Talking to the Dead, A Girl is a Half Formed Thing and High Fidelity

After enjoying Helen Dunmore's "A Spell of Winter" and four of her previous books, I searched for another of her novels and found "Talking to the Dead". For such a short book, I found the first half a bit of a struggle. Of course the writing is as good as ever, but there was not much of a story. But things change after halfway, and I sped through the remaining pages in a couple of days.

The story is situated in the Sussex countryside in a long, long very hot summer. It reminded me of the last six weeks, only saved by the fact is was September and not July. The characters, as ever, are very well drawn. The narrator, Nina, is not wholly sympathetic, although I felt we could have done with more of her back story as an adult and not just as a child. But Dunmore wants to concentrate on her relationship with her sister both when they were young and in the present at Isabel's cottage. Here there was always a sense of impending disaster, given that family tragedy seems to want to be repeated.

Started. Again. Stars how many? Head aches, cannot decide. Have another sip. That tea is hot. Start again.

It's no wonder that Eimear McBride's first novel A Girl is a Half Formed Thing was turned down by every publisher for nearly a decade, and was only eventually picked up by a small independent concern in Norwich. The book is an experiment in what one reviewer called "a new form of prose which deploys a spartan lexicon in fragmentary vernacular syncopations to represent the form of thought at the point before it becomes articulate speech". (See above). This should have been explained on the cover instead of the tame warning about being for an adventuress reader.

It does take some getting into. In fact I found the best way to read it was to almost say the words out loud. It is the closest thing to poetry (which, by the way, I mainly struggle to comprehend) with all the concentration that this entails. I felt it was like a cacophony of words, the odd half formed sentence thrown in to move the story on. And this is not a pleasant story. It is the rant of an Irish girl suffering from the distress of an older brother with a brain tumour, and an overbearing and abusive mother. We don't get the names of the characters. I (the girl), you (her brother), she (mother) uncle, aunt etc.

Her fall into degrading relationships is partly her own making, this is a girl you would want to avoid at all costs. When she goes away to college, I hoped that she would find some kind of redemption. No such luck. So why did I decide to read it? It has won great acclaim, awards and universal positive critical reviews. Did I enjoy it? Not really. Will I forget it? Never.

Nick Hornby is one of my favourite authors so I have no idea why I have never read his first novel having read the other five (not including his latest that is not yet out in paperback). "High Fidelity" feels a lot more laddish than his later books. But it still an excellent peep into the life and loves of a single thirty five year old. It is witty and sharp as ever and the author pulls no punches in sending up Rob our narrator. 

This is sometimes an uncomfortable read for us men who still make lists as if they were still sixteen. This novel may eventually be held up as one of the best to describe the early nineties when there were still shops where you could buy vinyl records. Rob owns the shop and his relationship with his two employees Barry and Dick is hilarious but sad. And when it comes to his girlfriends, Rob is in a different league. We first think "I should be so lucky" but then after a pause, "Maybe not". 

I liked the ending which leaves us dreaming that everyone will be fine, even maybe Barry.