The Bass Rock
Ratings10
Average rating3.7
WINNER OF THE STELLA PRIZE The lives of three women weave together across centuries in this dazzling new novel. Sarah, accused of being a witch, is fleeing for her life. Ruth, in the aftermath of World War II, is navigating a new marriage and the strange waters of the local community. Six decades later, Viv, still mourning the death of her father, is cataloging Ruth’s belongings in Ruth’s now-empty house. As each woman’s story unfolds, it becomes increasingly clear that their choices are circumscribed, in ways big and small, by the men who seek to control them. But in sisterhood there is also the possibility of survival and a new way of life. Intricately crafted and compulsively readable, The Bass Rock burns bright with love and fury—a devastating indictment of violence against women and an empowering portrait of their resilience through the ages.
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Like the author's predecessor [b:All the Birds, Singing 18142324 All the Birds, Singing Evie Wyld https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1374000570l/18142324.SY75.jpg 23901637] this is also beautifully written, atmospheric and haunting, showing us the protagonists' inner lives and the rough and uncompromising nature that surrounds them. The strand through it all is the misogyny that's ever present in society no matter the year. Some of it is quite jarring and leaves you with rage and an inability to scream. So all of that worked quite well, yet I didn't like it as much as the author's debut novel. I felt myself torn and distracted by trying to trace the connections between the characters and the three timelines. I likes all the stories individually though.
The cover art drew me in, but if I knew it was essentially a treatise on violence against women, I wouldn’t have opened to the first page. In this case, I’m glad I did. It theorized on violence and oppression in a way that elevated it beyond despair porn (and made me think), but it’s real hook was a collection of viscerally relatable female characters whose caustic existence made my own vulgarities feel like evidence of aliveness.
