Sylvie is half French and half English. Since the death of her mother, she has written weekly letters to her father in London. When he too dies unexpectedly, she waits for the letter she knows he must have posted before his death. And, as she waits, her carefully ordered and controlled life finally begins to unravel. Brilliantly observed, delightfully witty and beautifully written, English Correspondence condenses all the major questions of adult life love, marriage, children, and grief into the time it takes to arrange a funeral and find a missing letter.
A taut, subtle novel that considers the implications of loss and the unraveling of a marriage: ‘He missed out his bravery in doing any of it without Eve and the distortions he had to accommodate; not just the emptiness of his wife not being there, but the deformed shape that had taken her place. He and Sylvia had told each other what was acceptable and bearable. This year she had no one to tell.’
really quite difficult to find an entry into this novel. i have started and put this down more than a couple of times. this was largely due to the author's habit of miscomminucation. i had a sense that Davey was trying o convey a sense of "stream of consciousness" in her writing style - but this came over as being obtuse and difficult. i could tell that she knew what she was trying to put across - and had that pathway clear in her mind - but as a reader - i was left thinking "did that statement refer to this?.. or to that?"
once the intial confusion was dealth with - i empathised greatly with the emotional destruction of a woman through bereavement, not only of a beloved parent, but of a long-dead marriage. pleasing outcome, ultimately.
This was a difficult and frustrating read, and one I was glad to finish in the end. It isn't badly written - in fact I'd say the author has a very good writing style - but it fails to get on with the story in any coherent way, preferring instead to mess around with deep and meaningful musings. Time after time I got to the end of a page and had to decide whether to read it again in a futile attempt to work out what was being implied, or whether to say 's*d it let's get the book finished'. Frequently it was the latter.
It took me a while to get into it, the second half was better than the first. I felt frustration with the premise of the book that was not resolved satisfactorily; this distracted me from the deeper layers which were cleverly written and presented. Not an uplifting novel particularly because of the weakness of the main character.
I did not love the writing style. I did enjoy the character explorations, although I always get a little irked by characters whose issue is 'not being able to say the things they want to'. I realise it's actually quite common and an accurate affliction, but I find it a bit infuriating as a reader.
En un hotel rural de Francia trabajan marido y mujer. Cuando el padre de ella muere en Londres, ella se cansará de soportar la infidelidad de su marida y pondrá fin a la relación.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.