The Fell by Sarah Moss

How can writers capture the feeling and repercussions of the pandemic in their fiction? As early as May 2020 an anthology called “Tools for Extinction” came out which included work from writers around the world responding to the ongoing crisis and Ali Smith's “Summer” included the pandemic as part of its storyline. It's curious to see how such recent events are embedded in a past which is now being fictionalised – especially as there's the possibility we could return to a state of lockdown and quarantine at any time. Although we usually go through our lives with little sense that we're living through history most people understand that these extraordinary times have significantly and permanently altered the world. Having so many people isolated in their homes has led to enormous emotional, financial and physical consequences. It's often remarked that writers need a sufficient distance from events to fully encapsulate their larger meaning in literature, but that depends on the strategy the author takes. 

In her new novel Sarah Moss' tactic is to embody the immediate thoughts and actions of four different characters in a village. “The Fell” is set in November 2020 during the second national lockdown in England when residents were ordered not to leave their homes. Kate is a single mother who recently lost her job at a cafe because of the pandemic and now worries about how she'll pay her bills. Although she knows she's breaking the rules, Kate leaves her adolescent son Matt at home to go for a solitary stroll across the countryside. She does this despite the threat of government fines and citizens being encouraged to inform upon any neighbours who break the rules. It says something about her state of mind and the pressure she's under that her feet seem to lead her outside and that she doesn't return even when it's getting dark and she knows the sensible thing would be to turn back. Though the risk is small, the stakes are high. And this is the dilemma we've all faced over the past two years when for many people it's more a question of personal responsibility than any outside pressure to follow the rules.

Things go badly wrong for Kate and it changes what's only been a theoretical crisis into a real crisis. The narrative revolves between the perspectives of Kate, Matt, their older neighbour Alice who is shielding at home and rescue worker Rob. It movingly follows the mental process many of us have gone through when confined at home with all the attendant fear, boredom, frustration and self-pity as well as feelings of guilt for reacting like this when we reason that there are other people who are suffering in more severe ways than we are. Moss captures the sense of stasis and how “A person can doubtless live like this indefinitely, the background murmur of dread only a little louder week by week, month by month”. Following these characters' mental states we get a sense of the building crisis as what was formerly abnormal becomes normalised. As they experience an extremely difficult predicament they are forced to consider their own resiliency and ability to cope under these circumstances. In particular, I was entranced by the way Kate is driven to a state of such crisis that she experiences a semi-hallucinatory encounter with a raven that's like a spectre from a Shakespearean tragedy.

There is so much in this novel which feels relatable and there's a solace in reading about characters who have felt many of the same emotions I have during this time. Alice feels inspired to bake batches of cookies, but since she lives alone the dilemma is there is nothing to do with all these cookies but eat them all herself. She also takes a strange comfort in watching rollerskating tutorials from California on her computer. However, Matt reaches a point where he feels like he's seen everything he's interested in online and nothing is being updated anymore. It becomes even more evident that the internet is a receptacle through which people voyeuristically experience the world and it becomes many people's only touchstone to the outside – including awkward video call chats with family members while eating a meal. Everything becomes glazed with a sense of the unreal: “because your mind and memory can't get much purchase on pixels on a screen, because nothing feels real any more.” Moss encapsulates the texture of recent times in this novel while also contemplating the way we handle facing our own mortality and negotiate the risks that we feel are worth taking in life. It's an innovative and effective approach to representing what we've all just lived through.

All the Young Men by Ruth Coker Burks

Recently I went to see a good new production of 'The Normal Heart' at The National Theatre and it reminded me that I meant to read this recent memoir. In the mid-80s Ruth Coker Burks was visiting a friend in an Arkansas hospital when she noticed a nearby patient's door was painted red and the nurses were arguing about who had to go in to tend to the patient. Feeling concerned for whoever was inside, she entered herself and found a man dying of an AIDS-related illness. Rather than succumb to fear as many people did at that time (and especially in that highly-religious, predominantly-conservative part of the country) she was overwhelmed by human sympathy for a man in pain and alone in the last hours of his life. From there she started caring for other young men suffering and dying from the same affliction. 

As her involvement grew, she not only assisted them at the end of their lives and help to put their remains to rest (when some literally abandoned these men's corpses) but she also became an activist trying to source medication, spread awareness, distribute food and sexual protection amongst the gay community and create political change. Her intense dedication to this cause is in some ways astounding because she was a single working mother who was also Christian and heterosexual. By associating with and helping these reviled men she and her daughter were ostracised themselves. But, at the same time, she saw her involvement as the only possible response to help people who were clearly suffering. I admire how she refused to compromise her sense of caring for those in need even when she felt the same fears those around her were experiencing because there was so little understanding at the time what AIDS was or how it is spread. We follow not only her story getting involved in this cause but learn about the many individuals she befriended and lost because of AIDS because these men were never just a number or statistic to her.

