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A BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR in the UK: The Guardian , The Times "Sharp, searching, thoroughly imagined, Summerwater is utterly of the moment, placing its anxious human dots against a vast, indifferent landscape; with its wit and verve and beautiful organization, it throws much contemporary writing into the shade!" -Hilary Mantel, author of The Mirror & the Light The acclaimed author of Ghost Wall offers a new, devastating, masterful novel of subtle menace They rarely speak to each other, but they take notice-watching from the safety of their cabins, peering into the half-lit drizzle of a Scottish summer day, making judgments from what little they know of their temporary neighbors. On the longest day of the year, the hours pass nearly imperceptibly as twelve people go from being strangers to bystanders to allies, their attention forced into action as tragedy sneaks into their lives. At daylight, a mother races up the mountain, fleeing into her precious dose of solitude. A retired man studies her return as he reminisces about the park's better days. A young woman wonders about his politics as she sees him head for a drive with his wife, and tries to find a moment away from her attentive boyfriend. A teenage boy escapes the scrutiny of his family, braving the dark waters of the loch in a kayak. This cascade of perspective shows each wrapped up in personal concerns, unknown to each other, as they begin to notice one particular family that doesn't seem to belong. Tensions rise, until nightfall brings an irrevocable turn. From Sarah Moss, the acclaimed author of Ghost Wall- a "riveting" (Alison Hagy, The New York Times Book Review ) "sharp tale of suspense" (Margaret Tablot, The New Yorker ), Summerwater is a searing exploration of our capacity for kinship and cruelty, and a gorgeous evocation of the natural world that bears eternal witness.… (more)
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The novel unfolds over a single day, with each chapter one holidaymaker’s interior monologue. A woman goes for an early morning run, enjoying the solitude. Despite the weather, an elderly couple boards a ferry to visit one of their favorite spots. A teenage boy braves the elements in his kayak. Their narratives are both a commentary on the activity they’re engaged in, and observations about the people they see along the way. They speculate on the lives of their fellow travelers, never making direct personal contact. Haven’t we all done this?
And yet there’s an ominous undertone, a sense that all of this is leading somewhere. Sarah Moss has a gift for building suspense through spare prose. Small details dropped in each narrative build a composite picture of life at the holiday camp. Some of those details turn out to be important; some are red herrings. I enjoyed getting to know the couples and families stuck on a holiday gone bad, all the while wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. And when it did, the pace went from zero to sixty in a flash, and delivered a knockout punch that continued to haunt my thoughts well after I closed the book.
The book's chapters consist of several characters' internal dialogue, as they worry about their family members and their own lives, which is even more magnified in their closed settings. Overriding everything is a heavy sense of foreboding in the reader, and as tensions build within each cabin it seems obvious that something bad will happen at the end of this day — but to whom?
Summerwater is a well crafted novel that was compelling and filled with twists and turns that kept my attention from the first page to the last. Once again, Sarah Moss' superb ability to portray the lives and thoughts of everyday people makes for a very interesting book, and one that I would highly recommend, especially for anyone who is new to her writing.
About halfway through, I started to wish that I was done with 'Summerwater,' not because it was bad but because I just wasn't in the mood for something this dreary, dismal and depressing. The writing is very good, the characters all well fleshed out (although some were stereotypes), and their interactions provided a window onto today's society. Maybe it was just the wrong book at the wrong time for me.
Each section of
Sarah Moss has a writing style that I thought very appealing and very observational. In telling the story from each character's viewpoint we see events quite differently each time. What I particularly liked was the way she writes much of it as an inner monologue and I completely identified with the way ever changing thoughts flitted through their minds portraying their very humanness.
I really enjoyed the setting too. It's inspired. There's something about the idea of the cabin park, being placed close to strangers in structures that give the impression of being a bit flimsy, that gives a sense of vulnerability and I felt like there was something lying beneath the surface throughout, a kind of foreboding.
I honestly could have carried on reading about these people but Moss had to wind it up at some point and it wasn't how I was expecting. This is a superb read which felt so original. The wry humour had me smiling from the off and the beautiful writing had me marvelling at its depths.
