Van has finished reading… The Book Of Night Women by Marlon James

The voice is everything in Marlon James’s The Book Of Night Women. It weaves a particular kind of magic, unfolding a tale of brutality and degradation with lyrical precision, laying bare the intricate hierarchy of island life, and tricking you into waiting far longer than you normally would before questioning exactly who it is that’s telling the tale. It’s not quite contemporary, but its rhythms are perfect, a voice so sure I could nonetheless hear those island vowels as I read.

Women are at the heart of Marlon James’s story, and not only those of the title. The mistresses of the estates are as invested in events as the slaves who wait on them. It’s a rare occurrence indeed to discover it’s the men, and particularly the men in power, who are the ones fulfilling a role, reacting to rather than driving things on. Miss Isobel is particularly striking, a considerable distance from sympathetic, let alone likeable, and yet there’s an understanding of her drive to rise above her circumstances, to secure her future. Best not to talk about her methods though! As for the Night Women – slaves linked by more than the dark purpose they meet in the dead of night to discuss – Lilith and Homer are our main touchstones (and you’ve got to appreciate the well-chosen names). In taking Lilith under her wing, Homer is the perfect mirror, the perfect prophecy of a future that Lilith must kick against. And kick she will. With superstition and whispers of black magic rife among the slaves, Lilith’s green eyes set her apart and Lilith, still only a child, is all too ready to believe it. As if there’s not enough crammed into those pages already, you can throw a little coming-of-age into the mix too.

Though Marlon James’s The Book Of Night Women is a historical novel there’s much in these pages that feels all too prescient. An ideal of beauty still leans toward light skin and European features across most mainstream media. In the UK deprivation is a word that knows no ethnic boundary, but clings to BAME communities most vehemently. Visibility for people of colour continues to be an issue as the status quo begins to shift, and the inevitable push-back from the privileged begins. And then there’s the litany of flashpoints, the tumble of names that precede the moment when just one more tips the balance and the invisible can be individuals no more. George Floyd’s name echoes around the world, yet so little changes. For all the atrocities you’ll find in the pages of Marlon James’s The Book Of Night Women – or Caryl Phillips’s Cambridge, or Esi Edugyan’s Washington Black, or Colson Whitehead’s The Underground Railroad – perhaps this is the biggest atrocity of them all: that as white people we still can’t see that racism isn’t anybody’s problem but ours.

The Book Of Night Women was published by Oneworld in 2009 ISBN:9781780746524

You can find Marlon on Twitter @MarlonJames5 or on his website marlonjameswriter.com

My particular thanks to my lovely neighbour, who lent me her copy to read.

Van has finished reading… Old Bones by Helen Kitson

Blessed be the quiet ones. None of your brash crash-bang and razzmatazz, they stoke the fire, plump up the cushions and bring the perfect cup of tea, and you don’t even realise that you’re here now and there is absolutely no way you’re leaving until you’ve turned the last page. Such is the stuff of Helen Kitson’s second novel, Old Bones.

We’re back to the village of Morevale in Shropshire (the setting of Helen Kitson’s debut novel, The Last Words Of Madeleine Anderson), where human remains have been discovered in the nearby quarry, and the lives of three older women are put under the microscope. Having grown up in the village, spinster sisters Diana and Antonia – now sharing their late mother’s house – and librarian Naomi have a shared history. Old animosities resurface, fracturing the peaceful façade of their lives and fuelling the pressure-cooker environment that is village life.

Humour abounds in the early chapters. Beryl-Bainbridge-dry and razor sharp, it feels in the best tradition of wry British humour that is funny until you suddenly realise it’s really not because it’s all too close and all too true. What’s not said is just as important as what is and I could see Old Bones adapted for the stage or the screen, where it’s all about the facial expressions, the hunching of a shoulder, the turning of a back. The writing is precise and unadorned, shifting effortlessly between voices so it’s the characters that really make the story fly. They’re brittle and flinty, brave and defiant, bruised and so very human. It feels as though the author really gets under the skin of her protagonists, so you’re there with every twist of guilt, every stab of envy, all the uncomfortable messiness a person can muster. Perhaps it’s not right to say they’re lovable characters, there’s more to it than that, but you will feel for each of them at some point, and one more than the others, depending on your own proclivities.

Helen Kitson’s Old Bones is a gloriously quiet novel. Thoughtful and honest, it will draw you gently in, it will peel away your defences and then it will lay a tenderness on you that will leave you wanting more.

Old Bones is published by Louise Walters Books on 18^th January 2021 (though early copies are available in November) ISBN:9781916112339

You can find Helen on Twitter @Jemima_Mae_7

My thanks to Louise at Louise Walters Books for allowing me to review this lovely book.