Naturally, given the subject matter, there is a lot of heartache and sorrow in this book. But there is also a lot of humour, joy and love as well which is largely driven by Burks' effervescent personality. It's shocking reading about the hatred of certain people who confront her and object to what she's doing, but it's also funny reading her witty responses and bitchy asides about these people. For instance, when a woman is absolutely horrible she remarks how this lady's camel hair coat was expensive at one point but that time had past. Equally, since she worked for a long time selling time shares, it's very funny reading about the clever psychological strategies she employed to get people to sign up. This soft approach also served her well in trying to rally support for the cause she fought for. What comes across in all her interactions with people is a real empathy in trying to understand their position and form a real connection. Although she encountered a lot of blatant hatred and hypocrisy, she also met people who were surprisingly sympathetic and there are beautiful moments of small kindness. There are also many dynamic personalities in the gay community who shine through these pages though the men themselves died long ago.

I'm so filled with admiration for Burks that it doesn't feel appropriate to critique this book's writing style or construction in the way I might other books. The subject matter and people it describes are so engaging and interesting that I was completely drawn into her story and the plight of the individuals caught in this tragic time of history. It's impressive that Burks refused to turn away when some men in the gay community itself preferred to pretend it wasn't happening even while their own friends and lovers were dying around them. I also really appreciated how this account shows a different part of the country since most stories about AIDS in the 80s centre around NYC or San Francisco. This memoir is not only a beautiful memorial to the many lives lost, but also the perseverance of individuals dedicated to doing what's right rather than what's easy.

Dinner Party by Sarah Gilmartin

Family get-togethers are inherently dramatic as they are often accompanied by so much expectation, pent-up emotions and long-held grievances. They often start out with the best intentions but can spiral out of control into feuds. There's an intense familiarity yet often family members can feel like strangers to each other. This is something Sarah Gilmartin understands well as her debut novel begins and ends with a dinner to mark the anniversary of a death in the family. In between these dinners we learn about the history of the Gleesons, a contemporary Irish family of farmers with two sons and twin daughters. The story focuses on daughter Kate as she struggles to reconcile with family tragedies, emotionally connect with the family members who remain and progress forward in her own life. It's an engaging story with many moments of high tension and heartache because it's clear that these people care deeply about each other but also drive each other crazy. 

The routines of family life: games of charade and cards can explode into warfare especially as the matriarch has an emotionally volatile sensibility where suddenly hellfire is released into the living room. She's domineering, highly critical and very concerned about how the family appears to the rest of the community. There's an inherent comedy in the fact that Kate frequently zones out or tries to keep reading a book as the mother is speaking to her and thinks about other things only to realise she's expected to respond and must quickly piece together what was being talked about. Yet, she's also a bridge-builder in the family trying to stop arguments before something is said which will be regretted. At the same time she harbours her own secrets and perilously avoids discussing emotions which are constraining her potential. Ominously, she counts how many bites of food she eats and we see her lack of control manifests into a longstanding eating disorder. She also has an affair with a married man which doesn't give her the emotional satisfaction or security she needs. This leads to another memorably disastrous dinner with her lover where she gets horrifically drunk. This scene is so cleverly written because we understand just how messy things become from the reactions of people around her.

I felt like I grew to know each family member intimately by the end of the book and understand their point of view. Gilmartin skilfully conjures the physicality of her characters while showing their bond to each other with lines such as “He had a similar skin to herself, the kind that flashed up feelings to the world.” At the same time there are many sharp observations which speak more widely to the psychological and social effects of significant events. Though death is a much-discussed and ritualized occurrence in Ireland it's also like a marker which taints the surviving family members: “Death depressed people, and it changed their opinion of you.” The mother vigorously engages in gossip about local people who've died or experience serious illness, but when it occurs within her own family it puts her in an unbearable position within the community. Gilmartin shows how this sense of status and self-image don't matter at all in one sense but in another matter a great deal. The tension of this is movingly played out to show how the bonds of family can both strengthen and destroy us.

The Booker Prize 2021 Winner

I've been following the Booker Prize even more closely than usual this year reading all 13 novels on the longlist. Despite issues creeping up regarding the prize (see my rant video) I still appreciate how this book award highlights some of the best novels of the year. Some of my personal favourites include “Klara and the Sun”, “Bewilderment”, “Great Circle” and “China Room”. This year's finale was held in person but it was a much smaller affair than usual and broadcast online so if you want to watch the entire award ceremony with me in my library I filmed a reaction video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9r4WhDfayg Towards the end of the video I also asked Galgut some questions immediately after his win.