And then author [[Sarah Moss]] details the activities for the inhabitants of a vacation camp on the shores of a Scottish loch, following them all for one specific day.
Each of the visitors, even the
And yet when the end comes, when the thing happens that we’ve been told from the very beginning, it’s unexpected with a shocking, unforgettable final line.
Beautiful character building and world building – if a single day in one small tourist camp can be called a world.
Still, although I was not as taken by it as by her earlier novel [The Wall, I’ll be looking forward to more by Sarah Moss.
Each of its short chapters is written from the point of view of one of the residents of the different lodges. These chapters are, in turn, separated by brief vignettes (barely a page in length), in which the focus shifts to the natural world. Half-way through the novel, we start revisiting each of the cabins, through the thoughts of a different resident, giving the book a vaguely palindromic feel. The only characters in the story whose viewpoint we do not get to share are, tellingly, the holidaymakers who are seen as outsiders by the rest – a Ukrainian group with a penchant for noisy, boozy parties and an Iraqi war veteran who is staying in a tent in the woods.
Summerwater shares some of its themes with Sarah Moss’s previous novel Ghost Wall. There is an underlying violence, which is only hinted at in the earlier parts of the book and comes to the surface at the end (although not exactly in the way one might expect). There are references to sexual/gender politics and feminist themes, as well as to the issues of racism and xenophobia. Finally, there’s a Hardyesque sense of “deep time” with the eternal cycles of nature serving as the backdrop to the transient tragedies of man. Surprisingly, the novel’s stream of consciousness approach leaves for a healthy streak of humour which balances the novel’s darker aspects.
I must admit that, on the whole, I enjoyed Summerwater less than Ghost Wall. Despite the author’s attempts to differentiate between the characters, the narrative voices seemed too similar, making it difficult to really empathize with the characters. Yet, there’s still much to admire in the book and, at novella length, it never outstays its welcome.
This was a fairly quick read, set on an apocalyptically rainy day at a holiday park on a loch in Scotland. Different chapters were from the perspectives of a wide variety of characters staying in the park's lodges. The writing was
That apart, highly recommended.
Moss’s characters are the clear strength of her novel. She treats them with sympathy, humor, and subtlety. They include young families, an elderly couple, newlyweds, rebellious teenagers, and rowdy immigrants. With the exception of the latter, Moss captures rich internal monologues from each about such diverse personal experiences as exercise (running and kayaking), age-related memory loss, sex, teenage rebellion, parenting, childhood worldview, ageing, class snobbery, prejudice, and politics.
The arc of the novel covers one dark rainy day where most of the adults are relegated to observing their neighbors at a distance. The mood is dark and claustrophobic. One also sees multiple opportunities for disaster along the way, including an early morning run in the dark by a lone woman, a kayaking experience on the lough in a wild windstorm, one child daring another to swing over water on a rope, a mysterious observer in the woods, an ex-soldier living alone in a tent, and a loud late-night party. Of course, disaster finally does arrive, but not until the final chapter. One senses, however, that Moss is less interested in writing a thriller than in observing human nature.
Suspense builds in each chapter yet dissipates due to the picaresque nature of the narrative. Each chapter is an impeccable standalone, only loosely related to the others. This gives the overall novel an unfortunate baggy feel. Notwithstanding this minor flaw, SUMMERWATER is indeed an engaging and thoughtful reading experience.
And that makes this a tricky novel to review. One slip and the freight train is derailed before it even reaches the neighborhood.
Summerwater is the story of a group of strangers who happen to be staying in a Scottish holiday camp during the same week, a week during which it seems mostly to be raining so often that the various families are largely confined to their cabins where they surreptitiously spy on each other through slatted windows. With one exception, everyone pretty much seems to be from either Scotland or England. The outsiders are from Eastern Europe - the others think - and depending on whom you ask that family is characterized as Bulgarian, Polish, Russian, or Romanian. Everyone is so certain that they know the family’s origin that no one makes an effort to verify any of the assumptions. They don’t speak to the foreigners at all, but for that matter, they barely speak to each other either.
