At the start of The Witch Elm, Toby Hennessy introduces himself by saying, “I’ve always considered myself to be, basically, a lucky person”. This is the first line of the novel, in fact, and proves to be the key to its dark heart.
The unfolding story deconstructs that statement. It confronts Toby with the fact that - despite feeling that his life changed beyond recognition after being beaten to oblivion in the early chapters - he has always been, basically, oblivious.
Luck? Is it really ‘luck’ that gave young, white, male, middle-class, able-bodied, straight, handsome Toby Hennessy a leg-up in life? Just dumb luck? This is a novel about power and privilege.
The story is set in the elegantly dilapidated surroundings of the Ivy House, a mansion belonging to uncle Hugo, where Toby spent childhood summers with his cousins, Susanna and Leon. At times, The Witch Elm takes on the air of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History, as the three cousins meander through the pages, drinking good wine, slagging less-fortunate ‘skangers’ and philosophising at length. No-one (except uncle Hugo) is especially sympathetic and some of these sections feel directionless.
But French has an important point to make, symbolised by the Ivy House. The cousins inhabit the same world - literally the same house - but different realities. A macabre discovery in a tree in the garden, the wych elm of the title, forces Toby to dig back into their shared and unshared past experiences. He discovers the true meaning of ‘luck’.
A departure from her Dublin Murder Squad series, Tana French once again offers a work of literary fiction that happens to feature a murder. The plot is slow moving and character led. It won’t please fans of a rapid page-turner, although sections of the novel - especially the build up to the ending - are gripping. Both frustrating and brilliant, its strength hits after the ending; rather like the giant wych elm, you only realise the magnitude and scale of the ideas after stepping away and regarding it from a distance.
Review: The Dinner, Herman Koch
The novel plays out during an evening meal at a fancy restaurant, while two brothers and their wives attempt to resolve a family issue. It's a masterclass in the unreliable narrator and the slow reveal, as we are lead to conclude that the main character is a cranky misanthrope with a long-suffering wife, a failure with a humiliatingly-successful sibling, a sociopath with violent tendencies, and worse... and worse... until the true natures of the individuals gracing the dinner table are revealed. It's impossible to like anyone in this novel, but it's equally hard to stop thinking about them after it's finished. Brilliantly judged, whenever its exceptional darkness threatens to turn the stomach, a wicked dash of humour cleanses the palate.
Review: All the Birds, Singing by Evie Wyld
Beautiful, lyrical, unusual suspense novel that perfectly walks the line between literary and thriller.
When we first meet Jake Whyte she is a lonely misfit, caring for sheep using her brutal strength amid the inhuman landscape of a Scottish island. Something is coming for the lambs in the night and we're not sure if it's a fox, a strange beast that locals claim inhabits the island, or something worse - something from Jake's past that may be connected to scars on her back. Then we move backwards in time, through Jake's sordid past in Australia, where every stage in her sad life is not quite what we expect.
Accomplished and moving novel, with an intriguing main character who upsets all our expectations of both women and literary tropes.
***
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