Saltwater: Winner of the Portico Prize

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He wanted to dance to music and to enjoy the delicate nuance of spoken language. He learned the way that putting feelings into words and out into the world could ease the pressure inside, like letting air out of a balloon." Saltwater moved me to tears on several occasions; here is proof of the poetic idiosyncrasies of every family, of every person’s narrative being worthy of literature, of the fact that a good novel shouldn’t bring voices in from the margins, but travel outwards towards them, and let them tell their own story, in their own voice, in their own, unique way." I wrote the book in three separate strands: Lucy’s childhood to university, the Ireland strand, then the body strand. I printed it out, then physically cut it up. My neighbour was away and I had the key to their house in Ireland with a very big kitchen, so I spread the whole thing out on her kitchen floor and made little piles of themes that went together. It’s to do with struggling in London. Me and my friend were feeling like we have so many talented, hardworking friends who are brilliant artists and it’s so difficult to have a platform; when you’re trying to make art and working lots of jobs and not getting anywhere, it’s so demoralising. Doing lots of DIY stuff with small presses really keeps you going and reminds you that writing is meaningful. This wouldn't be a problem if it weren't the extent of Andrews' portrayal of Ireland, but there truly is nothing else there, despite Lucy spending long periods of her life in Donegal.

Lucy, the perfectly-realized main character in this wonderfully smart debut, is re-inventing herself in a small house in Donegal that’s suffused with memories of her beloved mother. Jessica Andrews fills the relatively simple outlines of her story with lovely restrained prose and rich wisdom." - Open Letters Review The brevity of the segments helps to break up the emotional intensity, while stories and anecdotes from Lucy’s upbringing relieve the adolescent angst. This is where the novel shines, in Andrews’s descriptions of Lucy’s friends and family, especially her single mum, her brother, who is born profoundly deaf, and her neighbourhood. Of her grandmother, she writes: “Everything about her was silver; her voice as she sang along to the radio in the mornings, the shiny fish scales caught on her tabard at the end of the day.” In Washington, Sunderland, “Boys at school knew the factory was looming over their future, waiting for them to grow into the overalls.” Engrossing . . . This coming-of-age story will appeal to readers who appreciate strong mother-daughter relationships.”

This book comes lauded with acclaim about its freshness, voice and vision - but, you know, it's just that old, old story of a girl struggling to become an adult and to find her place in the world. There can still be mileage in this theme but this book hits all the predictable milestones : wayward bodies, boys, sex, struggling not to be objectified, pigeon-holed by class and accent, the push-pull of mother-daughter relationships, wanting to be separate and individual while wanting to belong. Anyway, moving past the atrocious writing, another thing that grated is the cruelly stereotypical portrayal of the Irish - regarding the narrator's grandfather's childhood in Ireland, after establishing that he slept in his aunt's barn, this paragraph is, quite literally, the only information we receive about that period in his life: For now our secrets are only ours. You press me to your chest and I am you and I am not you and we will not always belong to each other but for now it is us and here it is quiet. I rise and fall with your breath in this bed. We are safe in the pink together.” I felt confused by love; the way it could simultaneously trap you and set you free. How it could bring people impossibly close and then push them far away. How people who loved you could leave you when you needed them most.” Insgesamt ist es aber ein schönes, angenehm zu lesendes Buch, das in mir ein bestimmtes Gefühl in der Brust ausgelöst hat. Der Schreibstil ist sehr inspirierend, die Landschaften lösen in mir Kopfkino-Effekt aus. Ja, es wird nicht das gesamte Potenzial ausgeschöpft, aber für mich reicht es hier dennoch für eine kleine Leseempfehlung.

