Mother,
Mother – Koren Zailckas
Josephine Hurst is the eponymous Mother, whose two children relate
their experiences from their own points of view. William and Violet are
damaged, but neither has any idea how much. Their older sister Rose has run
away, so now their mother’s full attention falls on them. It’s something they both
crave and fear.
Rightly so.
Josephine is a sinister creation, manipulative and cruel,
behind a facade of suburban bliss. The author creates layer upon layer of
unreliable narrator, disturbing and unsettling until the fractured jigsaw
puzzle of individual stories begin to form an ugly shape.The Hursts' home is nothing to envy.
I wouldn't say it ‘makes your blood run cold’ but it slowly chills you to the bone. Never overt or cheap, Mother, Mother is deeply unsettling. This is We Need To Talk About Kevin in reverse.
Everlasting
Lane, by Andrew Lovett
Set in the 1970s, an era which to me seemed so sunny and
innocent, this peculiarly difficult-to-define book crystallises something
extraordinary about childhood imagination.
There are elements of The Wasp Factory. Our narrator
– Peter – knows there’s a secret somewhere. So does the reader and we’re far
keener to find it.
There are parallels to The Ocean at the End of the Lane,
with the oddly articulate and capable Anna-Marie who is alternately in control
and struggling with her environment.
There’s a whiff of Black Swan Green, in the
misfits’ creativity and the discovery that adults can be unreliable and
dangerous and worst of all, right.
I loved this book for its period detail, its dextrous
unravelling of plot and its precise characterisation. But most of all, I loved
the way it shows a child’s mind as a Hall of Mirrors; funny, distorted, scary
and surreal. With so many places to hide.
Seeking
Sophia – Ariadne Apostolou
Kleio gets an email from an ex-lover, Philippe. It’s been
twenty years.
A lot has happened. Kleio’s had cancer, chemo, wigs, worries
and lovers, and now she’s come home. And she's planting a tree. The author takes us on a
geographical journey to New York, Geneva, and Greece, but the emotional
parallel is far less predictable.
The definition of independence, Kleio seeks a
dependant. She wants, she needs, a child.
This book, despite its polish and sophistication, feels raw.
Emotions are on the table with the olives, tomatoes and jug of rough wine.
We, the readers, think we see what's going on and predict the end of the tale. We are very wide of the mark.
This is a writer who can do big picture and microscopic
detail, depending on how it serves the story.
I thoroughly enjoyed Kleio’s journey, the vivid characters,
the riotous description of scenery and the perfectly structured narrative
through which the reader feels both wiser and more naive.
By JJ Marsh – author, reader, Triskelite, journalist, Nuancer, reviewer and blogger. Likes: pugs, Werner Herzog and anchovies. Dislikes: meat, chocolate and institutionalised sexism. Short story collection out now.
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