If you’ve ever visited this blog before, you may have noticed that I’m rather partial to linking. So when I came across the recent trend for blog posts on six degrees of booky separation on Isabel Costello’s literary sofa, I wondered how I might join in. This month’s starting point is Burial Rites by Hannah Kent, but I thought I’d take myself down a different track involving the titles I’ve featured in my debut novelists Q&A’s. After various deliberations, I’ve ended up with a loop of eight novels, each connected to the one on either side as well as to the one in the middle, for which I’ve selected my most recent addition to my growing list, Johanna Lane’s Black Lake. Some of the links might be rather tenuous, but I’m pleased with how I’ve managed to bring most of them together, my only disappointment being that I couldn’t find a place for Anthea Nicholson’s The Banner of the Passing Clouds (but perhaps that’s for another time). Let me guide you round the circuit and perhaps you’ll find something to inspire your reading or an “x degrees of separation” of your own.
The launch-point is arbitrary, but I’ve chosen The Lighthouse in honour of Alison Moore’s generosity in stepping forward as my first virtual interviewee. The loneliness of the main character, Futh, is somewhat reminiscent of John in Black Lake. Both men struggle to make meaningful emotional connections with their wives, although, as Johanna Lane says in her virtual interview, the outcome for John is more hopeful.
Futh’s narrative in The Lighthouse is interwoven with that of Ester, a somewhat disturbed and scheming woman. We meet another wonderful scheming woman in Frances, the narrator of Alys, Always by Harriet Lane. I connect this novel with Black Lake, not only by the coincidence of the authors sharing the same surname, but in their exploration of the lives of privileged families. In Alys, Always, this is from the outside in, as Frances sets out to inveigle her way into the family of a woman who dies in a car crash. In Black Lake, we are invited to accompany the impoverished “landed gentry” through a period of unwelcome change.
Futh’s narrative in The Lighthouse is interwoven with that of Ester, a somewhat disturbed and scheming woman. We meet another wonderful scheming woman in Frances, the narrator of Alys, Always by Harriet Lane. I connect this novel with Black Lake, not only by the coincidence of the authors sharing the same surname, but in their exploration of the lives of privileged families. In Alys, Always, this is from the outside in, as Frances sets out to inveigle her way into the family of a woman who dies in a car crash. In Black Lake, we are invited to accompany the impoverished “landed gentry” through a period of unwelcome change.
Transformation is also the theme of Susie Nott-Bower’s novel, The Making of Her, in this case, with a focus on the body. Like Alys, Always, it explores our quest for self-improvement. Like Black Lake, it also features the discomfort of and resistance to change, especially in the character of Pete, the reclusive rock star who feels he has lost everything.
Maud, the elderly narrator of Elizabeth Is Missing by Emma Healey, is also struggling to accommodate to loss. Her confusion over the absence of her good friend, Elizabeth, is compounded by her own memory problems. On top of that, in common with the family in Black Lake, a compulsory house move exacerbates her disorientation.
Maud also presents us with a mystery from the past in terms of an elder sister who went missing during the war. As she approaches the end of her life, the lack of resolution intrudes upon her current functioning. Although much younger, and outwardly at the prime of his life as a successful cardiologist, Satish, in Jubilee by Shelley Harris, is also plagued by uncomfortable memories from his childhood. Like John in Black Lake, he is stalked by a history he is unable to alter and his resulting shame and self-absorption impacts on the whole family.
Like Jubilee and Black Lake, Harmattan by Gavin Weston features the loss of childhood innocence. Although the events of this novel take place in a remote village and in the capital of the Republic of Niger, another link with the Donegal-set Black Lake comes via the Irish family who sponsor twelve-year-old Haoua’s schooling yet are powerless to prevent the damage that ensues.
Claire King’s The Night Rainbow offers another perspective on a difficult period in a young girl’s life. Pea’s family in southern France is as isolated as the Campbell clan in Black Lake. Both these novels contain beautifully lyrical descriptions of the house and surrounding countryside, leading the reader to ponder our attachment to home.
