The stand-out of this novel for me were the remarkable descriptions of the countryside which were beautifully written and so lush and gorgeous as to be almost but never quite over the top.
It doesn't have a conventional plot as such but it is one of those books that assembles a cast of characters and then chronicles how the relationships between them develop.
Three adult sisters and their brother meet at the isolated rural rectory that belonged to their dead grandparents for a final holiday before deciding whether or not to sell it. Added to the mix are the younger sister's two children, 9 and 6, the brother's third wife, Pilar, an exotic Argentinian whom none of the others have yet met, the brother's 16 year old daughter and Kasim, the university student son of the middle daughter's ex-boyfriend (was it symbolic that both of the outsiders to the family had roots from other continents?). Sexual attractions inevitably add fuel to the simmering tensions. Sandwiched between two sections detailing this scenario is a section exploring how the siblings' now-dead mother came to the rectory after separating from her husband.
Just like in life, many of the problems and challenges that arise go unresolved.
There are times when the characters recognise how thoroughly steeped in the perspectives of the English middle class they are and there are times when I wondered whether the author realised just how deep this went. Grandad Grantham is a vicar who also writes poetry. Harriet has a 1st class degree in Classics from Oxford; she used to be a bit of a revolutionary and now works for good causes. Alice wanted to be a teacher and is now mostly a waitress. Pilar is a lawyer. Roland is a university lecturer and film critic. Their father paints, albeit badly. Not a window cleaner or delivery driver in sight.
But the descriptions are wonderful. There are extended pieces such as: “After the woods with their equivocal shade, the strong sunlight was startling when the path opened onto this gap; a red kite ambled in the sky above, small birds scuffled in the undergrowth, too hot to sing, and a pigeon broke out from the trees with a wooden clatter of wing beats. a stream around the field, bisecting it, conversing urgently with itself, its cleft bitten disproportionately deep into the stony ground and marked against the fields rough grass by the tangle of brambles that grew luxuriantly all along it, profuse as fur, still showing a few late white flowers limp like damp tissue, and heavy with berries too sour and green to pick yet, humming with flies.” (1.2) I searched in vain for the word 'plashy' But there are also short descriptions, which are both original and perfectly encapsulate the image or the mood, such as:
- “The jostling of water in the stream that ran at the bottom of the garden, a tickle of tiny movements in the hedgerows and grasses.” (1.1) I loved 'tickle'!
- “Arranging her long skirt carefully so that only her patent leather shoes poked out, two upright black exclamations, from under its hem.” (1.1)
- “The waterfall ... at this time of year wasn't much more than a swell of liquid in a sodden long fall of emerald moss.” (1.1)
- “She'd found a damp-spotted lace tablecloth that smelled of its cupboard.” (1.1)
- “Darkness ... as dense as a hand clapped over her face.” (2.1)
- “The owl she often saw passing, hanging from his outstretched wings.” (2.3) 'Hanging'! Yes!
Other selected quotes:
- “It was impossible to believe that she ended at the limits of her skin.” (1.1)
- “A painter. Not a very good one. Women in landscapes that are sort of dreamscapes: part Van Gogh, part album cover.” (1.3)
- “Alice protested that this was eating your cake and stopping anyone else eating theirs.” (1.4)
- “Because she was the vicar's daughter, she learned to lie from an early age, not caring much if anyone believed her.” (2.1)
- “To the unmarried, it seems that a couple must be intimately, perpetually exposed to each other - but actually, that wasn't bearable. In order for love to survive, you had to close yourself off to a certain extent.” (2.2)
- “She knew from her own experience what a great labour it was, binding up again all the mess of self, which in your extremity you had unbound.” (3.3)
February 2025; 362 pages
First published by Jonathan Cape in 2015
My large-print paperback Isis edition issued in 2016
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