2002 ∙ Jon McGregor ∙ 275 pgs
If you’re the type of person who looks for his books to have plots, this is not the book for you. If you expect consistent narrative structure and linear development, you’re going to be pretty disappointed on that front as well. What this novel does have, though, is a deeper feeling that transcends the written word. Its descriptions and scenarios leap off the page, as the author describes the goings on of a single block in a lower class London neighborhood. All told in a roundabout flashback from the perspective of the omniscient author, we marry the details of that day with the first person future story of one of the block’s residents. The author sets the mood up front with beautiful prose about the thrum and bustle of a modern city, and the one moment everyday where the perfect storm of motion and noise ceases to be. The description encapsulates the whole story–a story you think you know from the beginning, but which turns out to be something completely different. I’m kind of purposely being obtuse here, as anything I write about the storyline itself won’t do the book justice. I’d rather let others read and soak in the feeling and sadness and hope that the thing emanates for themselves.
