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Layla
Introducing an unforgettable heroine for our times, Nina de la MerOCOs bold and unflinching novel captures the mood of an urban generation, seduced by celebrity and fuelled by drink, drugs and pornography. Arriving in London, Hayleigh finds work as lap dancer ?LaylaOCO, intent on earning enough cash to make a fresh start. She has the wit, the looks and skilful moves, exploiting men before they can exploit her. But over the course of a chaotic week she must make the biggest decision of her life and fight for the one thing she truly wants. This is a brilliant and moving novel, imaginatively powerful and authentically conceived. Thirty years after the resounding success of Jay McInerneyOCOs Bright Lights, Big City, and written in a similarly intense second-person narrative, Layla speaks for a new generation."
- GenresFiction
305 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 20, 2014
2 people are currently reading
191 people want to read
About the author
Nina de la Mer
4 books45 followersNina de la Mer is a Scottish writer of contemporary literary fiction ( 4 a.m. - 2011; Layla - 2014).
'The female Irvine Welsh' (The Herald) 'Brighton's fabulous queen of the gutter' (For Books' Sake).
PRAISE FOR LAYLA:
'Unforgettable.' – Alan Bissett
'Brilliant, and darkly funny.' - Hello! Magazine
A 'new Tess of the d’Urbervilles for our time.' -Bookkaholic
'Layla is a triumph as a novel, and as a character.' – Scots Whay Hae!
'The female Irvine Welsh' (The Herald) 'Brighton's fabulous queen of the gutter' (For Books' Sake).
PRAISE FOR LAYLA:
'Unforgettable.' – Alan Bissett
'Brilliant, and darkly funny.' - Hello! Magazine
A 'new Tess of the d’Urbervilles for our time.' -Bookkaholic
'Layla is a triumph as a novel, and as a character.' – Scots Whay Hae!
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Displaying 1 - 26 of 26 reviews
February 10, 2020
In a new Tess of the d’Urbervilles for our time, eighteen-year-old London stripper (and single mother) Hayleigh Weeks narrates one momentous week in her life. An authentic teenage voice, intriguing use of second-person narration and a vivid (if sleazy) setting make it impossible not to feel sympathy for Hayleigh.
Nina de la Mer is a Scottish novelist now based in Brighton, England. Her previous novel, 4 a.m. , about a pair of young British army chefs posted to Germany, was published in 2011. She earned praise for capturing the slang-filled voices of young men, especially the Scottish dialect of her character Cal, with such accuracy. The Glasgow Herald even called her a “female Irvine Welsh.”
Her second book, Layla, is another triumph of voice, this time the simultaneously jaded and naïve Cockney talk of her main character, eighteen-year-old stripper Hayleigh Weeks. Hayleigh narrates one momentous week in her life in the second person (“you”), a fairly rare point-of-view that, along with her adoption of “Layla” as her stripper persona, is a signal of her dissociation from her experiences.
The first line – “You blink. Once. Twice. Double blink.” – immediately reveals two essential aspects of the novel: Hayleigh’s desperation to distance herself from the mess her life has become, and her frequent instances of disorientation when, hungover or high, it takes her a few moments to wake up to reality. When Hayleigh comes to consciousness in these first sentences, she realizes she’s pole dancing at Elegance, the low-class lap dancing club where she works in London’s seedy Soho district.
Like Hayleigh herself, we as readers are thrown right in at the deep end with this narrative: there is no preamble; the story begins in medias res, right in the middle of the action at the club. Only gradually do we learn of Hayleigh’s background: she has a little boy named Connor, living back with her mother in Brighton, and she is anxious to get back to him – as soon as she can save £10,000 to fund a new life. Hayleigh’s father is a double amputee after a warehouse accident; they communicate via text messages, often only through knock-knock jokes. Hayleigh has had three stepfathers already, although her mother is only 40.
The insecurity of home life has followed her to London, where she lives with two prissy roommates who think she is a receptionist and croupier (that would explain working nights), and constantly nag her about paying the bills. They clearly look down on Hayleigh, objecting to her slutty clothing and crude speech. If not quite Cockney in origin, Hayleigh’s language still has working-class associations: her narrative is peppered with terms like “ain’t” and “you was,” and whenever a word is on the tip of her tongue she interjects “whatchamacallit?” Her colorful manner of speaking may reflect her class, but it also shows her sense of humor, as in “knowing which side your bread’s buttered, you channel meek and mild.” Even though Hayleigh chides herself with “you’re not much good at describing stuff,” the truth is that her speech is very evocative, even unmistakable – revealing her age, background, and outlook.
It’s a sleazy world that Hayleigh has gotten herself caught up in. Most of her clients seem pretty harmless, especially middle-aged Colin, who only comes in to chat, but even Colin turns bad one day and attacks her. The bouncers throw him out, but he follows her home in a needy stalker sort of way, an episode that really shakes her up. Already on probation at the club, Hayleigh feels that Layla has to be the best if she is to compete with Sapphire and the other new surgically-enhanced girls at Elegance. She has saved £4,500 so far, but there is much more to be earned, if only she is willing to do what it takes. In London’s sordid underworld, pornography and outright prostitution aren’t as far away as she might think.
Hayleigh often indulges in fantasy to escape the shame of her work. “You feel good. You’re a movie star swishing down the red carpet,” she thinks during the opening pole session, and when she settles down to give a customer a lap dance, she divulges that to get through it “Your eyes glaze over. And...your thoughts drift off to...Covent Garden, The Royal Opera House.” She hides the particularly painful incidents of her life, like leaving her son behind, under language that consciously echoes fairy tales: “Once upon a time there was a girl…she had a baby who she adored more than life itself, who was taken away from her.”
By contrast, the sexual fantasies that a place like Elegance inspires contradict the uncomfortable reality of life. Behind the airbrushed sexual performance, no one could guess that Hayleigh is having an off week because she’s menstruating and has had a bad wax job – two facts that leave her reluctant to put her genitalia on show. “Like, don’t you ever feel...used?” she asks a friend and fellow stripper. It is impossible not to sympathize with Hayleigh’s feelings of shame and disappointment about what her life is become. Who could blame her for occasionally wallowing in self-pity? “Nobody’s expecting the violins to come out…but it’s got to you, it really has. You’re not made of stone, believe it or not...You want your baby back and it’s blinking well killing you!”
