Janet who lives in London with nice Stephen and suffers from seizures, discovers she's inherited a house in Northumberland from her mother, who she'd thought died years ago. She goes up to see it and finds Tom, a car mechanic and sculptor, living there. Rather than sorting out the issue practically, everything goes mystical and strange on them, and after lengthy silences and banal conversation ("`Are you hungry?' he said. 'Yes,' she said. 'I am.'") and a great deal of intense introspection they sleep together. She discovers he is her brother or half-brother, and then they swim with the seals and she rescues him in a sort of dream from the local fairy queen. All this is intercut with extensive blurry flashbacks to their childhoods, especially occasions where they are being told fairy stories or life-stories by their respective single parents.
This is one of those novels in whose reception a curious gulf exists between the admiration of a number of well-known writers (Philip Pullman, Helen Dunmore, John Burnside - 'brilliant, beautiful'), and the disregard ('boring, silly') of many 'ordinary' readers. The slow prose is full of repetitions: "Of course he takes my hands in his to show me, even though it is summer, even though it is hot, too hot. My hands outside the covers now, cupping my fingers in his own and blowing, puff, puff, puff." Outside events, locations and dates are imprecise. The psychology, not being realist, is hard to get a grip on. The underlying narrative looks loosely based on the folk-tale 'Tam Lin' which might explain the novel's strangeness but doesn't excuse its dullness. I'd say it's not really worth spending time with if you're into strong storylines or believable characterisation or witty dialogue or sharp, spare writing or narrative action. On the other hand, Philip Pullman loved it - so you might well disagree!