Picador £6.99, pp245
Like fine epic poetry, reading Lovesong can prove to be hard work. A glass of wine and a conservatory of one's own are definitely recommended to help the uninitiated reader settle into Nikki Gemmell's high impressionistic style.
Although, as the free-spirited but naive Lillie ('that meek flower name that was long ago meant to girl me down') begins to coalesce as the human source of these impressions, her story of a cloistered Aussie girl's self-discovery in England becomes compulsive and involving reading.
Nikki Gemmell's determination to do every sentence differently takes us down a few fanciful deadends; in her hands, even currency cannot be plain hard, it must be 'robust'.
But her ability to form people out of words and make us feel their sorrows (quite painfully towards the end) marks her out as a real talent. Anyone who has enjoyed Angela Carter but knows nothing of Nikki Gemmell has a treat in store.
The Hard Shoulder
Granta £6.99, pp215
Is there a website out there somewhere which ships novels in kit form to young British authors? Insert career criminal gone straight A into rowdy Irish underworld B and affix with heist gone wrong C and estranged family D. This is The Hard Shoulder - not just clichés, but the same clichés again and again. I lost count of all the spotty youths and bald men with who-are-they-kidding? strands that peopled Petit's streets.
This is Chris Petit's fourth novel and it rattles along easily enough, but he fudges all the difficult bits. Bland exposition replaces observation ('She knew she was being used and was in pain' - thanks); people get into cars with people they distrust for no reason other than to move the story on; the hero is always 'suddenly realising' things, a cheap dramatic high at the best of times, and an outright fraud when he 'suddenly realises' the opposite 50 pages later.
Put them together and you get a disposable novel.
The Anatomy School
Vintage £6.99, pp355
MacLaverty's tale of growing up in the Sixties is engaging enough, although ultimately a little lightweight. It tells the story of Catholic schoolboy Martin and his friends, as they struggle to dissect the more important quandaries of adolescence - religion, science, politics and sex- in a Belfast riven by conflict and upheaval.
If anything, the format suffers a little from over-familiarity; before you can say 'rite of passage', you're struck by the impression that this isn't wholly new territory; a rather one-dimensional supporting cast becomes tiresome as the book wears on.
The crux of the novel's problem is that whereas there's only so much you want to hear about a teenager's insecurity and introspection, many of the more interesting bits are maddeningly breezed through. The peculiar quirks of the priest's cloistered lives, and the brutal sadism of one priest in particular, are fascinating.
Likewise, the air of underlying violence and sectarianism he manages to weave into the narrative lends the streets of Belfast a sense of real menace. Overall, though, it's well written, funny and, at times, quite moving.