De la Mer parcels out the gritty facts of Hayleigh’s circumstance in punchy daily chapters, interspersed with a record of her text messages and e-mails. The novel packs a lot into just eight days’ worth of events, including Hayleigh’s confusion over her sexuality. Nearly every day finds her waking up in some sort of daze: arriving back at her flat hungover after a night of clubbing, vaguely remembering drugs she took and anonymous strangers she slept with. Her emotions go in cycles of elation and despair, such that “you’re torn between right and wrong: the bitch on your shoulder” fighting for place with an angel on the other. That sense of having a divided self is clearest in the last few chapters of the novel, when Hayleigh begins switching between the first, second, and third person, getting confused about her true identity. “You are not a bad person. ‘I’m not a bad person,’ you say out loud,” and then to a stranger’s polite enquiry she replies, “Yes I’m fine, Layla’s – no, Hayleigh’s fine.”
The genuine teenage voice de la Mer creates for Hayleigh is reminiscent of Jenni Fagan’s Panopticon and Alan Warner’s The Sopranos, while the raw facts of a stripper’s life recall Diablo Cody’s memoir, Candy Girl. It also seems likely that de la Mer chose second-person narration as a tribute to Jay McInerney’s Bright Lights, Big City, a 1984 cult classic about a young man’s drug-fueled wanderings in Manhattan.
The hooker with a heart of gold may be something of a cliché in movies, but de la Mer has elevated Hayleigh’s story to something much more literary. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that Layla is a new Tess of the d’Urbervilles for our time. Like Hardy’s heroine, Hayleigh is “a pure woman” caught up in desperate circumstances. Even if she hasn’t always made the right choices, she doesn’t deserve the horrible life that manipulative men have forced upon her. Her disastrous life course seems almost fated, in the tradition of classic literature stretching from Shakespeare through Hardy: “My God, what were you thinking? It was a diversion from the right track...it hasn’t escaped your notice what a disaster you’re becoming.”
Whether or not Hayleigh will make it back to her symbolically-named Brighton neighborhood, “Peacehaven,” to be with Connor remains uncertain, but de la Mer closes with some lovely, optimistic imagery: “the train pulls out of the station, pitch-black in the tunnel at first, then a piercing blue light, a blue light filled with the brilliant hope of a summer’s evening.” A new voice, the first-person plural, comes in at the very last, as Hayleigh imagines a new life for her and her son; “Together, we’ll dance, we’ll fly.”
Nina de la Mer is a Scottish novelist now based in Brighton, England. Her previous novel, 4 a.m. , about a pair of young British army chefs posted to Germany, was published in 2011. She earned praise for capturing the slang-filled voices of young men, especially the Scottish dialect of her character Cal, with such accuracy. The Glasgow Herald even called her a “female Irvine Welsh.”
Her second book, Layla, is another triumph of voice, this time the simultaneously jaded and naïve Cockney talk of her main character, eighteen-year-old stripper Hayleigh Weeks. Hayleigh narrates one momentous week in her life in the second person (“you”), a fairly rare point-of-view that, along with her adoption of “Layla” as her stripper persona, is a signal of her dissociation from her experiences.
The first line – “You blink. Once. Twice. Double blink.” – immediately reveals two essential aspects of the novel: Hayleigh’s desperation to distance herself from the mess her life has become, and her frequent instances of disorientation when, hungover or high, it takes her a few moments to wake up to reality. When Hayleigh comes to consciousness in these first sentences, she realizes she’s pole dancing at Elegance, the low-class lap dancing club where she works in London’s seedy Soho district.
Like Hayleigh herself, we as readers are thrown right in at the deep end with this narrative: there is no preamble; the story begins in medias res, right in the middle of the action at the club. Only gradually do we learn of Hayleigh’s background: she has a little boy named Connor, living back with her mother in Brighton, and she is anxious to get back to him – as soon as she can save £10,000 to fund a new life. Hayleigh’s father is a double amputee after a warehouse accident; they communicate via text messages, often only through knock-knock jokes. Hayleigh has had three stepfathers already, although her mother is only 40.
The insecurity of home life has followed her to London, where she lives with two prissy roommates who think she is a receptionist and croupier (that would explain working nights), and constantly nag her about paying the bills. They clearly look down on Hayleigh, objecting to her slutty clothing and crude speech. If not quite Cockney in origin, Hayleigh’s language still has working-class associations: her narrative is peppered with terms like “ain’t” and “you was,” and whenever a word is on the tip of her tongue she interjects “whatchamacallit?” Her colorful manner of speaking may reflect her class, but it also shows her sense of humor, as in “knowing which side your bread’s buttered, you channel meek and mild.” Even though Hayleigh chides herself with “you’re not much good at describing stuff,” the truth is that her speech is very evocative, even unmistakable – revealing her age, background, and outlook.
It’s a sleazy world that Hayleigh has gotten herself caught up in. Most of her clients seem pretty harmless, especially middle-aged Colin, who only comes in to chat, but even Colin turns bad one day and attacks her. The bouncers throw him out, but he follows her home in a needy stalker sort of way, an episode that really shakes her up. Already on probation at the club, Hayleigh feels that Layla has to be the best if she is to compete with Sapphire and the other new surgically-enhanced girls at Elegance. She has saved £4,500 so far, but there is much more to be earned, if only she is willing to do what it takes. In London’s sordid underworld, pornography and outright prostitution aren’t as far away as she might think.
Hayleigh often indulges in fantasy to escape the shame of her work. “You feel good. You’re a movie star swishing down the red carpet,” she thinks during the opening pole session, and when she settles down to give a customer a lap dance, she divulges that to get through it “Your eyes glaze over. And...your thoughts drift off to...Covent Garden, The Royal Opera House.” She hides the particularly painful incidents of her life, like leaving her son behind, under language that consciously echoes fairy tales: “Once upon a time there was a girl…she had a baby who she adored more than life itself, who was taken away from her.”
