Somber, exquisite ... The novel is, in many ways, an extended meditative vigil ... The wrestling in this novel is with the nature and meaning of penance, atonement ... Activism, abdication, atonement, grace: In this novel no one of these paths is holier than another.
It’s just as extraordinary as the whispers from abroad suggested ... Wood has developed a style that relies on dislocation, juxtaposition and elision to suggest the currents of spiritual turmoil and resolution ... A strange sense of engagement with these pages gives way to sheer gratitude for the chance to be in the presence of such restraint and wisdom.
Poses as a daybook. And though the chronology eases up, it remains intimate and first-hand ... The mode is concentratedly self-searching: a woman without hope, disaffected with work and the world, has withdrawn to live in a different way and perhaps to find herself. Yet the novel isn’t secluded. The world keeps breaking in ... It’s unsure, or won’t flag up, what it’s about. For Wood, being in charge means going where she doesn’t expect to go, away from the surtext. The novel has a kind of homely mystery.
A quiet beginning, spare in its description and detail, but full of foreboding and feeling ... A more introspective book than Wood’s more recent novels – more stripped back ... Strikingly detailed ... A beautiful and masterful book especially for its ability to dwell within the confusion and complexity of all that it is questioning, and for all of its quiet force.
Everything here – the way mice move, the way two women pass each other a confiding look, the way a hero can love the world but also be brusque and inconsiderate to those around them – it all rings true. It’s the story of a small group of people in a tiny town, but its resonance is global. This is a powerful, generous book.
As the gruesome imagery crowds in, the sense of dread may feel overplayed ... The novel has the rawness of unresolved grief ... Wood has said that she wanted to write about forgiveness, but there is little here by way of comfort. What the novel does instead is to force you to recognise your deepest fears about decay, extinction and suffering. It’s a beautiful, mature work that does not flinch from life.
A novel of austere contemplation and personal devastation, its narrative driven by moral crisis rather than worldly action ... Wood’s prose lacks any sense of stuffiness or stagnation ... This is not a book of answers. Rather, it is a challenge: about how to be in the world, and how to be alone.
Daring because it looks at the obscure and therefore the difficult in the contemporary world. Difficult and obscure, but also something that commonly underpins everything we do.
