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Link: https://www.amazon.com/Salt-Lick-Lulu-Allison-ebook/dp/B08YQT7BHT
This is a deceptively brilliant, beautifully written, book… Have only just finished it, but I’m sure I’m going to re-read it, if only to relish its wonderful prose.
This is a subtle, not “in-your-face” book. Characters are challenged, change, and grow. But, even in this version of our own, possibly dystopian, future, there is generally an inner core of human decency and hope.
Allison’s prose is almost unnervingly brilliant. But that’s not all. She has also created a terrifyingly believable dystopian Britain – a Britain so real and grainy that you can almost feel the rough tongues of its cows on the back of your hands – and smell the dusty grime of the (half-deserted) Colchester.
She’s also created characters that pull you into caring about them – complicated people facing complicated choices in a world which no longer feels entirely real. (Such as Isolde, who tracks down the prisoner who killed her mother, only to discover disquieting truths about her family.) The cities are scary but the countryside almost as terrifying. To own a car is prohibitively expensive. In some places gays are – literally – branded. The “25” recollects the M25 motorway, since gone to seed. The shoots of hope are what keeps the reader glued.
A ancient Greek-style chorus occasionally commentates. Some readers, both here and elsewhere, are not mega-keen on this. It reminded me – though very much shorter, and very much better – of those poems (by Bilbo) that occasionally interrupt Tolkien’s immortal LORD OF THE RINGS.
Here’s where I am with it: If it lights your fire, read it. If it doesn’t, just skip the poems, and plow straight on, which is what I always do, with LOTR. Some amazing readers are simply resistant to poetry, and that’s OK.
A sample:
The land creeps in on slow and shallow waves
We follow,
a flotilla
Once the land has pulled the towns under.
Sorry, and only my opinion, of course – but… this is excellent poetry. Tolkien’s… not so much.
My advice? Buy it.
You can read the full article at the link below.
You can read the full article at the link below.
You can read the original interview by visiting the link below.
You can read the full interview at the link below.
You can read the full interview at the link below.
T. S. Eliot called it, ‘the first, the longest, and the best of modern English detective novels’ – and I string along with T.S., here.
Often described as the earliest-ever detective mystery, the plot hinges around the theft of a flawed-but-famous Indian diamond by the Verinder family’s wicked uncle. He bequeaths it – basically, as a curse, for it ruined his own life – to his innocent niece, Rachel, as a method of revenging himself on his estranged sister. On the day of her receiving it… it disappears.
This is a tough book to review without giving away the plot, but the diamond’s allure has the effect of estranging practically everybody, including the volatile but charming Rachel and her ardent lover Mr Franklin. Other characters of note include a well-born male charlatan (preying on society do-gooders) and a do-gooder of elephantine self-importance (Miss Clack). There’s also Gabriel Betteridge, the elderly and devoted family steward, an apothecary with a tragic secret, and a passionate parlourmaid. Also memorable is the book’s mournful and curmudgeonly detective, Sergeant Cuff, with his unlikely passion for roses.
A bit reminiscent of Upstairs/Downstairs, of course and – necessarily – dated. And so… why do I love it?
I love Collins’ over-the-top narrators, for a start. The book has several. These include the self-deceived Miss Clack, busily strewing godly pamphlets around London, the worthy Betteridge – along with his pert daughter – the insightful apothecary and Mr Franklin, who is, in some ways, the hero. Their individual ‘voices’ are wonderfully and often hilariously well-rendered.
I also love Collins’ convoluted yet rhythmical style – and his sly asides. I love the respectful, liberal mind-set of an author who doesn’t patronise, not only the Victorian lower orders, but Indians and colonials either. I also love the pacing and the timing – the understated end is masterful.
In short, it’s a book that repays inspection on style grounds alone, but – have to be honest – it’s the sheer entertainment value that draws me back. Like Dickens or Austen or P.G. Wodehouse, even when you not only know how it ends – even when you could describe every twist and every turn of the plot, it’s like revisiting an old friend – and remembering what you always loved about them.
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© 2024 Alice McVeigh. All rights reserved.
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