By contrast, the sexual fantasies that a place like Elegance inspires contradict the uncomfortable reality of life. Behind the airbrushed sexual performance, no one could guess that Hayleigh is having an off week because she’s menstruating and has had a bad wax job – two facts that leave her reluctant to put her genitalia on show. “Like, don’t you ever feel...used?” she asks a friend and fellow stripper. It is impossible not to sympathize with Hayleigh’s feelings of shame and disappointment about what her life is become. Who could blame her for occasionally wallowing in self-pity? “Nobody’s expecting the violins to come out…but it’s got to you, it really has. You’re not made of stone, believe it or not...You want your baby back and it’s blinking well killing you!”
De la Mer parcels out the gritty facts of Hayleigh’s circumstance in punchy daily chapters, interspersed with a record of her text messages and e-mails. The novel packs a lot into just eight days’ worth of events, including Hayleigh’s confusion over her sexuality. Nearly every day finds her waking up in some sort of daze: arriving back at her flat hungover after a night of clubbing, vaguely remembering drugs she took and anonymous strangers she slept with. Her emotions go in cycles of elation and despair, such that “you’re torn between right and wrong: the bitch on your shoulder” fighting for place with an angel on the other. That sense of having a divided self is clearest in the last few chapters of the novel, when Hayleigh begins switching between the first, second, and third person, getting confused about her true identity. “You are not a bad person. ‘I’m not a bad person,’ you say out loud,” and then to a stranger’s polite enquiry she replies, “Yes I’m fine, Layla’s – no, Hayleigh’s fine.”
The genuine teenage voice de la Mer creates for Hayleigh is reminiscent of Jenni Fagan’s Panopticon and Alan Warner’s The Sopranos, while the raw facts of a stripper’s life recall Diablo Cody’s memoir, Candy Girl. It also seems likely that de la Mer chose second-person narration as a tribute to Jay McInerney’s Bright Lights, Big City, a 1984 cult classic about a young man’s drug-fueled wanderings in Manhattan.
The hooker with a heart of gold may be something of a cliché in movies, but de la Mer has elevated Hayleigh’s story to something much more literary. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that Layla is a new Tess of the d’Urbervilles for our time. Like Hardy’s heroine, Hayleigh is “a pure woman” caught up in desperate circumstances. Even if she hasn’t always made the right choices, she doesn’t deserve the horrible life that manipulative men have forced upon her. Her disastrous life course seems almost fated, in the tradition of classic literature stretching from Shakespeare through Hardy: “My God, what were you thinking? It was a diversion from the right track...it hasn’t escaped your notice what a disaster you’re becoming.”
Whether or not Hayleigh will make it back to her symbolically-named Brighton neighborhood, “Peacehaven,” to be with Connor remains uncertain, but de la Mer closes with some lovely, optimistic imagery: “the train pulls out of the station, pitch-black in the tunnel at first, then a piercing blue light, a blue light filled with the brilliant hope of a summer’s evening.” A new voice, the first-person plural, comes in at the very last, as Hayleigh imagines a new life for her and her son; “Together, we’ll dance, we’ll fly.”
March 9, 2014
Nina de la Mer’s second novel is as original and arresting as her first. Raw, in your face and moving, Layla gets under your skin and it’ll make you think too. Written entirely in second person narrative – a difficult trick to pull off, de la Mer does it with aplomb – Layla takes the reader into the murky world of lap dancing clubs. Nineteen-year-old single-mum Hayleigh (stage name Layla) works in Soho to raise money to reclaim her Little Man from her mother, who lives in Peacehaven, near Brighton, and give them a half decent start in life. Though I’d describe the novel as feminist, de la Mer never slips into cliché and stereotypical views of pole dancing culture. Set over the course of a chaotic week, this is an intense, not-always-comfortable but always engaging read, as we follow Hayleigh’s efforts to return to her son. Moving and thought-provoking, Layla appeals to the head and heart – what more could you wish for in a novel? Wonderful.
August 11, 2014
I have heard Nina de la Mer talk about her writing aim to give voice to sections of society rarely represented in literary fiction. In her first novel, 4am, she wrote about squaddies on the 90s rave scene and in Layla, her new novel, she focuses on a young woman who works as a lap dancer.
Unusually, the book is written in the second person. This reinforces the dislocation and alienation experienced by the novel’s narrator, Hayleigh, whose professional name is ‘Layla’. All the more surprising and impressive, then, that De la Mer is able to create such sympathy between reader and narrator. Hayleigh’s confidence and vitality and her wonderfully dismissive humour (‘all that cobblers about mansions and castles’) energise the book when its grim setting and the narrator’s depressing circumstances (being leered at by lap dancing club customers in Family Guy ties, for example), could have made for bleak reading.
Hayleigh is desperate to earn enough money to provide for her baby, who lives with her mother. The novel is extremely well-paced, drip feeding the reader with details that little by little clarify how and why she arrived at such a solution to her problems. The great skill of the writing lies in the author’s lack of judgement about her feckless protagonist whilst revealing the ways in which her behaviour can sometimes exacerbate her situation. Hayleigh’s mother, her employer and her flatmates seem unsupportive (and worse) but the writing skilfully and tactfully implies that Hayleigh, too, can be considered culpable.
There is some lovely writing – for example, a sequence early on in the novel where Hayleigh crashes out in a park after a night of excess and her separate worlds, her past and her present collide and merge in a hallucinatory sequence in which the prose is as slippery and beautiful as the altered state Hayleigh finds herself in. Poetry is seamlessly woven in with Hayleigh’s distinctive idiom – lingerie described as a rainbow of hankies appearing out of a magician’s sleeve and sleep being ‘a sort of like faraway place you’d once visited but you couldn’t remember how to get there, its landscape or its climate’.
As well as the verve and vigour of Hayleigh’s commentary, it is her position as both underdog and outsider as well as her ability to articulate her alienation that earns reader sympathy. She refuses to play the victim and towards the end of the novel, there is a touching moment when she recognises where her problem lies: ‘When you first started you felt like one of the girls, like you fitted in. But soon something wasn’t right, something you couldn’t put your finger on. Now you recognise what it was. It was loneliness trampling all over you, crushing you, making you small.’