A lifeboat in the middle of the Atlantic offers a vastly different landscape to the European countryside, and Charlotte Rogan does a wonderful job of bringing this to life. As one might guess from the title, water also plays a part in the trials facing the family in Black Lake. Although Grace Winter, the narrator of The Lifeboat, is almost twenty years older, she shares Pea’s instinct for self-preservation and relating her story through the prism of her own particular needs. A whole century later, Marianne in Black Lake is as dependent as Grace on the menfolk for her well-being and survival although, like Ester in The Lighthouse and Frances in Alys, Always, Grace is rather more successful in her manipulations of the opposite sex.
Grace’s torturous journey across the ocean is another link back to our starting point. In The Lighthouse, Futh travels primarily on foot alongside the Rhine, but it’s a ferry across the North Sea that launches him on this path.
So that’s my loop completed, but I’ll leave you with a final connection that was never part of my (conscious) original plan. It turns out I’ve been loyal to the Burial Rites meme after all, albeit in reverse. Like Hannah Kent’s protagonist, Agnes Magnusdottir, Grace Winter in The Lifeboat is facing trial for murder. My copy of Burial Rites even carries an endorsement from Charlotte Rogan on the front.
What’s your verdict on this series of links? If you’ve read any of these novels – or read about them – can you propose any other interconnections? And do, if you have time, browse through my author interviews and associated blog posts for an opportunity to make your own connections with the creators of these super novels.
Maud, the elderly narrator of Elizabeth Is Missing by Emma Healey, is also struggling to accommodate to loss. Her confusion over the absence of her good friend, Elizabeth, is compounded by her own memory problems. On top of that, in common with the family in Black Lake, a compulsory house move exacerbates her disorientation.
Maud also presents us with a mystery from the past in terms of an elder sister who went missing during the war. As she approaches the end of her life, the lack of resolution intrudes upon her current functioning. Although much younger, and outwardly at the prime of his life as a successful cardiologist, Satish, in Jubilee by Shelley Harris, is also plagued by uncomfortable memories from his childhood. Like John in Black Lake, he is stalked by a history he is unable to alter and his resulting shame and self-absorption impacts on the whole family.
Like Jubilee and Black Lake, Harmattan by Gavin Weston features the loss of childhood innocence. Although the events of this novel take place in a remote village and in the capital of the Republic of Niger, another link with the Donegal-set Black Lake comes via the Irish family who sponsor twelve-year-old Haoua’s schooling yet are powerless to prevent the damage that ensues.
Claire King’s The Night Rainbow offers another perspective on a difficult period in a young girl’s life. Pea’s family in southern France is as isolated as the Campbell clan in Black Lake. Both these novels contain beautifully lyrical descriptions of the house and surrounding countryside, leading the reader to ponder our attachment to home.
A lifeboat in the middle of the Atlantic offers a vastly different landscape to the European countryside, and Charlotte Rogan does a wonderful job of bringing this to life. As one might guess from the title, water also plays a part in the trials facing the family in Black Lake. Although Grace Winter, the narrator of The Lifeboat, is almost twenty years older, she shares Pea’s instinct for self-preservation and relating her story through the prism of her own particular needs. A whole century later, Marianne in Black Lake is as dependent as Grace on the menfolk for her well-being and survival although, like Ester in The Lighthouse and Frances in Alys, Always, Grace is rather more successful in her manipulations of the opposite sex.
Grace’s torturous journey across the ocean is another link back to our starting point. In The Lighthouse, Futh travels primarily on foot alongside the Rhine, but it’s a ferry across the North Sea that launches him on this path.
So that’s my loop completed, but I’ll leave you with a final connection that was never part of my (conscious) original plan. It turns out I’ve been loyal to the Burial Rites meme after all, albeit in reverse. Like Hannah Kent’s protagonist, Agnes Magnusdottir, Grace Winter in The Lifeboat is facing trial for murder. My copy of Burial Rites even carries an endorsement from Charlotte Rogan on the front.
What’s your verdict on this series of links? If you’ve read any of these novels – or read about them – can you propose any other interconnections? And do, if you have time, browse through my author interviews and associated blog posts for an opportunity to make your own connections with the creators of these super novels.
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