Elmet

''I spend an evening laid out on a moor, watching the wind, the crows, the distant vehicles caught in memories of this same land, further south; earlier, another time; then likewise caught in memories of home, of family, of the shifts and turns in fortune, of beginnings and endings, of caused and consequences.''

A family of three lives in a copse in Yorkshire. A father, a boy and a girl. Isolated, forgotten and forgetting, no mother, no friends, extremely limited human contact. John earns his living in extremely violent circumstances, his children are his sole support. Daniel and Cathy have reversed the roles expected by society. He is a poetic soul, a pacifist, a lover of nature and learning. She is the tomboy, the protector, the one who takes the bull by the horns, a force to make everything right. When their peace is disturbed by a horrible man, the two siblings realize they only have themselves to trust.

''Farms can be lonely places. They can be lonely places to have skin torn and bones crushed. They can be lonely places to die.''

Mozley does a terrific job in conveying the woodland atmosphere, the scenery of isolating and willing seclusion from a world that appears threatening. But is it really or do we make it seem so, guided by our own decisions? Can it be that we are that innocent? Our choices can lead to destroying consequences, I appreciated the moral dilemma presented in the story and the harshness of a life that comes withing a setting that many of us would consider idyllic, seen from the point of view of the big city resident.

The folklore of the moors and the woodlands is put to excellent use. The green men with their foliate faces, the wandering hounds, the cries in the night and the fleeting shadows passing through the lower branches, fascinate Daniel and form his strong bond with the land his family calls home. The forest is both a protection and a threat, the light changes as swiftly as John's mood does. These extracts are characteristic of Mozley's talent in prose.

''The morning smelt of wood and little else. The summer scents had been bottled by the cold. It was a clear day, though, particularly now when the sun was low, and bright rays cut raw across the grass.''

''We stayed out there for half an hour or so, watching the lanterns, playing with sparklers, smoking and chatting, breathing in the cool woodland air. When we walked back to the house we did so in silence, having already got out all our words for the day.''

Is beautiful prose enough in a novel? In my opinion, no. I need a strong story and characters. John is an enigma, balancing between violence and tenderness, a huge load of wrong choices and the agony of a single father. Daniel is the voice of reason and the hope of a child. The greatest riddle is Cathy. A complex character, unwilling to trust anyone, brave, ferocious and always ready to protect her family. But the story failed to attract me, eventually. What started as a literary, possible existentialist drama, lost direction towards the middle of the novel and never really recovered, in my opinion. The interactions were weird and too long as the characters practically perform monologues while engaging in an ordinary conversation. It was tiring and distracting. Things became worse when the story became a B-rated Hollywood thriller and the events became too chaotic, too implausible and, at the same time, too predictable.

The prose was beautiful, the setting was powerful, the characters of the family were interesting. But the plot...What it wished to be I don't know. What I know is that I have read a ton of truly powerful books. This one will soon fade from my memory. It was a good novel, perfectly acceptable and I am glad I read it. Βut that's it.

''The same old trains still ruffled on past, despite it all. I wondered what the train driver thought, and what the passengers thought, when they looked out the windows as dusk settles and saw our copse, and the crest, and the trail of thin black smoke coming from behind it.''

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Some men would rather destroy something than lose it to someone else. Those men are amongst the most dangerous of men. This novel captures the observation of one such man, and the destruction he is willing to wrought, quite well.

I genuinely did not, based on the jacket blurb, expect to enjoy this book. What a fantastic surprise.

For me, this novel read like the first season of an amazing new HBO series - dark, with a sense of forboding because you know something bad is going to happen, but you just don't know quite when. A series of well-drawn characters makes you invest early and deeply in the outcome of the tale. And when the bomb explodes, you feel the shockwaves down to your very bones.

I did not want to put this one down. I am absolutely looking forward to this author's next work. Definitely recommended.

When the Man Booker Prize judges name an unknown debut novelist, it's advisable to take notice. And when the named novel makes the shortlist, you can know you've found a new author worth paying attention to.

Fiona Mozley's Elmet is a finely-crafted moody story. The tale focuses on a father and his two children, Cathy and Daniel. The story is told from Daniel's perspective which is an excellent choice for a narrator. Daniel is unique and interesting; although he is central to the story, he exists largely as an observer. It's what happens to those closest to Daniel that truly propels the story.

Mozley wonderfully draws the rugged Yorkshire setting. The language throughout this novel is beautiful and vivid, but keeps with the atmosphere of the rural setting. Whether the characters occupy the surrounding woods or their own living room, the descriptions are always organic, yet crushing (like the forest).

[Daddy] led Cathy and me by our hands through the narrow corridors of our school. The ceilings were low and lit by halogen strip bulbs that flickered and shone the same colour as the magnolia pain on the walls, making it appear as if the light were emanating from the plaster. The only windows were long and thing and tucked just beneath the ceiling, well above the heads of the children who walked up and down these corridors so that when they looked up and out into the world beyond all they could see was the sky. On that day the sky was a mesh of criss-crossed grey and white cords being ripped and tugged and frayed by colliding winds.

Elmet

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His Bloody Project

Elmet