Before I came to Ireland, I was living in London. I was seduced by coloured lights hitting the river in the middle of the night and throngs of cool girls in chunky sandals who promised a future of tote bags and house plants. I thought that was the kind of life I was supposed to want. I worked in a bar every night while I figured out how to get there. I want it and I do not want it. I want to be visible and I want to be invisible, or perhaps I want to be visible to some people and not to others.” Jessica Andrews doesn’t exactly write. She paints . . . Saltwater is the story of Lucy remembering—but also, sort of, forgetting—the life that has left her so fractured . . . If Lucy’s been pulled into pieces then so has the book. It’s splintered into dozens of very short chapters, each one an artist’s impression of her infancy, her childhood or student days. The primal craving for her mother is always there, but alcoholism . . . hangs over the whole, too, cloying and sad . . . This is a book worth taking yourself off to bed early for.” The memories are not only limited to herself. There’s also segments involving Lucy’s grandmother, and her mother meeting and fallout with her father, various boyfriends and her brother’s partial deafness, The book opens with, main protagonist, Lucy finding out that her grandfather is dead, so she heads of to meet her mum in Sunderland and they go to Ireland.The narrative is fairly straightforward, and nothing really dramatic happens externally in Lucy's life, but internally, where identity happens, things come alive. The story is more told than shown, in reflection, in memory, with little dialogue, and with some chapters running only one or two sentences. The writing is lyrical and sometimes as fresh as a slap or warm as a hug. As I said, I especially liked in Sunderland when the images and language are sharp and sometimes surprising, as when Lucy is pre-teen-- “Girls with orange cheeks in push-up bras brushed past us, smelling of the future”--as things happened more slowly, but as things get a little faster, as in London, the language seems less sharp. That makes sense because London is not deeply visceral for her in the way Sunderland or Donegal are. I experience the world in an incredibly visceral, bodily way. I feel this is linked partly to gender; being a woman, you can never forget the fact of your body. Also, Lucy’s little brother is deaf in the novel and my little brother is deaf and I’ve been thinking how sign language is a language of the body. We see language and the body as separate things; what I’m interested in is, how you can write in a bodily way. A lyrical book, where time is layered . . . Andrews is clear and eloquent when it comes to the subtle ways we become dislocated from our home and, indeed, how our concept of 'home' alters as we grow . . . [ Saltwater] is luminous." Andrews is very good on subtle gradations of class, however, especially as Lucy moves from Sunderland to London – and she’s even better on the general youthful yearning for our lives to begin, to become some other, ill-defined, more exciting thing. Also impressive is how the disappointment at not finding that, at not fitting in, is often rendered in bodily terms: Andrews smartly elides the notion of feeling uncomfortable in our own skin with the idea of not having found our place or purpose in the world. This is a promising coming-of-age debut novel set partially in England, and partially in Donegal, Ireland. This is an author I know I will read again for her ability to pull me into her world, her story unflinchingly real, occasionally dark, heartrending, raw and honest, but oh-so lovely overall. Shared in what feels like a memoir-ish style, we follow her as she shares her memory of people and events that have shaped her life, the focus at the heart of this is on the bond between mothers and daughters. Friends, neighbors and family. Her mother, a mostly absent father, and a younger brother who was born profoundly deaf, which led to some life-changing moments for them all. A grandfather’s death that leaves her with a haunting memory. A grandmother that brings light and love to her life, she reminisces in her writing that ”Everything about her was silver; her voice as she sang along to the radio in the morning, the shiny fish scales caught on her tabard at the end of the day and the hole that she left in our lives when she died, edged like a fifty-pence piece.”

I sent a couple of these select quotes to a friend who asked if the book was written by a random word generator. I thought that was so spot-on I told him I was going to steal that line for my review.) I have been utterly, utterly spoilt with my January reads, and it’s not over yet! This was my FIFTH five star read of the month if you can believe it (out of around 16 so far), and I for one hope the good times will keep on coming! And clearly they will for Jessica Andrews as this book WON the Portico Prize! Saltwater] features something very rare in literary fiction: a working-class heroine, written by a young working-class author . . . The writing is disarmingly honest . . . This is a courageous book dealing frankly with youth, puberty, mother-daughter relationships, class, disability and alcoholism . . . I found parts of this novel intensely moving – I wish I had read it when I was 19." Class and gender are central and it is unusual to read a strong working class northern female voice. It is semi-autobiographical and parts of it mirrors Andrews’ own experience. Andrews looks at stereotypes and her own experience and the tensions growing up and moving on bring:Saltwater could be seen as a three generations of mother/daughter relationships, also a commentary on northern mentality and attitudes, it’s also a coming of age story, a search for identity. Lucy also recalls childhood memories of 90’s and early 00’s culture. I was a teenager in the 90’s and remember Oasis-mania and then in my mid 20’s as a music reviewer, I remember the power of Myspace and the new breed of indie bands. To a certain extent, Lucy’s past echoed mine. The novel begins with Lucy’s birth, “It begins with our bodies . . . Safe together in the violet dark and yet already there are spaces beginning to open between us.” The writing was beautiful. At times I feel like it took a few sentences too many to get to the point that it was trying to make, but for the most part, I really loved the way this book was written. It was poetic, and colourful and very visceral as well. There were times I read passages out loud because the sound of some of the words when read together was just really pleasing to my ears. There was a certain sort of aesthetic to the writing and the overall story which was done really well and remained consistent throughout the book. Now the writing isn’t for everyone and I can understand how some people could find it a bit much, but personally, I really enjoyed it, although I don’t think I could read every single novel Jessica Andrews writes if they’re all going to be written like that. I am wet and glistening like a beetroot pulsing in soil' (yeah but is beetroot wet when it's in the earth? I'd be pretty worried if it pulsed...) I rode the coloured snakes of the tube to parts of the city I'd read about' (coloured snakes? coloured snakes!)