In what could pass for a collection of interconnected short stories as much as anything else, Moss introduces the families to the readers one at a time. Each “story,” of course has the same setting and sometimes the characters do have the kind of interaction that requires a little more from them than staring at, and wondering about, each other. The characters run the gamut from the elderly to toddlers, and their lives from contentment to despair. Some of what is going on behind closed doors is laugh-out-loud funny, and some of it will bring a tear to your eye. Moss truly is a good writer, and the structure works well. For the most part, her adult characters are witty and observant, if more than a little standoffish, such as one wife who is desperate for a little alone-time because all the rain. She thinks:
“…setting aside the violent and deranged, getting married is like voting in that whatever you choose the outcome will be at best mildly unsatisfactory four years down the line.”
My favorite chapter of them all is “Zanzibar,” a snippet during which Moss places the reader inside the minds of Josh and Millie, who are on the verge of marriage, during the sex act itself. The contrast between what each is thinking, as opposed to what each believes the other must be thinking and experiencing is hysterical at times. Let’s just say it is a very good thing that neither of them is a mindreader.
But that freight train is still out there somewhere.
Bottom Line: Summerwater is as enjoyable as it is memorable, but for entirely different reasons. However, the ending left me a bit confused because of something that is only hinted at about one of the characters. I’m still not sure exactly why what happens at the end actually happens; perhaps, that’s what Moss was going for, perhaps not. And, too, maybe I just missed something. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.
At first this seems a quiet book, in which nothing much is happening. But with each episode, a sense of dread and forboding is being built. Although some reviews have described the book as being a "parade of inner lives" or "family life," in my view it is actually a psychological thriller.
Recommended.
3 1/2 stars
All of these brief inner lives are told in almost Woolfian streams of consciousness that are poetic and painful to read for their revelations about the depravity of human nature; perhaps more striking here is how Moss intersperses the longer, human vignettes with brief scenes showing human encroachment on the natural world, with the looming threat of climate change and a bleak, post-Brexit view of interpersonal relations.
As in Ghost Wall, Moss shows herself a master at shocking climaxes; again, I was reminded of Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” in many ways, but Moss makes her shockers all her own.
Highly recommended. 4.5 stars.
Each chapter from the view of the people is interspersed with a short vignette almost form the point of view of the loch, the forest, the birds and animals that are present. And yet in this too, the weather is a pervasive force that is unsettling.
The gradually escalating tension does not make this a relaxing summer holiday read, but it does make it something you don't want to put down.
Summer-water describes a summer holiday in Scotland, spent in tiny damp cottages overfilled with damp families. Depressed mothers, absent fathers, grumpy teenagers, crying babies, and a malevolent girl all cower in their cottages in the rain, the everlasting rain.
We’ve all
Sarah Moss manages to enclose the reader in holiday claustrophobia in such a poetic way that you don’t really notice that you are feeling a distinct unease, a sense of foreboding, a wish for something to break, somehow, because you know something bad is going to happen.
Fantastic. It’s a short book, which is probably good because near the end the tension is almost unbearable. Moss gets the inner monologues of her characters perfectly, from the teenagers contemplating the bleakness of their future existence to the wife trying to remain interested in a mutual orgasm project. I found myself nodding in agreement with all the characters’ life stages.
Mind you, it is a sticky novella- I imagine the images will stay in my mind like the streams of mud all of the characters have to plunge through. Not to be read on a rainy vacation.
Each chapter is written from the point of view of one individual from each cabin, except for one (there is a big reason for that).
There is almost no interaction between these people
Each chapter gives us a piece of the puzzle before the main event takes place.
Some chapters are interludes about the natural world. These were beautiful.
“The woods expand, settle down for the night, offer a little more shelter to those that need it. Trees sleep, more or less. Maybe some nights they dream and wake, check the darkness, sleep again till dawn.”
Along the way, we catch little details, hints at Brexit, the climate crisis, the future full of uncertainty.
Summerwater reflects the spirit of times similar to the way Ali Smith does it in her Seasonal series. Obviously, their style is very different, but I love them both for their ability to gently move our focus from the big things we can't control to the compassion and love for those perceived as "the other" that we most certainly can.