Rites by Sophie Coulombeau

Sometimes you come across a new writer who possesses breathtaking originality and verve. Sophie Coulombeau is the genuine article, and in my opinion this novel will come to be seen as her first step on the road to becoming a literary name.

The premise seems deceptively simple; four teenagers strike a pact to lose their virginity together, and despite their best intentions it all goes horribly wrong. Now, many years later, they reflect on the loss of innocence and how it shaped their lives.

Coulombeau uses the mechanism of first person narration throughout, as each of the four main protagonists, along with a supporting cast of eight other key figures, are all asked to recollect the incident. This approach offers the opportunity for a range of narrative reminiscences, some of which may be more reliable than others. Her real skill lies in creating sufficient differentiation between the voices that all twelve characters remain clear and uniquely individual, and not once did I struggle to remember who was who.

The novel came to be published when Route Publishing selected an extract of Coulombeau’s manuscript as the winner of their “Next Great Novelist Award 2012”, the prize being full publication. This came as something of a shock for Coulombeau who apparently hadn’t completed the rest of the book and consequently had to quickly complete her draft. It doesn’t show, which must be a testament to her skill.

I often criticise other reviewers who use lazy comparisons to describe an author’s carefully constructed prose as being just like another writer’s, and so I consciously try not to do that in my reviews. However “Rites” did give me a similar feeling to Stephen May’s “Life! Death! Prizes!”, and that is no lazy comparison; it simply means that they share the same soul. Twinned, but of different parents, if you like.

As I read through the novel, with my opinions being deliberately manipulated by the different first person narrations the question that kept puzzling me was “Who are they telling this to?”. Am I (as the reader) being asked to take on the role of inquisitor or confessor, or is that the role being adopted by the author? Is it actually one of the protagonists themselves who is the inquisitor? The way that Coulombeau chooses to deal with this particular issue is a marker for her confidence and ability as an author. When I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to ask her about this aspect of the novel she simply replied with an enigmatic face, which indicated that I should draw my own conclusions.

Well the conclusion I have drawn is that Sophie Coulombeau is a very fine novelist indeed and one who does not need to explain her methods or approach. I will certainly be following her career trajectory with genuine appreciation and admiration.

The Light Between Oceans by M L Stedman

“This is a story about right and wrong and how sometimes they look the same”.

This carefully constructed tag line neatly encapsulates the moral dilemma that lies at the heart of this powerful novel. Having survived the horrors of the First World War Tom Sherbourne is now the lighthouse keeper on remote Janus Rock in South Western Australia perched between the Indian Ocean and the Great Southern Ocean. He and his young wife Izzy long for a child, after a succession of miscarriages. Then a boat washes up on the island containing a dead man and a crying baby.

This incident is the heart of the story, as a decision made with the best of intentions causes Tom and Izzy’s life to unravel as the consequences of their actions spiral inexorably towards a tragic conclusion.

This debut novel features some beautifully evocative descriptive prose. One of my favourite passages reads: -

“The line between the ocean and the sky became harder to judge as the light faltered second by second”.

This inability to judge between ocean and sky stands as a symbol in judging right from wrong which echoes throughout the novel, underpinning the moral ambiguity of the narrative.

It seems no coincidence that Stedman has set the lighthouse on Janus Rock, its beam illuminating the two oceans of the title. Janus was the God of beginnings and transitions. His two heads looked both to the past and the future, which is an apt metaphor for Stedman’s meticulously crafted plot.

I was really impressed by the quality of writing in Margot Stedman’s first novel and her writing is by turns evocative, lyrical and compassionate. Her deft use of the rising and falling cadences of the Australian language is both charming and completely realistic.

The novel’s title is also an inspired choice. Apparently Stedman’s working title for the piece during its early drafts was “Lighthouse Story” before the title came to her, and to my mind it works beautifully on a number of different levels.

This novel grips the reader from the outset as it proceeds to its intensely sad conclusion. I shall certainly be looking out for the next novel by Margot Steadman.