Clear by Carys Davies

Set in the 1840s during the final stages of the infamous Highland Clearances, and the split of in the Scottish Church, an impoverished minister, John, has accepted the task of evicting the remaining occupant of a (fictional) island north of Scotland. Ivar has been living alone for decades, with only his animals and the sea for company. John’s wife, Mary, has serious misgivings about the job but he decides to go, knowing they desperately need the money.

Soon after John arrives on the island, he falls down a cliff and is found, unconscious and badly injured, by Ivar who takes him home. The two men do not speak a common language, but as John builds a dictionary of Ivar’s world, they learn to communicate and build a fragile, unusual connection.

The historical elements of the story were fascinating (and I was reminded of Whale Fall by Elizabeth O’Connor, which also examined dying languages). I was interested in the practicalities and challenges of Ivar’s remote and secluded life, but ultimately this is a story about loneliness and feeling alone, and the distinction between the two. Each character faces different internal conflicts – Ivar’s awakening to the depth of his loneliness; John choosing between duty and what he believes to be morally right; and Mary, who is determined and loyal, despite these virtues coming at a cost. It is only when the two men meet and are forced to find a way to communicate, that they each understand that we are who we are in relation to others.

I have the cliffs and the skerries and the birds. I have the white bill and the round bill and the peaked hill. I have the clear spring water and the rich good pasture that covers the tilted top of the island like a blanket. I have the old black cow and the sweet grass that grows between the rocks, I have my great chair and my sturdy house. I have my spinning wheel and I have the teapot and I have Pegi, and now, amazingly, I have John Ferguson too.

I’ve mentioned numerous times that descriptions of the sea win me over and Davies did not disappoint. But it was the quiet, meditative quality of this book that will leave a deep and lasting impression. A profoundly beautiful book.

4.5/5

Thunderhead by Miranda Darling

Set over the course of a day, we meet a mother of young children, Winona Dalloway. She’s relishing the peaceful hour before her children wake up, planning the day’s tasks, and reflecting on her relationships with others.

It quickly becomes apparent that Winona is under the impression that she ‘can’t cope’. It also becomes apparent to the reader, that Winona’s husband gaslights her, controls her via their shared electronic calendar, and is what I would class as emotionally abusive.

Darling has created parallels with Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway (both use a stream-of-consciousness narrative, and both tell the story of a housewife on the brink). The style serves Darling well, because while Winona’s thoughts dart from one thing to the next – and you get caught in her chaos – there are moments of clarity, and combined with the mentions of her husband, these bits add up to understanding Winona’s precarious situation – that she is absolutely trapped in a gilded cage.

Thunderhead is billed as a black comedy – I wouldn’t class it as such. Instead, the increasing tension, created by the story being compressed into a single day, and the urgency around Winona telling herself that everything is okay, makes for a domestic drama. I didn’t love the ending (but can’t say what I wanted instead…), however, it was a compelling read and I’ll certainly look forward to whatever Darling does next.

3/5