Trespass

I have just spent a deliciously indulgent afternoon finishing off Rose Tremain's fantastic novel: "Trespass". So engrossed was I by her skilfully woven narrative, that an afternoon set aside for housework, was seriously eaten into! I vacuumed the lounge, read a chapter; pegged out the washing, read another, and so on, until by the time I should have been prepping the dinner, I had read feverishly to the last page, not caring whether the family went hungry. That's the sign of a good book!

Initially, my heart sank when I thought I was going to have to read through the characters' personal histories of sordid sexual encounters, which is something I prefer not to have thrust in my face, either when reading a novel, or watching a film on T.V. However, these do not dominate the narrative, and they do allow us to understand what drives the protagonists to behave how they do.

Tremain writes with authority about antiques, garden design and the landscape, architecture and industrial heritage of the Cevennes in France, where the majority of the plot unfolds.The story is essentially about the disintegration of two families over two generations, with their associated psychological baggage. The first is an English family: Anthony Verey, a well-known antiques dealer from Pimlico, and his older sister, Veronica, who lives in the Cevennes with her lover, Kitty. The second is French: brother and sister, Aramon and Audrun Lunel; the former an alcoholic, living in the ancestral home, whilst the latter lives in a modest bungalow down the road. It is when Aramon decides he wants to sell up, and Anthony that he needs to retire to France, that the two families' paths meet.

It is a deftly crafted novel of longing for lost innocence, and yearning for happiness. About wanting to be secure and loved, and to have a special place of one's own, which the world cannot threaten or remove. V's lover, Kitty, exasperated by the intrusion of Anthony into their love-nest bemoans: "Doesn't every love need to create for itself its own protected space? And if so, why don't lovers understand better the damage trespass can do?"

Sadly, even if we realise our grand designs for building a home, our past can often catch up with us, and the reader feels the weight of the Lunels' blighted history closing in on them. Audrun and her friend Marianne, try to explain this to Marianne's daughter: " When lives are blighted young, Jeannette, sometimes you just don't quite recover, and that's a true tragedy."

The joy of this book is discovering just how far someone will go to get and hold onto that "protected space". I will not say who that someone is, but even when you guess their identity, it is a delicious pleasure watching them execute their plans. Everyone knows it's the quiet ones that need to be watched.

About a Boy

This week I've ripped through Nick Hornby's fantastic novel: About a Boy. I've already seen the film several times, so coming across certain situations and dialogue, it's impossible not to see Hugh Grant and Nicholas Hoult in the main roles.

There is a wonderful symmetry about this book. The adult, Will, lives his life like an overgrown teenager, whilst the boy, Marcus, is old beyond his years, and does not relate at all to youth culture.  As their lives collide on what eventually becomes known as "The Dead Duck Day", they both learn a lot about life, and learn to appreciate each other.

Will cannot quite comprehend how his comfortable, insular and rather blank life, could have changed so radically with the mere intervention of a socially inept young boy, and his depressive, hippy mother.  At one stage he laments: "He'd had his whole life set up so that nobody's problem was his problem, and now everybody's problem was his problem, and he had no solutions for any of them."

There's a wonderful supporting cast of wacky characters, especially in Marcus' own family, and Nick Hornby seems to have a knack for sounding completely authentic, whether he's spouting maternal wisdom, or voicing a teenage girl's alienation at school. Likewise, the period detail, especially the music references, are spot on.

It is a superbly entertaining read, very funny and sharply observant. I couldn't describe it better than Arminta Wallace in The Irish Times, who writes:"About a Boy is really about the awful, hilarious, embarrassing place where children and adults meet, and Hornby has captured it with delightful precision."

Do watch the film if you have never seen it. It differs very slightly from the book, but is a faithful representation, and in my opinion, it's Hugh Grant's finest hour!

Nicholas Hoult - no longer a boy

The terrifying art of writing.

Hannah Kent, first-time author of "Burial Rites" describes the process of writing as an often terrifying ordeal, and says: "Perhaps the only fiction worth reading - the writing that ensnares you wholly, that lays siege to your heart - is that which is born of love and terror, slick with the blood of its creator."

Burial Rites

Burial Rites is Hannah Kent's first novel, and I am astounded that a young, Australian woman could write with such command of Icelandic culture, folklore and history, as to make the reader feel totally immersed in the nineteenth century setting. Not only that, but with an economy of phrase she shows mastery over her characterisation of the condemned woman in her story: Agnes Magnusdottir, and the family who are forced to give her board and lodging on a remote farmstead, while she awaits her execution.

Kent had become intrigued by the real-life story of Agnes, whilst living in Iceland as a seventeen year old exchange student.  It was an obsession that stuck with her, so that later, when undertaking a PhD at Flinders University, she decided to make Agnes the subject of her research.  She had never undertaken any biographical research, or attempted to write a novel. No wonder she credits so many Icelandic librarians and archivists in her acknowledgements.

Agnes is one of three condemned to die for the murder of two men, Natan Ketilsson and Petur Jonsson at another farmstead in the North. Her fellow accused are being held with different families, and being ministered to by different priests. Agnes has requested a particular priest as her confessor, the young assistant,Toti, who visits her regularly at the farm. Her spiritual wellbeing is his foremost concern, as he seeks to prepare her to face death. In the close confines of the "badstofa", (the communal Icelandic living/sleeping room, see picture below), we learn about Agnes' life, intertwined with the lives of the local farming families and their servants. The isolation and loneliness of living in a remote location, the claustrophobia of a long, dark Winter in a small community, and the close scrutiny afforded to an outsider, which the author experienced as an exchange student, all resonate here. 

As the novel builds inexorably to its climax, she describes the bleak, unforgiving landscape in lyrical prose of stunning intensity, whilst Agnes' tortured internal monologue is laid bare. It is insightful, beautiful and heart-rending. In Hannah Kent's own words, the novel is a "dark love letter to Iceland." I recommend that Eyjafjallajokull permitting, you should read this astonishing debut novel, and book your flight!