We read fiction for many reasons. We may read to escape, or to immerse ourselves in an imaginary world. We can explore and experience emotions, situations and places through the mindset and words of another. We may be challenged to think, or to consider things differently. And we read to learn. The pursuit of knowledge through reading is fundamental to its importance and centrality in our society. It’s yet another reason why literacy has been so vital, and the role of libraries in advocating and encouraging literacy remains a key aspect of our ethos.
A fiction book which seeks to fulfill all of these needs simultaneously aims high. You could say that this multifaceted identity is what allows us to call these aspiring books, “literary fiction.” Despite the contentious label, any book which manages to deliver on all these points is quite rightly praised. And “We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves” is one of these books.
Billed as a family drama of the cloyingly emotional type on the blurb, this book’s dark and complex heart belies any easy categorisation – or characterisation. Its narrator, Rosemary, begins as a cautious, repressed university student hiding secrets about her family and her true self. A spontaneous act triggers a chain of subtly transformative events, leading to Rose having to confront dark secrets in her family’s past, and address her relationships with both of her absent siblings, her sister, Fern, and her elder brother, Lowell.
Without giving away too much, a sudden and cataclysmic plot twist early on in the novel is sheer brilliance, and from this point the narrative shifts from the present day, to Rosemary’s childhood in the permissive 60’s and 70’s and the time in which her story is predominantly set, during her university years in the mid-Nineties. It is testament to the exquisite descriptiveness and deft handling of both plot and characters how effortless this feels. It is generally gripping to read, and whilst there is a brevity and depth of research and science, this just adds to the authenticity of the story and it’s difficult moral dilemmas.
It can also be a very harrowing book to read. Whilst some of our members found this compelling, I personally found the descriptiveness of certain passages or the building sense of suspense and apprehensiveness quite difficult. When asked if I enjoyed this book, I hesitated, because enjoy didn’t feel the right word. This isn’t to say that the novel’s bleak honesty is a flaw; simply that, when dealing with difficult or upsetting subject manner, being upset is somewhat inescapable. And perhaps that is as it should be. We are frequently told that media representations of atrocity or cultural immersion in fantasy violence may desensitise us to real life issues or instances of suffering. However, the emotional investment and growing numbers of readers of books which deal with weighty issues or difficult scenarios would suggest that our levels of engagement with this subject matter remain constant.
It concludes very satisfactorily, with a degree of resolution and finality – again, something that can be difficult to achieve in books dealing with big issues. What Fowler manages to do is to conclude the story, but leave those big questions hanging; about the nature of complicity and guilt, the ethics of science and psychology, the conventions of family bonds and about the very nature of what makes us human.
A fiction book which seeks to fulfill all of these needs simultaneously aims high. You could say that this multifaceted identity is what allows us to call these aspiring books, “literary fiction.” Despite the contentious label, any book which manages to deliver on all these points is quite rightly praised. And “We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves” is one of these books.
Billed as a family drama of the cloyingly emotional type on the blurb, this book’s dark and complex heart belies any easy categorisation – or characterisation. Its narrator, Rosemary, begins as a cautious, repressed university student hiding secrets about her family and her true self. A spontaneous act triggers a chain of subtly transformative events, leading to Rose having to confront dark secrets in her family’s past, and address her relationships with both of her absent siblings, her sister, Fern, and her elder brother, Lowell.
Without giving away too much, a sudden and cataclysmic plot twist early on in the novel is sheer brilliance, and from this point the narrative shifts from the present day, to Rosemary’s childhood in the permissive 60’s and 70’s and the time in which her story is predominantly set, during her university years in the mid-Nineties. It is testament to the exquisite descriptiveness and deft handling of both plot and characters how effortless this feels. It is generally gripping to read, and whilst there is a brevity and depth of research and science, this just adds to the authenticity of the story and it’s difficult moral dilemmas.
It can also be a very harrowing book to read. Whilst some of our members found this compelling, I personally found the descriptiveness of certain passages or the building sense of suspense and apprehensiveness quite difficult. When asked if I enjoyed this book, I hesitated, because enjoy didn’t feel the right word. This isn’t to say that the novel’s bleak honesty is a flaw; simply that, when dealing with difficult or upsetting subject manner, being upset is somewhat inescapable. And perhaps that is as it should be. We are frequently told that media representations of atrocity or cultural immersion in fantasy violence may desensitise us to real life issues or instances of suffering. However, the emotional investment and growing numbers of readers of books which deal with weighty issues or difficult scenarios would suggest that our levels of engagement with this subject matter remain constant.
It concludes very satisfactorily, with a degree of resolution and finality – again, something that can be difficult to achieve in books dealing with big issues. What Fowler manages to do is to conclude the story, but leave those big questions hanging; about the nature of complicity and guilt, the ethics of science and psychology, the conventions of family bonds and about the very nature of what makes us human.
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