Kathy Page, already listed for the 2002 Orange Prize for The Story Of My Face, has more than fulfilled critics' previous intimations of 'promise' in her work with this vivid, unsettling tale.
From the earliest paragraphs, ingeniously designed to draw us with panting trepidation towards eventual revelation, we long to know what happened not only to the heroine's clearly frightening face but to her whole personality from aged thirteen, when she befriended a family involved with a religious cult shunning imagery, to the present day when we meet her as a woman confronting the bizarre reasoning behind the cult's creation. Sifting through the enigmatic founder's jottings, in a remote hamlet in Finland, Natalie revisits her painful past - passages written through the eyes of a child which rise to a rivetting climax - and must deal as well with a threatening present. Why, in her hideous state, does an attractive man show interest in her? What will happen if she answers ambivalent messages slipped under her door at night? What if she doesn't?
Page, writing from the point of view of a neglected child seeking not only survival but love
is completely convincing and her method of taking us inside the minds of other characters works equally well. Barely (apparently) cared for by her sluttishly behaved natural mother, Natalie absorbs the warmth of the new maternal figure in her life, Barbara, as hungrily as she devours her home-baking, if not her husband's obsessive religious leanings. But Barbara's altruism has its own cause - a lost child in her past - and her teenaged son, Mark's, initially poe-faced response to greedy, sensual Natalie is dangerously laden with repression. Is it wise for Barbara to invite Natalie to join her family at a cult camp where the child will be the only non-believer? What will the congregation do to Natalie when they discover she'd broken their laws by stealing away to watch the first moonwalk on a forbidden T.V.? We are shown this scene from all points of view and await the outcome spellbound, feeling the heat and textures of an English summer invade us - only for Page to cunningly whisk us back to freezing Finland to complete a similarly tense moment there.
The Story Of My Face is more than a gripping read. As well as being beautifully written, it raises disconcerting questions about the nature of affection, appearances and the need for belief-systems. But whether read as a thriller or philosophy it proves a rare literary gem. Let us hope we won't have too long to wait for Kathy Page's next offering.