De la Mer makes clear her own feelings about lap-dancing (‘sex work dressed as something else’) without ever compromising her characters’ own attitudes. Redemptive elements such as the bouncer who looks after Hayleigh during another ill advised drug binge offer a balanced portrait of a world few of us would want to enter apart from via the pages of a responsible and thoughtful book such as this.
Unusually, the book is written in the second person. This reinforces the dislocation and alienation experienced by the novel’s narrator, Hayleigh, whose professional name is ‘Layla’. All the more surprising and impressive, then, that De la Mer is able to create such sympathy between reader and narrator. Hayleigh’s confidence and vitality and her wonderfully dismissive humour (‘all that cobblers about mansions and castles’) energise the book when its grim setting and the narrator’s depressing circumstances (being leered at by lap dancing club customers in Family Guy ties, for example), could have made for bleak reading.
Hayleigh is desperate to earn enough money to provide for her baby, who lives with her mother. The novel is extremely well-paced, drip feeding the reader with details that little by little clarify how and why she arrived at such a solution to her problems. The great skill of the writing lies in the author’s lack of judgement about her feckless protagonist whilst revealing the ways in which her behaviour can sometimes exacerbate her situation. Hayleigh’s mother, her employer and her flatmates seem unsupportive (and worse) but the writing skilfully and tactfully implies that Hayleigh, too, can be considered culpable.
There is some lovely writing – for example, a sequence early on in the novel where Hayleigh crashes out in a park after a night of excess and her separate worlds, her past and her present collide and merge in a hallucinatory sequence in which the prose is as slippery and beautiful as the altered state Hayleigh finds herself in. Poetry is seamlessly woven in with Hayleigh’s distinctive idiom – lingerie described as a rainbow of hankies appearing out of a magician’s sleeve and sleep being ‘a sort of like faraway place you’d once visited but you couldn’t remember how to get there, its landscape or its climate’.
As well as the verve and vigour of Hayleigh’s commentary, it is her position as both underdog and outsider as well as her ability to articulate her alienation that earns reader sympathy. She refuses to play the victim and towards the end of the novel, there is a touching moment when she recognises where her problem lies: ‘When you first started you felt like one of the girls, like you fitted in. But soon something wasn’t right, something you couldn’t put your finger on. Now you recognise what it was. It was loneliness trampling all over you, crushing you, making you small.’
De la Mer makes clear her own feelings about lap-dancing (‘sex work dressed as something else’) without ever compromising her characters’ own attitudes. Redemptive elements such as the bouncer who looks after Hayleigh during another ill advised drug binge offer a balanced portrait of a world few of us would want to enter apart from via the pages of a responsible and thoughtful book such as this.
June 23, 2015
Sleaze. Debauchery. Rampant binge drinking. Pornography. Enough strip clubs to give your average Daily Mail reader a heart attack and more flesh on display than a nudists' convention. No, it's not another book about the Roman Empire; rather it's your average week night in London. Shining a neon light into the world of strip clubs and adult entertainment, Layla is a lap dancer. A lap dancer on a mission to make mega bucks, win back her son, and become the next big thing in adult entertainment.
Estranged from her mother; separated from her son; pursued by a stalker; under pressure at work; outshone by her better looking friend (who is also a lapdancer) and continually exploited by dodgy managers and the world of men, it's easy to fall into the trap of dismissing Layla as a tale of woe, the sort of book that could tempt a reader to take a stroll through a military firing range.
Working under the alias Layla, Hayleigh is a confused young woman with a hole in her life the size of the Soho streets she inhabits. Racked with guilt over abandoning her son, disgusted at herself for having her body exploited by leering men, and drowning her sorrows with gallons of vodka and furlongs of cocaine, Layla could easily fall into a bloated mess of a cliche.
And yet, it works. Adopting a second person perspective, de la Mer captures perfectly the detachment and alienation Hayleigh feels at the world she inhabits. Fatally flawed, self-loathing, and yet aware of her shortcomings, Hayleigh's humanity shines through, her trials possess real meaning, and you yearn for her to succeed - cheering her small triumphs, and recoiling at the setbacks she suffers.
Wider social commentary is also handled deftly by de la Mer. At first, it seems that the feminists are right, that the world that Hayleigh inhabits is dangerous and exploitative to women, and that Hayleigh and her friends are nothing more than pieces of meat to be used and abused. And then Hayleigh gains the upper hand, and the reader asks: who's exploiting whom? And then, this idea is turned upside down once more, and we are none the wiser - a viewpoint that perfectly sums up such a complicated issue.
Like all good heroines, Hayleigh overcomes trial and tribulation. The addictive world she inhabits is dragging her down, something she is perfectly aware of. Finding the courage to walk away is no guarantee of a happy ending, and it's to de la Mer's credit that this is the case, but Hayleigh, irrevocably changed, takes that walk.
Layla could easily have become a stereotypical morality tale of dodgy strip clubs, Cockney wide boys, and the corrupting world of adult entertainment, but with a deft touch, and canny use of a differing perspective, it rises above the cliche and gives us a heroine you genuinely root for.
Estranged from her mother; separated from her son; pursued by a stalker; under pressure at work; outshone by her better looking friend (who is also a lapdancer) and continually exploited by dodgy managers and the world of men, it's easy to fall into the trap of dismissing Layla as a tale of woe, the sort of book that could tempt a reader to take a stroll through a military firing range.
Working under the alias Layla, Hayleigh is a confused young woman with a hole in her life the size of the Soho streets she inhabits. Racked with guilt over abandoning her son, disgusted at herself for having her body exploited by leering men, and drowning her sorrows with gallons of vodka and furlongs of cocaine, Layla could easily fall into a bloated mess of a cliche.
And yet, it works. Adopting a second person perspective, de la Mer captures perfectly the detachment and alienation Hayleigh feels at the world she inhabits. Fatally flawed, self-loathing, and yet aware of her shortcomings, Hayleigh's humanity shines through, her trials possess real meaning, and you yearn for her to succeed - cheering her small triumphs, and recoiling at the setbacks she suffers.
Wider social commentary is also handled deftly by de la Mer. At first, it seems that the feminists are right, that the world that Hayleigh inhabits is dangerous and exploitative to women, and that Hayleigh and her friends are nothing more than pieces of meat to be used and abused. And then Hayleigh gains the upper hand, and the reader asks: who's exploiting whom? And then, this idea is turned upside down once more, and we are none the wiser - a viewpoint that perfectly sums up such a complicated issue.
