The Way to Mandalay

I was very sceptical about The Salt Path by Raynor Winn when it published last year. I was well into my nature writing reading phase (still going) and once I started paying attention to these books, I couldn't help noticing just how big a trend it really was. That's pretty much when this book published, and for some reason - too sad? Too on-trend? - I decided not to buy it/into it.

Foolish!

I'll admit that I came across this in my local charity shop (along with a Booker winner and a Pulitzer winner, on the same day!) and some kind of intervention from above inspired me to buy it. And I absolutely loved it, and for all the right reasons, too.

The Salt Path tells the true and very recent tale of a married couple, Ray and Moth, walking the South West Coast Path after losing their family home and Moth being diagnosed with a terminal illness. With nowhere to go and no one to turn to, they pack up the little they have and start putting one foot in front of the other in search of self-discovery, an answer, or just a bit of time, really. So yes, doesn't sound like an easy read.

What did I like about it?

Perhaps I can blame the blurb because, let's face it, I didn't exactly sell it to you just then either. But the book is really the opposite of what we expect: it's a tale of optimism, a journey of self-discovery without the New Age bullsh*t with two very loveable and very real people. It's beautiful because it rings true. Ray doesn't try to make anything sound more dramatic than it already is: she keeps the tone of the book down to Earth, realistic and most of all, honest. Yes, it is at times heart-wrenching, but aren't all the best books?

I love that there is no fake dialogue - there is only little direct speech, because there was very little dialogue, understandably (I wouldn't be very chatty either if I was over 50 and walking one of the UK's hilliest footpaths). Often, it isn't even clear whether something is said by Moth or Ray, and it doesn't matter. We understand that these two people are almost one in their love and devotion to each other; we feel what they feel without saying it. We root for them every time they check their bank balance for that tiny income, and enjoy every bite of their last fudge bar with them as they run out of food in the middle of nowhere.

The book shines a direct light onto homelessness and how circumstances can change in an instant. It talks honestly about this couple's experiences, camping in the wild, being ashamed of admitting to being homeless, and the jealousy and occasional feeling of injustice. But the way Ray and Moth see the world is humbling to us as a reader. They will give away half of their money to help a single, good soul, and share their food with those even less fortunate then them.

Ray's writing certainly deserves a special mention. This is her first book, yet it reads like good literary fiction - it shows that nature writing is at its best when it is honest and doesn't try to be too lyrical. At the opposite end of the scale is, for example, How to Catch a Mole by Marc Hamer, which is an overly flowery first book, infused with poetry. So that's a no. (In a sad kind of ironic way, Hamer also experienced rural homelessness.) Ray narrates as she observes: from large scale to the tiniest butterfly, we follow her eyes as they pan the horizon, filling the landscape with her own feelings. "Green, blue. This coast is rugged, rock stacks standing defiantly against the power of the Atlantic." "An ozone wind rushed over the edge, bringing the creatures' deep, sorrowful calls echoing up through the rocks. Their sadness was surely an illusion, a human interpretation of the animals' noise."

Nature, personal history and our inner feelings become one in this narrative, and as a result, it reads beautifully.

What was I not massively fond of?

I will say that perhaps the last one-sixth of the book becomes a bit too long - the days are a bit repetitive at times with silent walking day after day. Not a long section, however, and when the couple reaches the finish line (in more than one way) it is extremely gratifying.

Overall...

I looked at many things differently after reading this book, and it also helps me through this long, dark period where nature and beloved campsites seem so far away. It makes me want to wrap up in waterproofs, grab my backpack and walk, just walk.

Thank you to Ray and Moth who were brave enough to share their true story with the world. I think it is an act of courage and generosity. We would be fools not to welcome them into our hearts.

8/10

Let's Not Call Her a Killer-Nanny Please

Let me start this review by saying that I really hate the cover of Lullaby by Leila Slimani. Not the image - that I quite like, the misleading collar and neck that could be a nanny, could be a little girl - but the fact that they've tried to form this book into a cheap thrill shape. "Is Lullaby the next Gone Girl? This author's book on a killer nanny is (a) must-read." Let me answer that for you, Daily Telegraph. No. And don't call her a killer nanny, for the love of everything.