From the moment I finished reading “The Promise” by Damon Galgut I knew this is a very special novel. I filmed a video trying to articulate my feelings and reaction to it, but there is so much to say about this book that I feel there will continue to be debate and discussion surrounding it for many years to come. There's a haunting quality to it which has stuck with me long after having read the book. The characters that loom large in my memory aren't so much the main protagonists of the family we follow, but the voices which are absent. It's extraordinary how Salome who is denied receiving ownership of the home which is promised to her year after year continues to be such a strong presence though we only see her in the background of each section.

Equally, the youngest child of the family Amor who is a kind of moral compass of the story takes such a strong role in the novel. As the years go by she has a better understanding of how both her family and the country are poisoned by racism and this is something she is unable to change. As a consequence she retreats from both while also retreating from the narrative itself. We get few details of her life and though I wanted to know more about Salome and Amor's stories I understood why we're denied them. The reader is trapped in the racist mentality of this family which is slowly dying off as we follow funeral after funeral. We can't escape this point of view anymore than the family members themselves and I think Galgut is saying how these pernicious attitudes can't simply be shaken off no matter how much politics and society progress. It's a bold statement and an emotionally impactful way of conveying this message using an entirely unique style of narrative.

So I'm very happy with the result of this year's prize though my favourite novel from the group “Bewilderment” didn't win. But, for me, this book award isn't about winners or losers. It's about encouraging discussion, closer reading and taking another look at books we might initially dismiss. The award has definitely done that this year and I'm grateful for everyone who has engaged in discussions with me about the books. What do you think about the winner? Have you read it or are you eager to read it now? Did you have a favourite you were hoping would win? Let's keep the conversation going.

Tenderness by Alison MacLeod

It's strange knowing the novel “Lady Chatterley's Lover” was subjected to obscenity trials in 1960 and became the focus of heated public debate. The language and subject matter used in this book is hardly considered shocking today which is probably part of the reason why D. H. Lawrence isn't a particularly fashionable or widely-read author anymore - that and the fact the book contains weirdly paranoid anti-Semitic and homophobic ideas expressed by the character of Mellors. Some people would probably argue that looking down on this novel originally published in 1928 for its outdated attitudes is censorship of a different kind but to me it feels like common sense to rigorously critique any book that makes such statements. Yet, the furore surrounding Lawrence's final novel in 1960 is even more bizarre than it first appears when you know what a special interest the FBI took in the trials. This stirred author Alison MacLeod's imagination as well and inspired her to write the novel “Tenderness” - the title which Lawrence originally contemplated calling what became “Lady Chatterley's Lover”. 

I love novels such as “Arctic Summer” by Damon Galgut and “The Master” by Colm Toibin which reimagine the lives of authors and consider how their writing was produced alongside events they experienced. It's irresistible to wonder about the personality behind a great book with all the intense passion and dedication which must have gone into writing it. MacLeod adds another dimension to this in her novel by inserting some lines by Lawrence within her story about his journey and the fate of his novel to show the interplay between life and text. The novel begins with the final part of Lawrence's life when he was suffering from tuberculosis, bickering with his wife Frieda and living in voluntary exile on the continent. It then moves onto the events surrounding the trials which take place 30 years after Lawrence's death including a FBI special agent who trails after Jackie Kennedy. He photographs the soon-to-be First Lady at a hearing for “Lady Chatterley's Lover”. We delve into Jackie's perspective and follow a young female literature student whose family was satirised in a short story by Lawrence. Amidst this, the novel frequently flashes back to moments in Lawrence's earlier life, his financial/artistic/romantic struggles and his interaction with other literary figures including E. M. Forester and Katherine Mansfield. The novel also includes a short sequel to “Lady Chatterley's Lover” imagining what events might have followed after the end of Lawrence's story.

So there is a lot going on in MacLeod's ambitious novel and it skilfully utilizes its 600 pages to fully integrate all these elements into a coherent and bewitchingly epic story. It's engaging and insightful how it does so with many tantalizing moments of conflict and camaraderie. The question of the morality of “Lady Chatterley's Lover” is swept up into the Cold War politics of the time and attempts made to derail John F. Kennedy's election. Novelist and literary critic Rebecca West emerges as a force to be reckoned with playing and informing on different sides to accumulate power and push her own agenda. There are delicious moments of discussion between Jackie and critic Lionel Trilling about the novel's meaning and importance. Though tempestuous Lawrence sharply critiques and fights with E. M. Forester, it speaks highly of Forester's character that he still expresses admiration for Lawrence's work rather than backbiting. All these elements mix together to say something much bigger about the importance of literature and how it tangibly integrates into our lives and culture. Great books are a reflection of the present moment but they also move us forward by enhancing our sensibilities. “Tenderness” expresses this while telling a complex and riveting story of its own.