Like all good heroines, Hayleigh overcomes trial and tribulation. The addictive world she inhabits is dragging her down, something she is perfectly aware of. Finding the courage to walk away is no guarantee of a happy ending, and it's to de la Mer's credit that this is the case, but Hayleigh, irrevocably changed, takes that walk.
Layla could easily have become a stereotypical morality tale of dodgy strip clubs, Cockney wide boys, and the corrupting world of adult entertainment, but with a deft touch, and canny use of a differing perspective, it rises above the cliche and gives us a heroine you genuinely root for.
April 9, 2014
Layla Nina de la Mer
Well, what a fantastic read!
Layla is the story of a young girl (Hayleigh) who is estranged from her family in Peacehaven and who has moved to London where she has somehow ended up as a lap dancer.
She is essentially trying to save enough money to resurrect the broken relationship with her young child. She adopts the stage name of Layla for her routines and has to deal with everything life throws at her during the week or so that the book focuses on. (Users, creepy punters, unsympathetic friends, horrible flatmates, extortionate bosses and a manipulative on/ off boyfriend who is more like a pimp in reality).
Layla / Hayleigh is infuriating, deluded, honest and funny as fuck all at the same time.
At times you want to shake her and tell her to wise up and other times you want to protect and comfort her (but you sense that there’s no point in that when she throws away the chance to be with a genuinely nice feller).
Its written from a 2nd person perspective, and once you get used to this, it really helps the reader get inside the mind of Layla and understand the often illogical decisions she makes throughout the book.
Though I wouldn’t label this book as a thriller, it did have me on edge throughout. The pace is relentless. It’s not often that I read a book without wondering why certain passages were necessary and feeling a tad bored at some point, but the storylines and style of narrative ensures that you are nicely tensed throughout.
On the face of it, Layla comes across as completely dysfunctional at times and had it been written from the 3rd person perspective I think the reader would have far less sympathy and understanding for her.
In reality I think most people would run a mile from Layla but as much as I was often internally screaming at her regarding some of the choices she made I still found myself rooting for her, liking her and even finding her desirable in some ways.
Nina de la Mer has surpassed her previous outing (4am) with this gritty, believable enduring tale of how a person can let themselves be manipulated by others and by their own reasoning and you can clearly see the lengths she has gone to to make this story utterly believable and compelling from start to finish. (God I’m finding it hard to give further insights without a spoiler or two, so I’ll leave it at that).
Drugs, sex and violence all crammed into a story about a mother wanting to be reunited with her son, what more do you want?
5/5 highly recommended.
Well, what a fantastic read!
Layla is the story of a young girl (Hayleigh) who is estranged from her family in Peacehaven and who has moved to London where she has somehow ended up as a lap dancer.
She is essentially trying to save enough money to resurrect the broken relationship with her young child. She adopts the stage name of Layla for her routines and has to deal with everything life throws at her during the week or so that the book focuses on. (Users, creepy punters, unsympathetic friends, horrible flatmates, extortionate bosses and a manipulative on/ off boyfriend who is more like a pimp in reality).
Layla / Hayleigh is infuriating, deluded, honest and funny as fuck all at the same time.
At times you want to shake her and tell her to wise up and other times you want to protect and comfort her (but you sense that there’s no point in that when she throws away the chance to be with a genuinely nice feller).
Its written from a 2nd person perspective, and once you get used to this, it really helps the reader get inside the mind of Layla and understand the often illogical decisions she makes throughout the book.
Though I wouldn’t label this book as a thriller, it did have me on edge throughout. The pace is relentless. It’s not often that I read a book without wondering why certain passages were necessary and feeling a tad bored at some point, but the storylines and style of narrative ensures that you are nicely tensed throughout.
On the face of it, Layla comes across as completely dysfunctional at times and had it been written from the 3rd person perspective I think the reader would have far less sympathy and understanding for her.
In reality I think most people would run a mile from Layla but as much as I was often internally screaming at her regarding some of the choices she made I still found myself rooting for her, liking her and even finding her desirable in some ways.
Nina de la Mer has surpassed her previous outing (4am) with this gritty, believable enduring tale of how a person can let themselves be manipulated by others and by their own reasoning and you can clearly see the lengths she has gone to to make this story utterly believable and compelling from start to finish. (God I’m finding it hard to give further insights without a spoiler or two, so I’ll leave it at that).
Drugs, sex and violence all crammed into a story about a mother wanting to be reunited with her son, what more do you want?
5/5 highly recommended.
August 3, 2014
Hayleigh, A.K.A Layla, is a young woman from a small town who has run away to the big city (London) to find her place in the world. Instead, she has found herself in a seedy lap-dancing club, fighting off the self-loathing as much as the groping hands of the "Elegance" punters. She left behind a young son, Connor, after tensions with her mother became unbearable but is haunted by this and desperately clinging to the hope that if only she earns enough money she can return and be part of his life again. Over the course of a week, Hayleigh's life spins further out of control. Putting herself through horrific hangovers and comedowns and battling jealousy, she finds herself acting even more irrationally, homeless, and being pressured into taking up porn as a new career path. As the cover of the book asks "how much is enough?" When will Layla reach her breaking point and can she go back to being Hayleigh?
Narrated by Hayleigh, the voice is remarkably fresh and consistent. The way Hayleigh refers to herself as "you" rather than "I" feels authentic to her background but also is quite symbolic in the fact that she feels as though she needs to remove herself from her actions. Further, this turn of phrase forces the reader into her shoes and creates an immediate feeling of empathy with the character.
There are a few moments when Hayleigh's behaviour seems so bizarre it bordering on absurd but as you read more into the book you begin to realise the significance and the meaning of the incident. A prime example is when Hayleigh, crawling her way home after a night out, finds an injured pigeon and takes him home to nurse better. This has mixed results, she finds him comforting, but leaves him under her bed in a box with no food for extended periods of time and ultimately abandons him. Is Hayleigh incapable of being responsible, is this what happened with Connor? Soon though, we learn that Hayleigh had a favourite game with Connor where she would pretend to be a pigeon. It is in fact Hayleigh herself who needs taken care of but she neglects herself and trusts no one else.
