Larchfield by Polly Clark

You may have heard it once or twice that you're not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but the problem I am increasingly encountering is that some books are far too beautiful not to have their binding considered when I'm recommending them or picking them up off the shelf for myself. Larchfield, the poet Polly Clark's first foray into prose, is one such book. The fact that its cover is gorgeous (golden glimmery!) added to the fact that the proof was delivered to me along with a biscuit meant it wormed its way easily to the top of my to-read pile almost immediately. 

The story itself is told in two parts, from the point of view of Wystan (W. H. Auden to those who, like me, never knew what his initials stood for) and Dora. Both are poets who have come to the isolation of Helensburgh in Scotland. Both begin in crisis of identity. Wystan is running away from the engagement that he recently has broken off due to the fact of his own sexuality. Dora is newly married and pregnant, but struggling to match this new life up with her work and the words that used to come so easily to her.

Despite the beautiful cover and the fact that the two main characters are both poets, there is not the expected Romantic story-line to be had here. Rather, I spent much of the novel in a state of unease that most frequently accompanies a thriller. Both characters feel as if they are concealing something dangerous, and the exposure of their thoughts and true emotions becomes a point of tension throughout. Wystan must deal with the attitudes of the other schoolmasters and seeks out affection and passion with men abroad and closer to home despite the rigid views of those around him. Dora must navigate the close-knit community that grows increasingly hostile towards her as relations with her neighbours deteriorate. Both characters are written so that the reader admires their ambitions, shares their fears, and, in my case, is often alarmed by their disregard for the dangers that seem to lie in wait in Helensburgh. I found it impossible not to feel incredibly concerned for the welfare of both, and frequently outraged about their treatment. Perhaps it's a personal affinity I felt, I have an irrational fear of not being believed, or being confined for perceived madness, but honestly I think it's the mastery of the writing that creates this emotion and that it will do the same for any reader.

Aside from this unease, the writing itself is wonderfully evocative, and the portrait of motherhood deftly captures overpowering love as well as monotony and exhaustion all within the space of a sentence. It is a novel that it's difficult to get out of your head once it's finished.

For those who would like to hear (and read) more, Polly Clark will be joining us in the shop on Wednesday 14th June for a reading of both poetry and prose. Tickets are free, and can be booked here. We'll also be serving wine!