These two recent reads are about marriages under severe strain. In the first, set in the southern USA, a woman turns to a mutual friend when her husband is sentenced to twelve years’ in prison for the crime of being black in the vicinity of a sexual assault. In the second, set in the UK, a family is in crisis as a result of the husband and father’s combat PTSD.
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An American Marriage by Tayari Jones
Roy is hoping to start a family with his new wife, Celestial, when he is sentenced to twelve years’ incarceration for a crime he didn’t commit. Bereft, Celestial turns to their mutual friend, Andre, the boy next door she’s known since infancy. As the years pass, the relationship deepens and, just as she is planning to divorce Roy and marry Andre, the news comes through that Roy’s conviction has been overturned.
| With its intriguing premise, and my commitment to reading authors of colour, it’s strange that I missed this one when it was published (in the UK by Oneworld) in 2018. It appeared – or reappeared – on my radar at a Zoom event this summer; I’d been drawn by Ann Patchett, author of The Dutch House and one of my all-time favourite novels Bel Canto, but warmed much more to Tayari Jones. Unfortunately, I didn’t warm to her Women’s Prize winning novel. | |
 | It’s not unknown for me to be out of step with the literary consensus. But it’s embarrassing when it involves a book about institutional racism, endorsed by Barack Obama, after I’ve spent months of amplifying the message of Black Lives Matter. But I cannot pretend. |
It might have been the immersion in American TV shows and colleges that distanced me from the characters initially, but that doesn’t seem to have put off other white British readers. While I felt for the couple following Roy’s wrongful arrest, I had to skip the letters to and from the prison or I’d have abandoned the novel altogether (relishing the freedom to do so having purchased my own copy). I became more engaged further along when Roy was attempting to re-engage with Celestial, despite being more interested in the theme of injustice than in love triangles. I enjoyed it overall in the end, but would have preferred a more political novel.
Soldier Boy by Cassandra Parkin
Convinced his wife, Emma, is unfit to take care of their eleven-year-old daughter, Liam has to act fast. Fortunately, his army training has equipped him to sniff out danger so, when Emma absconds for some me-time, he bundles Alannah into the car. Perhaps it’s the sleepless nights squatting in laybys, perhaps it’s missing her ballet and her friends, but the little girl is behaving oddly. But maybe it’s good that she’s cut off her hair: they’ve better chance of evading the authorities if she looks like a boy.
Frank is delighted when his son turns up, with grandchild in tow, at his wooden bungalow on the coast. He hasn’t seen Liam for decades, not since Jane, his wife, decreed the father-role redundant and severed all contact. In the intervening years, despite months away on active service, Jane has kept Liam and his family close. She’s always supported her daughter-in-law but, if there’s a rift in the marriage, she knows where her loyalties lie.
With a fragmented timeline, and five point-of-view characters, each with their own vulnerabilities and blind spots, the novel might seem overly complicated, but it doesn’t read that way. Cassandra Parkin guides us deftly through the complexities with deep compassion for her characters and sensitivity to the nuances of psychological distress. The issues – of parenting, gender, mental health (particularly combat PTSD and OCD) and the burden on the veteran spouse – read as the hurdles faced by real people rather than (as can sometimes happen) to tick the boxes that sell books.
Yes, I was impressed, particularly as the author has published a novel a year since 2015 (which wouldn’t give me enough time to dig so deep). In retrospect, there a couple of places where I might query the credibility but I was too absorbed in the story to mind. However, a saggy opening, with three chapters of internal monologue, almost put me off and does not do justice to what is otherwise a remarkable book. Thank you to Legend Press for my review copy.
Since there are overlapping issues with my debut novel, Sugar and Snails, about a woman who has kept her past identity secret for thirty years, here’s a recent reading:
Frank is delighted when his son turns up, with grandchild in tow, at his wooden bungalow on the coast. He hasn’t seen Liam for decades, not since Jane, his wife, decreed the father-role redundant and severed all contact. In the intervening years, despite months away on active service, Jane has kept Liam and his family close. She’s always supported her daughter-in-law but, if there’s a rift in the marriage, she knows where her loyalties lie.
With a fragmented timeline, and five point-of-view characters, each with their own vulnerabilities and blind spots, the novel might seem overly complicated, but it doesn’t read that way. Cassandra Parkin guides us deftly through the complexities with deep compassion for her characters and sensitivity to the nuances of psychological distress. The issues – of parenting, gender, mental health (particularly combat PTSD and OCD) and the burden on the veteran spouse – read as the hurdles faced by real people rather than (as can sometimes happen) to tick the boxes that sell books.
Yes, I was impressed, particularly as the author has published a novel a year since 2015 (which wouldn’t give me enough time to dig so deep). In retrospect, there a couple of places where I might query the credibility but I was too absorbed in the story to mind. However, a saggy opening, with three chapters of internal monologue, almost put me off and does not do justice to what is otherwise a remarkable book. Thank you to Legend Press for my review copy.
Since there are overlapping issues with my debut novel, Sugar and Snails, about a woman who has kept her past identity secret for thirty years, here’s a recent reading:
| The only link between my reviews and this week’s flash fiction challenge is that Roy’s prison visitors bought him snacks from the (presumably overpriced) vending machine. But since we are harvesting apples today, I’ve gone for the healthier option in my 99-word story. |  |
Food thrown in
“You’re working for peanuts!”
“They don’t farm peanuts. Besides, peanuts aren’t nuts.”
“But you are, breaking your back for the price of a few rounds of drinks.”
“How much would you pay for an all-you-can-eat buffet?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“How much? Cos that’s what you’d save, snacking all day in the fields.”
“Do they grow pizza? Do they grow chicken vindaloo?”
“They don’t. But there’s always a premium for the healthy option. Think what it costs to starve at a spa.”
“Are there strawberries?”
“Whopping great strawberries. Blueberries. Apples. Tomatoes. Cucumber. Peas, beans, big juicy pears.”
“I’m in!”
“You’re working for peanuts!”
“They don’t farm peanuts. Besides, peanuts aren’t nuts.”
“But you are, breaking your back for the price of a few rounds of drinks.”
“How much would you pay for an all-you-can-eat buffet?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“How much? Cos that’s what you’d save, snacking all day in the fields.”
“Do they grow pizza? Do they grow chicken vindaloo?”
“They don’t. But there’s always a premium for the healthy option. Think what it costs to starve at a spa.”
“Are there strawberries?”
“Whopping great strawberries. Blueberries. Apples. Tomatoes. Cucumber. Peas, beans, big juicy pears.”
“I’m in!”
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