Spring

Phwooooooar

Immediately after reading Summer, I went straight to my local bookshop and purchased Spring as it was the only one being available out of the Seasonal Quartet series.
Spring, a lovely season, full of life springing back from death, revival, hopeful, in midst of a drastic change, a transition between winter and summer, right in the middle... Perhaps it is that fervid yet depressing Summer that pumps my expectations too high to give Spring a five, or it is out of personal prejudice in which my favourite season remains Summer all along. This is a much hopeful novel in comparison to our status quo which Summer has summed it up in a very satisfying and hit-on way.
Having known that this novel will still revolve around some current issues (back in 2019), the portrayal of that influence Internet has on us-what's to be known of and what's not, climate change-how much the mother earth has endured of human's devastation in rapid urbanisation and development, Brexit, that old voting system and oh also the phenomenon that people just want to know your stance, but never it is about your opinions that matter to them. In spite of this, we have also caught a glimpse on the story of Richard and Paddy, a seemingly desolate one, yet is it death that stops us from getting to know and be with that person we have in mind? Is it really worrisome to live in your memories to savour the times you have spent with that particular someone so it would carry on eternally beyond death? Or is it death merely a transitional period as spring itself is, that it allows the entrance of us into another world which provides us a more promising and brighter future? How are we to know of all this? Yet, it is, to live through spring, to carry ourselves onward, to meet each other at the ends of these ongoing turmoils.
Spring, it is, spring forward and onward, until the light of summer shines on you, to drag yourself out of the abyss of winter.

‘'None of it touches me. It's nothing but water and dust. You're nothing but bonedust and water. Good. More useful to me in the end.I'm the child who's been buried in leaves. The leaves rot down: here I am.''

Four people meet in Scotland under peculiar circumstances. An elderly director who has lost his heart, a troubled young woman, an enigmatic librarian/canteen-keeper and an extraordinary 12-year-old girl searching for her mother. How can one person alter the lives of many? How can they save them? And how do we repay the help we have received? There are no easy answers to these questions. But we can read this book and try to understand.

‘'February. The first bee hits the window glass. The light starts to push back, stark in the cold. But birdsong rounds the day, the first and last thing as the light comes and goes. Even in the dark the air tastes different. In the light from the streetlight the branches of the bare trees are lit with rain. Something has changed. No matter how cold it is that rain is not winter rain any more. The days lengthen. That's where the word Lent comes from''

Richard, Florence, Brit and Alda find themselves in the setting of a contemporary Pericles, in a tragedy enriched with the symbolism of the Spring, the rebirth and the rejuvenation of Hope. But is there any Hope, really? In stark and lyrical language, with Scotland at its heart, the novel is a raw commentary on the immigration crisis and Brexit, the daily life that has to go on in an environment of tension and uncertainty. But I'm not here to talk about politics. I never discuss such issues online, among absolute strangers. My opinions are my own and nobody's business. I am interested in human relationships, this is what I always look for in a novel and Ali Smith excels in that field. With Florence as our mysterious guide and the sad voice of Richard, we become part of a story about loss, reconciliation with the past, and how to cope with a threatening present that is draining, how to look for justice and dignity.

‘'If you rise at dawn in a clear sky, and during the month of March, they say you can catch a bag of air so intoxicated with the essence of spring that when it is distilled and prepared, it will produce an oil of gold, remedy enough to heal all ointments.''

It's not just the story that makes Spring special but also the beautiful tidbits that elevate the novel. The beautiful character of Paddy, the enticing, cryptic Alda, the wisdom of Florence. The harrowing descriptions of the Troubles, the beautiful homage to Katherine Mansfield and Rainer Maria Rilke. The poignant observations on the absurd fashion and worry that every word we use may end up being offensive as dictated by the Twitter mob that launches crusades, hidden behind a screen and a (probably) dirty keyboard. The Highland traditions, the scenes from Candlemass, the story of St Brigid, the awakening of March, the dance of the Maidens, the echoes of the Jacobite Rising.

I can only imagine the perfection that Summer and Autumn are going to be...

‘'What's under your road surface now?What's under your house's foundations?What's warping your doors?What's giving your world the fresh colours?What's the key to the song of the bird? What's forming the beak in the egg?What's sending the thinnest of green shoots through that rock so the rock starts to split?''

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Maybe I'm lazy but I had to work really hard to decrypt what was going on here