Layla is an extremely well written and original novel. It is delicately structured with layers of meaning and Hayleigh is a true modern-day heroine for young women in this situation. Although you only see a week of Hayleigh's life you feel intimately connected with her and even if you disagree with some of her decisions you can't help but feel compassion for her. Nina de la Mer proves herself to be a true talent with this gritty, urban fairytale.
Narrated by Hayleigh, the voice is remarkably fresh and consistent. The way Hayleigh refers to herself as "you" rather than "I" feels authentic to her background but also is quite symbolic in the fact that she feels as though she needs to remove herself from her actions. Further, this turn of phrase forces the reader into her shoes and creates an immediate feeling of empathy with the character.
There are a few moments when Hayleigh's behaviour seems so bizarre it bordering on absurd but as you read more into the book you begin to realise the significance and the meaning of the incident. A prime example is when Hayleigh, crawling her way home after a night out, finds an injured pigeon and takes him home to nurse better. This has mixed results, she finds him comforting, but leaves him under her bed in a box with no food for extended periods of time and ultimately abandons him. Is Hayleigh incapable of being responsible, is this what happened with Connor? Soon though, we learn that Hayleigh had a favourite game with Connor where she would pretend to be a pigeon. It is in fact Hayleigh herself who needs taken care of but she neglects herself and trusts no one else.
Layla is an extremely well written and original novel. It is delicately structured with layers of meaning and Hayleigh is a true modern-day heroine for young women in this situation. Although you only see a week of Hayleigh's life you feel intimately connected with her and even if you disagree with some of her decisions you can't help but feel compassion for her. Nina de la Mer proves herself to be a true talent with this gritty, urban fairytale.
January 10, 2014
Original review for Judging Covers - http://judgingcovers.co.uk/reviews/la...
Down and out Hayleigh leaves Brighton after being chucked out by her mother for the big lights of London and becomes an exotic dancer with the stage name ‘Layla’. She’s left behind her family, her friends, boyfriend and son, leaving a gaping hole in her life that she tries to fill with money, drugs and alcohol. Needless to say, it’s a heartbreaking story.
This book was difficult to both read and stomach but it was definitely worth it. Not only is the subject matter quite grim and depressing but the actual way Layla is written is a bit disconcerting as well. Written in the second person (“you” rather than “I” or “he/she”), I almost found the writing style to be off-putting at the start until I warmed to it.
Despite her lifestyle choices and some particular decisions she makes, I did find myself rooting for Hayleigh right up to the end of the book. I wanted her to break away from her destructive life as a dancer, I wanted her to get the heck out of London and go back to her son. She might be abrasive and not my type of person, but I desperately wanted things to turn out good for the poor girl.
Layla packed a punch and didn’t hold back in the slightest. Nina de la Mer’s novel is gritty and visceral and, at times, leaves a bad taste in your mouth but all the same is a cracking read.
Down and out Hayleigh leaves Brighton after being chucked out by her mother for the big lights of London and becomes an exotic dancer with the stage name ‘Layla’. She’s left behind her family, her friends, boyfriend and son, leaving a gaping hole in her life that she tries to fill with money, drugs and alcohol. Needless to say, it’s a heartbreaking story.
This book was difficult to both read and stomach but it was definitely worth it. Not only is the subject matter quite grim and depressing but the actual way Layla is written is a bit disconcerting as well. Written in the second person (“you” rather than “I” or “he/she”), I almost found the writing style to be off-putting at the start until I warmed to it.
Despite her lifestyle choices and some particular decisions she makes, I did find myself rooting for Hayleigh right up to the end of the book. I wanted her to break away from her destructive life as a dancer, I wanted her to get the heck out of London and go back to her son. She might be abrasive and not my type of person, but I desperately wanted things to turn out good for the poor girl.
Layla packed a punch and didn’t hold back in the slightest. Nina de la Mer’s novel is gritty and visceral and, at times, leaves a bad taste in your mouth but all the same is a cracking read.
June 15, 2014
Hayleigh, known professionally as Layla, is a pole dancer. She is a young girl struggling to make enough money to return home to the son she had as a teenage mother. She is down, but definitely not out, determinedly working through all the crises thrown at her; even if it lacks the wisdom that can only come with maturity.
Written at a breathless pace in a Joycean mix of vivid narrative prose and dialogue, this is the type of writing that takes the risk of becoming repetitive, running out of steam, or out of control. But Nina de la Mer's hand is as firm as it was for her debut novel 4am. Her choice of words and subtle changes in sentence rhythm add yet another level to already richly textured storytelling. There is also a clear sense of plot weaving through writing dense with incident.
The use of second person narrative is a very risky ploy and one that normally grates on me. But in this case it serves to both distance Hayleigh from herself and at the same time compels the reader to immerse themselves in the story.
Layla is not my usual read, but I have begun to consider that anything with Nina de la Mer's stamp on it is impossible to ignore.
Written at a breathless pace in a Joycean mix of vivid narrative prose and dialogue, this is the type of writing that takes the risk of becoming repetitive, running out of steam, or out of control. But Nina de la Mer's hand is as firm as it was for her debut novel 4am. Her choice of words and subtle changes in sentence rhythm add yet another level to already richly textured storytelling. There is also a clear sense of plot weaving through writing dense with incident.
The use of second person narrative is a very risky ploy and one that normally grates on me. But in this case it serves to both distance Hayleigh from herself and at the same time compels the reader to immerse themselves in the story.
Layla is not my usual read, but I have begun to consider that anything with Nina de la Mer's stamp on it is impossible to ignore.
March 10, 2014
It is a book group cliche to say you like or care about the characters in a novel, but I grew to love Layla. Her immature, uneducated, self-loathing voice suits her plight perfectly. She is a complex heroine, with a lot to her. Loneliness is perhaps the quality which colours most of her experience in London, which I'm sure even the most hardened Londoner can relate to. As things go from bad to worse there are also shades of Patrick Hamilton in the relish with which De La Mer outlines Layla's worsening predicament. But the pep with which Layla tells her story (in the second person), the colloquialisms, the onomatopoeia, the typographic tricks, all of these are the author's own. If you value story and experimentation in equal measures, this book is for you.