Sure, we can compare the two books, but they are by no means obviously in the same category - nor niche - and I certainly wouldn't call Lullaby a must-read. Read this if you don't have children. Do not read it if you employ a nanny. For example.

The book opens with a horrific crime scene where two young children have been murdered and the perpetrator, the nanny, has attempted to slit her wrists. From here we go back to the beginning of the story to try and understand the outcome, slowly building tension, claustrophobia, terror and understanding of how we ended up here, right until we reach this point again, going full circle. Even though we wish we hadn't.

What did I like about it?

This is a choice of topic that you don't want to confront, but you can't look away - and with her craft, Slimani takes aim and fires right at you with the very first chapter. "The baby is dead. It took only a few seconds. The doctor said he didn't suffer. The broken body, surrounded by toys, was put inside a grey bag, which they zipped shut." Now try getting that image out of your mind.

She doesn't let us off the hook, either - after further descriptions of this very immediate scene, Slimani is great at starting from the beginning and, with a feeling of false security, we amble along as the parents hire this perfect nanny who gets on with the children so well and who is a real life-saver.

The book really reminded me of American Psycho in the way that it drip-feeds the small but immediate red flags, and the feeling of unease builds slowly but surely as you proceed through this short book until horror is unleashed. But this is not a crime novel - it is more psychological drama and we could easily draw comparisons with the recent Joker film in that we see how bad circumstances and a closed-door society can turn a person into someone completely different.

The atmosphere of the read is truly claustrophobic, as this special relationship between mother and nanny, and children and nanny is explored - everyone involved becomes trapped. Slimani is brilliant at showing the vulnerability of this set-up: of how much each depends on the other, and how inseparable they become. 

None of the characters are truly likeable, which makes the offering even stronger. We don't have to like the children to pray for them to survive; everyone else is irrelevant. It is a grave offence to hurt or abuse something so innocent as a child, and the sheer profanity of it makes you angry. And desperate. And all the while, we as readers somehow still hope we might end up somewhere different from where we began. 

What was I not massively fond of?

I would like to make the small and selfish complaint that I am not satisfied with how we left things. Sure I expected a clean - or at least, less foggy - explanation of the why, but perhaps that's a concession that Slimani isn't willing to make.

I did have trouble with the nanny, Louise. There were some elements to her that I couldn't roll into one character in my head. Her favourite dress comes with a Peter Pan collar (see cover), this is often emphasized; but she pairs it with heavy make-up and brightly painted, long nails. The contrast of the modest dress and repulsive, clownish make-up just didn't fit for me. I felt the same with her character at times: she mentions her dream of moving away, being by herself where she doesn't have to look after anyone anymore. Few chapters later, however, she is meticulously planning how to leave the parents alone so they can make another baby, so she can stay with the family. She often sounds loud, confident, arrogant; other times, she is a recluse. She has the body of a doll but immense strength in her arms. And I see the appeal of the contradictions - I just can't create a character out of them.

There was also one big blow to the story for me, which came after I finished reading the book. By the time the story ends, we're - to put it bluntly - very cross with Louise. She has been threatening, aggressive and uncomfortable with the parents for a long while, and they've made plans to let her go. Why then, as I flip back to the very first chapter (as I'm sure you will too the minute you finish), is the mother buying Louise her favourite cake on her way home from work before she finds her dead children? That's an inconsistency that took a considerable chunk out of my respect for this work unfortunately. 

Overall...

To me, Lullaby is much more than a cheap thrill - it does have significant literary merits. But ultimately I do have to give the weight to the story instead of the writing in this case; perhaps if I come across her other books, this opinion will change.

Last year, President Macron apparently bestowed upon Slimani the job of “promoting the French language and its culture” and she has won the Goncourt, France’s most prestigious literary prize - so her qualifications are impressive. I will keep an eye on her books and report back...

6/10