It’s only February and yet, I’m ridiculously behind on reviews (there’s more to come).

The Coast Road by Alan Murrin

One of those glorious stories about the goings-on in a small Irish town, where you become totally absorbed in the nitty-gritty of everyone’s lives. The Coast Road is set against the political backdrop of Ireland’s contentious 1995 referendum on divorce, and it beautifully demonstrates the complexities of relationships for women where the norm is ’til death do us part’.

Murrin’s writing isn’t particularly striking (in a showy, elaborate way) but there were many moments of quiet insight that I thoroughly enjoyed –

…she supposed that fear was a thing that you got used to in the same way as anything else. Like grief or anger or shame – you either moved past it or you lived with it for so long that you didn’t know the difference anymore.

One of the central characters, Colette, who made the ‘scandalous’ decision to leave her husband (and is then blocked from seeing her children), says of challenging behaviour in kids –

‘Ah well, Donal, we must look after our rebels, because they’re the ones who’ll protect us in the end. I hope so at least. That’s what I’m holding out for.’

As it was, I was at MONA the next day, and saw this piece of art –

– a perfect summary of the interplay between people, the Catholic church, and government in Murrin’s story.

3.5/5

Theory & Practice by Michelle de Kretser

It seems like ages ago that I was lying on the beach reading this novel… and I mention that because although I enjoyed it at the time, not much has lingered. Weird, given that I can recall bits of de Kretser’s other novels, read years ago.

But here’s what has stuck:

• the absolute Melbourne-ness of the book. Sure, it’s mostly set around St. Kilda (not my stomping ground) but I’ve had my share of nights at The Espy et al. She describes St. Kilda as a place where ‘…the shimmer of disaster was always close at hand…’. Yes.
• nineties details.
• the seriousness of the party conversations – I had to laugh over all the Derrida and Foucault.
• and her singularly beautiful sentences

He discovers a tenderness that complicates his breathing.

According to the publisher, de Kretser ‘bends fiction, essay and memoir into new shapes’ in Theory & Practice. Kind of wish I hadn’t known that because I was reading through a lens of ‘which bits are real?’. Anyway, if you were a Melbourne Uni student in the eighties or nineties, read it for the details – everyone else, focus on the friendship betrayals.

3/5

Loving My Lying, Dying, Cheating Husband by Kerstin Pilz

I was totally sucked in by the title of this memoir and it had all the ingredients for a compelling read (grief, someone in a caring role, a narcissist) but unfortunately it fell short of expectations. I whizzed through the first half, as Pilz (a German academic who has lived in Australia for many years) described meeting her charismatic husband, Gianni – their whirlwind romance, his charm, and the exciting life they began to build together. However, Gianni is diagnosed with melanoma, and there’s one health battle after another. During one of his hospital stays, Pilz discovers he has been unfaithful.

The second half of the book is Pilz’s version of Eat, Pray, Love (despite my love for Elizabeth Gilbert, I loathed Eat, Pray, Love, which at the time I found to be privileged). Pilz goes on many trips for the purpose of meditation, seeking answers for her anger and trying to understand her grief. It was repetitive and I had the sense that despite the meditation sessions, Pilz continued to look outward for answers (as I frequently remind clients, when we are the ‘victim’, we have no responsibility – it’s an interesting position to choose).

Incidentally, the most interesting parts of the book were not about Pilz but her parents, inter-generational trauma and the chapter titled ‘Grief German-style’. Pilz travelled to Germany during her mourning, expecting comfort from her parents, and was disappointed –

Like millions of German war children, my parents were never allowed to grieve. Don’t look back, don’t look inside, just look forward, move on as quickly as possible, they were told. The unspeakable was never to be spoken of. An entire generation of traumatised children were told to forget, erase, deny. The past was to be thought of as a charcter-building experience.

She compares her childhood experience (in the 1970s) of German history, where school history classes dealt exclusively with WWII (she remebers nothing about any other period, such as the French Revolution of the Vietnam War) –

We did the important work of Vergangenheitsbewältigung, coming to terms with the past, and I am so grateful for it.

But as she discovers, applying that ‘work’ to one’s personal life is a whole lot more difficult.

2.5/5

The Most by Jessica Anthony

Mark this prickly little novella for Novella November. Everything about it was unexpected, and excitingly so. I am loathe to reveal much more than the blurb – a 1950s housewife ditches going to church one Sunday and instead gets in the pool. And won’t get out. She’s smart. She has an agenda – but you won’t guess what (I didn’t anyway).

…Kathleen was not ready to get out of the pool. Once she got out, everything would go back to normal, and normal was no longer acceptable.

3.5/5