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4 of 4 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
An impressionist novel, 11 Nov 2005
This is a beautiful novel, delicate and intense. I call it 'impressionist' because while the descriptions are spare, the novel is full of 'the essence' of things - homesickness, adolescence, how the streetlights look in winter, artistic absorption... Helena McEwen's first novel, "The Big House", was a wonderful meditation on loss and family, but lacked a proper storyline. There is a better framework for McEwen's lyrical introspection this time, although it's still a framework rather than an actual plot. Cath has been sent to convent school in the UK because she is too old to travel with her parents. Homesick and bewildered by this country which she is supposed to call 'home', Cath's disorientation is further intensified by the strict rules of the convent and by her status as 'the new girl'. Her only anchor in this strange new world is her sister Very (short for Verity). Very lives in London in a barely furnished flat, and nominally attends art school. Since this is the 1970s, punk is raging on the streets of London, and Cath soaks up the atmosphere every time she escapes to see Very. Eventually, Cath begins to find her feet and discover more about herself. The biggest asset about this novel is the language. It is sparse, lyrical, absorbing: Cath's identification with nature gives the author leeway to write wonderful passages that are almost holy in their reverence. McEwen also captures the convent school atmosphere and the various facets of each character, not just Very and Cath. My favourites are Olive and Natalie. As before, she writes movingly on the love and trust between sisters without falling into cliche. McEwen deserves a wider readership. Although this is marketed as an adult novel, I would recommend it to any teenage girl, as the chapters are short and they will recognise a lot of the characters in the story.
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3.0 out of 5 stars
Some good writing, funny in places but inconsistent, 15 Aug 2010
This is the story of thirteen-year-old Cath's experiences as she flits between an oppressive convent boarding school and the heady freedom of her older sister's Soho flat in the late seventies. While the nuns do their best to keep her pure, her sister encourages her to mix with her arty, druggy punk friends. The two extremes are too much for the poor girl.
Presumably semi-autobiographical (the depiction of convent life is very believable), the novel is written in the first-person present-tense style that seems to be characteristic of lightweight, mildly amusing novels by women, though this is generally better than your average chic-lit efforts, for example. It is well written but doesn't quite live up to the praise of the back-cover blurbs. At times the lyrical prose rambles away from the plot: the attempts to flit between present events in the convent and some recent-past experience with her sister, in alternating paragraphs, just don't work; it becomes too confusing.
I nearly lost interest around the middle of the book, but then it picked up again with some good points about the hypocrisy of religion and the less-than-compassionate nuns, and while this is hardly uncharted territory (see below) Ms McEwen tackles it with humour. There are a few factual errors (trains from Reading don't go into King's Cross) and the grammar isn't always perfect, but I found the novel enjoyable enough. If the writing had been as good throughout as it gets towards the end, I'd have given four stars.
Comparing this to Antonia White's 'Frost in May', another novel about life in a convent school, which I read recently (and reviewed here), I would say Helena McEwen's book has a lighter feel and is more entertaining, while 'Frost in May' is more serious and more interesting. Both are worth reading.
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1.0 out of 5 stars
Am I missing something?, 24 Jun 2010
Unfortunately I have missed whatever it is that other reviewers see in this book. As far as I can tell the author abandoned any semblence of a story in favour of pretentious prose which seems to mean very little. Maybe it's just for the kind of people who aren't looking to be entertained when they read, but would like to be made to feel clever instead?
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