March 30, 2015
Set in contemporary London, portraying the sleaze and exploitation of young women in Soho's dodgy clubs, Layla/Hayleigh is a well-drawn character with whom you'll side as she struggles to overcome multiple forms of cruel abuse to win back her child. The inconclusive ending left me wondering how she got on, as she seems to flirt with personal fulfilment. Such suspense is a joy, when, as it does in Layla, it leaves readers able to imagine the outcome or alternatives outcomes for themselves.
January 16, 2014
remarkably sustained voice, but with the increasingly looming spectre of things coming apart behind the narrator's consciousness. second person voice is totally compelling; desperation is palpable.
December 15, 2018
Layla. What a woman. What a girl.
What a story!
As much as I was not prepared for that kind of book, the style, the vocabulary, as much as I adored it from page one 'till the end.
Layla -Hayleigh- is a strong willed child-woman, trying to escape and get back to her son. And life gets in her way hard. She deal with it in her on way, not always the good one, and she stick to it.
It's not my usual kind of litterature, but I might look into it from now on.
Good reading for sure. Top 2018 read
What a story!
As much as I was not prepared for that kind of book, the style, the vocabulary, as much as I adored it from page one 'till the end.
Layla -Hayleigh- is a strong willed child-woman, trying to escape and get back to her son. And life gets in her way hard. She deal with it in her on way, not always the good one, and she stick to it.
It's not my usual kind of litterature, but I might look into it from now on.
Good reading for sure. Top 2018 read
April 7, 2022
Not really my cup of tea but was alright x
January 5, 2024
Feel like I missed the point of this book entirely?
May 18, 2024
Visceral, frantic, upsetting.
May 19, 2014
Roughly once a year, I have a good old internet rant about lap dancing clubs, mentioning how the excuse of ‘but the girls choose to do it – it’s empowering’ reminds me of ‘the horses love it’ in relation to steeple-chasing. People believe what suits them.
So, it was with relish that I embarked on Layla. I wasn’t disappointed. Instead of my yearly rant, I can now suggest people read this fictional, yet well-researched, story of a lap dancer’s life. It covers all the issues (coercion, competition, house fees, corruption, sore bikini lines etc.) However, it’s also balanced - some characters do genuinely enjoy their jobs. However, it manages not to be too obviously ‘issuey’ and still delivers a captivating read, which had me on my toes until the very end. NdlM has noted her research resources at the end of the book and I was happy to see that she had consulted the organisation OBJECT (Women Not Sex Objects) for this purpose.
One of the things I often wonder is how someone could wind up doing such a degrading job – I presume they must be in some sort of desperate need with few opportunities to remedy it – maybe they’re a young single parent. I was grateful that Hayleigh/ Layla (her club name), the protagonist, is just that, and I couldn’t help but root for her. I’ve also wondered why the types of men who visit these establishments don’t consider such things – the things that make the women people rather than objects to serve them. The book addresses all of this and characterises the clientele and management in a way that they absolutely deserve.
I enjoyed the clever way that the narration uses the second person pronoun – and also a colloquial voice. So, Hayleigh is not only addressing her own thoughts but she is inviting the reader to step right into her (painful stiletto) shoes ¬– what if it was you? I feel that this enables greater affiliation, and therefore understanding and empathy, between the reader and narrator.
The book leaves no doubt over whether lap dancing clubs are establishments of sexual exploitation. The only downside is that I expect the people who I wish would read it (club owners, punters), won’t read it. I hope that any young woman considering this job does, so she will at best reconsider, and, if not, at least go into it with her eyes open. I think fiction (and especially this book because of its narrative voice) is more likely to be persuasive in this respect than an organisation dictating the hard facts.
After mainly reading graphic novels for the past couple of years, Layla has whetted my appetite for more prose fiction. Both have equal footing on my bookshelves, but I have neglected prose fiction for a long time and this has me hooked again.
So, it was with relish that I embarked on Layla. I wasn’t disappointed. Instead of my yearly rant, I can now suggest people read this fictional, yet well-researched, story of a lap dancer’s life. It covers all the issues (coercion, competition, house fees, corruption, sore bikini lines etc.) However, it’s also balanced - some characters do genuinely enjoy their jobs. However, it manages not to be too obviously ‘issuey’ and still delivers a captivating read, which had me on my toes until the very end. NdlM has noted her research resources at the end of the book and I was happy to see that she had consulted the organisation OBJECT (Women Not Sex Objects) for this purpose.
One of the things I often wonder is how someone could wind up doing such a degrading job – I presume they must be in some sort of desperate need with few opportunities to remedy it – maybe they’re a young single parent. I was grateful that Hayleigh/ Layla (her club name), the protagonist, is just that, and I couldn’t help but root for her. I’ve also wondered why the types of men who visit these establishments don’t consider such things – the things that make the women people rather than objects to serve them. The book addresses all of this and characterises the clientele and management in a way that they absolutely deserve.
I enjoyed the clever way that the narration uses the second person pronoun – and also a colloquial voice. So, Hayleigh is not only addressing her own thoughts but she is inviting the reader to step right into her (painful stiletto) shoes ¬– what if it was you? I feel that this enables greater affiliation, and therefore understanding and empathy, between the reader and narrator.
The book leaves no doubt over whether lap dancing clubs are establishments of sexual exploitation. The only downside is that I expect the people who I wish would read it (club owners, punters), won’t read it. I hope that any young woman considering this job does, so she will at best reconsider, and, if not, at least go into it with her eyes open. I think fiction (and especially this book because of its narrative voice) is more likely to be persuasive in this respect than an organisation dictating the hard facts.
After mainly reading graphic novels for the past couple of years, Layla has whetted my appetite for more prose fiction. Both have equal footing on my bookshelves, but I have neglected prose fiction for a long time and this has me hooked again.
December 8, 2016
Layla takes poor decisions. She’s 19 years old, living in a shared flat in London and earns her living as a dancer in a strip club.
