No One Is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood
Published by Bloomsbury, 2021
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
Seeing this repeatedly described as “experimental” and “a book of two halves” had me intrigued but a little apprehensive heading in, as such novels can often be difficult to connect with emotionally. I’m pleased to say I ended up liking it a lot more than I initially anticipated, and on the contrary, I found it surprisingly moving.
Being more ruminative and thematically driven, there’s not much plot to speak of, per se. The first section is told in a series of largely unrelated vignettes. These consist of random thoughts and moments as experienced by our narrator, a young woman who found unexpected internet fame after an inane tweet (the social media site in question isn’t named, but it’s very obviously twitter) goes viral. The second section is still told in vignettes, but a much more tangible sense of narrative and continuity come into play, when complications in her sister’s pregnancy lead to heartache.
Structurally and visually, the book’s choppy, fragmented nature cleverly reflects the feeling of scrolling through a newsfeed on social media, as you jump from one post to another. It also creates a sense that our narrator lacks focus in life, which changes immediately when tragedy strikes the family. This dramatic shift – from curating a somewhat vapid online persona, to the overwhelming love and pain she must navigate in relation to her baby niece – suggests a critique of the frivolity inherent to much of internet life, and how quickly its seeming importance fades when “real life” hits us with a curveball. That said, we still only see the family’s grief in fleeting moments, mirroring the previously established idea of what we show versus what goes on in private; that we’re only ever piecing together an impression of someone’s life based on the tiny snippets we get to see.
To me, the book ultimately felt like a commentary on the idea that life is indeed a jigsaw puzzle of individual moments, thoughts, feelings, and ideas – from the redundant to the earth shattering and everything in between. However, on a narrative and thematic level, I do think the two threads of the novel could have been tied together in a more cohesive and satisfying way. The merits of the internet, especially in times of hardship, are only every marginally hinted at, but the access to information, community and support it can offer could have been invaluable to someone in the narrator’s situation. In that respect, it felt like there was some untapped potential; the amount of time given over to random tweet-esque musings not wholly justified.
Despite feeling it could have been tied together more convincingly, I devoured the book in just two sittings, and this was largely thanks to Lockwood’s gorgeous prose. I’m not at all surprised to see she has previously published poetry, as the book is peppered with beautiful imagery and lovely turns of phrase. For its originality, timeliness, craft, and emotional impact, I’m glad I gave this a chance.
It took me a little while to get fully drawn into this melancholic tale of secrets, poverty, longing, and dependency, but once it had me in its grip, I found it surprisingly moving. We follow adult twins, Jeanie and Julius, who have lived their entire lives with their mother, Dot. Following her abrupt death, the two must attempt to navigate their grief, while tentatively taking their first true steps towards independence at the age of 51. This is further complicated by a series of revelations regarding their mother’s past and the true state of the family’s financial situation.
In a lot of ways, my rating for this one feels harsh. In the hands of the right reader, this is a perfectly decent book, full of warmth and heart. The story opens with two women, Hope and Anna, giving birth on the same maternity ward. While Anna’s baby arrives safely, Hope’s is tragically stillborn. In a grief-fuelled haze, Hope snatches Anna’s baby and endeavours to raise her as her own. We then jump forward nearly 18 years, when events will transpire to bring the truth out and reunite these two families.
I’m having a hard time organising my thoughts for this strange little novel. I found it utterly compelling to read, the setting that Clarke has created both rich and absorbing, but I didn’t find it as surprising or revelatory on a thematic level as most other readers seem to have done.
When a book has been hugely hyped, venturing into it always comes with the fear it will disappoint, but The Vanishing Half more than exceeded my high expectations.
Summing up the very complex character dynamic in this novel in a succinct way is tricky, so I’ll simply borrow the opening lines of the blurb: A whipsmart debut about three women—transgender and cisgender—whose lives collide after an unexpected pregnancy forces them to confront their deepest desires around gender, motherhood, and sex.
Despite the largely rave reviews that have been pouring in, and how much I admired it myself, I can see why this novel might not work for everyone. It’s slow and ruminative with next to no plot beyond what we’re told in the synopsis, and it deliberately denies readers answers to the big questions it poses. Because of these qualities, I must confess it took me some time to get drawn in, worrying initially that the narrative would remain too emotionally distant and lacking a sense of drive. But around the half-way point, once the focus shifted firmly onto the book’s primary thematic concerns, it completely won me round.
Mantel’s multi-award-winning trilogy chronicles Henry VIII’s desperate attempts to bring about a male heir, from the perspective of one of his most trusted advisors; the ruthlessly ambitious Thomas Cromwell, who endures his own meteoric rise to power, and spectacular fall from grace.
I enjoyed this more than the previous book! Covering a shorter span of time, it was considerably easier to keep track of the various threads and characters, and it felt like the narrative was gathering some steam. Though not a slim or pacy read by any means, it’s also a fair bit shorter in general than Wolf Hall, meaning it doesn’t suffer from the same bloated feeling.
I must say, the way this final novel brought everything to a head (lol, pun) was very satisfying. It’s certainly the one that managed to elicit the strongest semblance of emotional investment. It’s a shame it took until this late in the day, but still impressive in its own way, considering I knew how everything was going to pan out.
Callum McLaughlin 