BOOK REVIEW: The Many by Wyl Menmuir

Wyl Menmuir's debut novel, The Many, revolves around the story of two men; Ethan is a fisherman and a well-embedded member of a community that's dwindling as a result of the poor fish stocks in the area. The waters are guarded by mysterious ships with the warning of strict penalties should the fleet cross that line. Timothy has just moved into the village, taking on a dilapidated house that holds a huge significance for the other residents. He's an outsider with his own story to tell and soon, he and Ethan find themselves drawn together by their respective experiences.

The decision to imbue the story with several mysteries, rather than just one, aids this enormously. The figure of Perran stands at the heart of it and is Menmuir’s most gothic element, a ghost of sorts that looms over the narrative and haunts the characters throughout. Ethan’s grief for Perran is the most easily-grasped element of the story and that exploration of loss builds out from him. The ever-present ships out in the horizon perform a similar function, commanding attention from afar, but never interfering directly. Answers to these mysteries aren’t readily offered or answered, simply left as symbols to decipher.

Menmuir crafts a kind of fable here, tinged with a folk horror element in the way the villagers close ranks against Timothy and their ways and sometimes ritualistic behaviour is presented as something uncanny and disturbing. The prose is sparse but effective in crafting a village that feels completely isolated from the rest of the world; we're offered no specifics, but none are needed. It is simply a feeling and an unsettling one at that.

It is sometimes difficult to get a handle on Menmuir’s tale, as it spends much of its time shifting like sand underneath your feet, though this is not a negative aspect of the book. Instead, it gives it a challenging quality, constantly asking questions of its reader without ever feeling that it is attempting to alienate. It aids the underlying horror inherent within the narrative, allowing imagination to take over from the skeletal frame that is laid out. It’s a tough balance to strike, but one which Menmuir handles assuredly in his debut work. 

Though it was perhaps not written with this in mind, reading the novel during the nightmarish toxicity of the EU Referendum gives it an interesting prescience in its exploration of a failing, unwelcoming community's reaction to an outsider, the decaying environment that surrounds them both and the looming warnings of a distant bureaucracy. That fishing quotas, ecology and environmental regulations are also part of the ongoing debate feeds into that sense of a discussion in microcosm. The sense of loss that permeates here is not just related to the personal, but to the social and communal as well.

It might be a short novel, but it is a fascinating, searching piece of work. Wyl Menmuir’s The Many is a book for those readers who enjoy being challenged by fiction and left to decipher a meaning that isn't readily available. 

- Becky

The Many is available now from Salt Publishing.

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BOOK REVIEW: Trio by Sue Gee

Trio is set in 1930s Northumberland and follows a history teacher, Steven Coulter, in the years following the untimely death of his young wife. As grief takes a solid hold, Steven finds himself pulled into the world of his colleague, Frank Embleton, whose sister, Diana, performs in a trio of local musicians with George Liddell and Margot Heslop. Steven slowly starts to form relationships with the new people in his life and finds a way to move on from his grief. However, with war looming on the horizon, their hazy, romantic view of the world is soon shattered.

The wonderful thing about being a voracious reader is that you come across an extraordinary variety of novels; some difficult, some tricksy, some light and so on. Sometimes though, you just need the literary equivalent of a comfort blanket. Sue Gee's Trio is exactly that, a poignant look at a group of friends moving through time. There's a nice depth to it at all times, weaving its narrative through its context and exploring both the hazy happy periods and the slow violence of grief and loss.

There are several different layers operating at all times throughout Gee's novel as she traces the development of the relationships within. Various moments in the novel are punctuated by references to the build-up to the Second World War or the ongoing Spanish Civil War. They are short, sharp shocks to the country idyll that you become enveloped within. The various deaths that arrive throughout the narrative operate on a similar level, whether it's the long-awaited and dreaded expiration of Margaret, suffering from tuberculosis, or the suddenness of others elsewhere.

Time beats a rhythm throughout the novel, sometimes flitting ahead at a staccato pace, at others, slowing down to spend time with the characters at a specific moment in their life. It is a relentless progression though, no matter the pace, and a constant reminder that all things must come to an end at some point. It all comes to a wonderful head in the closing chapters of Trio, a conclusion which is at once both melancholic and hopeful, a testament to the endurance of human relationships and the hollow space that can sometimes be left behind.

