Well this was only the kind of book that made me wonder why I'd not read this author in about thirty years. His not exactly being prolific is, of course, a defence, but all the same. She is middle-aged, the inheritor of a cottage in Co Cork, Ireland. He is slightly older, an English ex-pianist, whose concert-giving days are over. She spots him – an event which is not returned – and finds that he has asked for domestic help in his old but newly-bought rectory. She is perfectly happy to stop teaching piano to greasy kids, and attend to him – him and his horrendously wrecked hands. For she and he have a past – three times they met, three times more maturely and more intimately, over her formative years, and yet three times he completely forgot her. As she wonders how much of her changed between each encounter, this one is sustained, especially as he practically stumbles on a way for her to pay attention to said hands – the hidden well of the title, which she immediately declares is health-giving. But his health and his hands are not what she is there for, as something must be avenged…
This is just a most readable book – a serious subject, played seriously, but done with a lightness and breeziness about the language that it all feels tight and relevant and engaging, however flashbacky and mystical it might end up getting. He is a narcissist, we're often told, and yet while his hands are crook our attitude to him is one of varying sympathy. She is not a showy character either, despite what we are told are fine legs under her omnipresent red jacket, and the fact she is still forming a new balance to her relationship with the builder she has just kicked out. Oh, and then, what's this? Part Two, with a huge rug-pulling shift? Oh, well, then – let's run with that.
This might not be one of the books I absolutely love unreservedly, but damn it, every time I see it in a bookshop I will want to pick it up in admiration, flick the pages, perhaps read the blurb and put it down happy, as if having met once more an old friend. Full of unshowy invention – much like the Satie Gnossienne #1 mentioned so often – this might be familiar and understandable (especially as it starts with concerns about effing covid face nappies) and yet it's really rich, adaptable, and open to personal interpretation. To repeat, I found depths in this that utterly contrasted with the ease of the page turning, and for that I was really appreciative of my time between these covers. It has to be four and a half stars, and might be more, so put it in your messages and get a copy.