Another crucial and successful aspect of Gee's narrative is the attention to detail she offers when it comes to the characters' lives. The broad strokes of the military movements form the background to intensely personal moments such as the focal points of Steven's grief; Margaret's coat, still on its hook after her death, forms an anchor throughout Steven's story, something he keeps returning to despite moving on elsewhere. There is also attention paid weird little synergies that life sometimes throws at you, like the similarity between Margaret and Margot's names. These details keep the novel operating on a rich yet personal level.

The elegance with which Gee orchestrates these elements is what makes Trio such a gentle read, both heartwarming and heart-wrenching in equal measure. The focus on those universal experiences of love and grief transcend its period setting to produce something deeply human.

Trio is available from Salt Publishing here.

- Becky

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BOOK REVIEW: Bodies of Water by V.H. Leslie

Bodies of Water splits its narrative between two women and their respective time periods. Evelyn has been working with fallen women in Victorian London, but the work and the relationships she forms within it have taken their toll. She is sent to be treated at Wakewater Hall, a hydropathy establishment nestled alongside the Thames. In the present day, Kirsten has recently split from her boyfriend and has bought an apartment in the ongoing conversion of Wakewater Hall. As she learns more about the history of the building and of the fates of Victorian drowned women, she finds herself haunted by a mysterious figure and enraptured by the water that surrounds her.

Bodies of Water is V.H. Leslie's debut novel, though she is already a veteran of the short story, releasing a collection entitled Skein and Bone just last year. The ability to create a world in a smaller space is an advantage here as Leslie quickly establishes both women, their respective plights and, most importantly, the cloying atmosphere that dominates much of the narrative. She has a clear and keen understanding of the virtues of the Gothic genre and clearly revels in the opportunity to explore it on her own terms.

The richness of the world that Leslie creates, as well as the atmosphere she maintains throughout, leaves you wanting more as a reader to sink down into the depths of Bodies of Water and become completely immersed. There are several moments where it feels as if they should be longer, more drawn out. Leslie does an excellent job of sketching the characters, both past and present, but they and their relationships could be explored further. It's a narrative that you can't put down (I read it in practically one sitting), but equally, it's one that you don't want to end, simply because it's so fascinating to explore.

It's a novel of liminal spaces and blurred boundaries, where Victorian restrictions intersect with the relative freedoms of contemporary living. In the wrong hands (and forgive the pun), the waters could have easily become muddied and confusing. Instead, Leslie acknowledges that the same environments would hold different meanings for both Kirsten and Evelyn whilst also demonstrating their similarities. They both see a figure loitering on the riverbank, but her presence signifies a deeper horror for Evelyn than it does for Kirsten. That figure is one of three things to freely travel between the two time periods, the others are the water that flows through the novel and the shared location of Wakewater Hall. The three work in tandem with each other to tease out Kirsten and Evelyn's respective experiences of this haunted little corner of the Thames.

The water is a mercurial presence throughout the novel, pouring through the pages and seeping into every aspect of the story. It's neither friend or foe, but capable of acting as both a weapon or a refuge depending upon what is needed. The character of Manon functions as an expository figure, opining on the cultural link between water and femininity as well as the way in which men have exploited the bodies of women found within the water itself. Both Kirsten and Evelyn find themselves interacting with it in different ways, sometimes as a healing force, but more often as a destructive one. It gives their interactions with the water a sense of unpredictability, something which Leslie utilises throughout the narrative to ensure readers are left guessing until the end.

A chief component of the book's success is the location, Wakewater Hall itself, intimidating, creepy and shrouded in mystery. There's a very traditionally Gothic sense of moral decay, manifested in the dilapidated shell on Kirsten's renovated apartment doorstep. It's a work in progress, but one which seems to be actively resisting improvement with seemingly random leaks and noises in its walls. Leslie imbues the Hall with a real sense of history and menace in both its Victorian and present day form. Though it is never described in minute detail, Leslie gives the reader just enough to let their imagination run, hearing the rumble of the pipes or the fountain jets echoing through its corridors. 

Relishing in its genre coding and richly atmospheric, Bodies of Water is a fascinating debut and demonstrates the promise of V.H. Leslie as a novelist. It's a book for reading by the fire with a blanket ready to draw around yourself as the brilliant chill sets in and takes hold.

Bodies of Water is available from Salt Publishing.

- Becky

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