The subject matter tends to channel people’s thinking down pre-conceived channels. Perhaps Layla is a poor innocent, being exploited for men’s pleasure. Perhaps she is a drug addict. Perhaps she is really a lovely person just waiting for the right man to rescue her. Perhaps she hates men.
But Layla is way more subtle. There may be shades of these preconceptions that apply, but basically Layla is a selfish and headstrong woman who is trying to earn enough money to run away with the son she seems to have abandoned back home in Peacehaven. Her motives mix good and bad, but mostly are just not thought through. There’s little consideration of the consequences of her actions on others and very little attempt to match short term decisions to her long term strategy.
Layla is not going to have a good life.
The novel is told, unusually, in second person. Whilst this is normally irritating in a novel, here it is mostly successful. It creates a sense of immediacy and is presumably supposed to add to the authenticity of Layla’s voice – as though she is narrating aloud to herself. On balance I think the first person would have been a wiser choice – at best the second person screams of quirkiness for its own sake – but it’s not a biggie.
The subject matter is grungey and explicit. We get to see the inner workings of the club; the expectations of the clients and the services on offer. At times it becomes quite gynaecological. We also get a good insight into Layla’s private life; her back story; her flatmates; her boyfriends. It isn’t a pretty picture but, at the same time, one has to conclude that Layla is pretty much the architect of her own misfortunes. There are so many points, in the story itself and in Layla’s past, where you just will her to take a different course of action. And despite past experience, each future choice brings fresh hope that Layla will get it right.
This is not a light, heartwarming novel. It has been described as James Kelman-esque in the offering of an [almost] unbroken monologue from the margins of society. I’d say that’s a fair comparison. And just like James Kelman, a reader’s perception of the novel will hinge entirely on whether or not they bond, however loosely, with the narrator.
The subject matter tends to channel people’s thinking down pre-conceived channels. Perhaps Layla is a poor innocent, being exploited for men’s pleasure. Perhaps she is a drug addict. Perhaps she is really a lovely person just waiting for the right man to rescue her. Perhaps she hates men.
But Layla is way more subtle. There may be shades of these preconceptions that apply, but basically Layla is a selfish and headstrong woman who is trying to earn enough money to run away with the son she seems to have abandoned back home in Peacehaven. Her motives mix good and bad, but mostly are just not thought through. There’s little consideration of the consequences of her actions on others and very little attempt to match short term decisions to her long term strategy.
Layla is not going to have a good life.
The novel is told, unusually, in second person. Whilst this is normally irritating in a novel, here it is mostly successful. It creates a sense of immediacy and is presumably supposed to add to the authenticity of Layla’s voice – as though she is narrating aloud to herself. On balance I think the first person would have been a wiser choice – at best the second person screams of quirkiness for its own sake – but it’s not a biggie.
The subject matter is grungey and explicit. We get to see the inner workings of the club; the expectations of the clients and the services on offer. At times it becomes quite gynaecological. We also get a good insight into Layla’s private life; her back story; her flatmates; her boyfriends. It isn’t a pretty picture but, at the same time, one has to conclude that Layla is pretty much the architect of her own misfortunes. There are so many points, in the story itself and in Layla’s past, where you just will her to take a different course of action. And despite past experience, each future choice brings fresh hope that Layla will get it right.
This is not a light, heartwarming novel. It has been described as James Kelman-esque in the offering of an [almost] unbroken monologue from the margins of society. I’d say that’s a fair comparison. And just like James Kelman, a reader’s perception of the novel will hinge entirely on whether or not they bond, however loosely, with the narrator.
September 2, 2015
Arriving in London, Hayleigh finds work as lap dancer 'Layla'. Determined to beat the sleaze and the system, her plan is to make enough money to prove to the world, and her mother, that she is a fit parent. Layla survives on wit and skillful moves, confident of her looks and in her ability to exploit men before they can exploit her. Avoiding the changing-room politics and staggering through boozy nights, she sweet talks her boss, dodges stalking clients and keeps the truth from her housemates. But over the course of a chaotic week, a series of shocking events forces changes.
This is not my usual read and was something different.
A lot to think about eg, it seems that the feminists are right, that the world that Hayleigh inhabits is dangerous and exploitative to women using them and viewing them as pieces of meat. Then Hayleigh gains the upper hand, and the reader asks: who's exploiting whom? And then, this idea is turned upside down once more, and we are none the wiser - a viewpoint that perfectly sums up such a complicated issue.
Hayleigh overcomes trial and tribulation. The addictive world she inhabits is dragging her down, something she is perfectly aware of. Finding the courage to walk away is no guarantee of a happy ending, and I found myself rooting for Hayleigh to make that move and walk away from everything and for her to become happy.
We don't know what happens for definite,however we know there is a chance for Hayleigh to change her life and that is a good ending.
This is not my usual read and was something different.
A lot to think about eg, it seems that the feminists are right, that the world that Hayleigh inhabits is dangerous and exploitative to women using them and viewing them as pieces of meat. Then Hayleigh gains the upper hand, and the reader asks: who's exploiting whom? And then, this idea is turned upside down once more, and we are none the wiser - a viewpoint that perfectly sums up such a complicated issue.
Hayleigh overcomes trial and tribulation. The addictive world she inhabits is dragging her down, something she is perfectly aware of. Finding the courage to walk away is no guarantee of a happy ending, and I found myself rooting for Hayleigh to make that move and walk away from everything and for her to become happy.
We don't know what happens for definite,however we know there is a chance for Hayleigh to change her life and that is a good ending.
April 29, 2014
The author of this novel never even was a dancer, so how would she know what it feels like? This book is far too cliched and portrays the main protagonist as a victim, which is quite strange since said 'victim' could have made different life choices, seeing that she lives in a free country.
This is just another little weapon in Object's arsenal of insidious tools to undermine the striptease industry. I would be more sympathetic if books of this type dealt with the real problems in this world and not an 18-year-old's self-inflicted difficulties. It is very hard to take someone (fictional or real) seriously when they are a mother at 18 years of age. Feminism is not about proscribing young girls from doing this or that but about teaching them ways to be free and successful in this world. Having a child when you're a teenager is definitely not one of these ways.
This is just another little weapon in Object's arsenal of insidious tools to undermine the striptease industry. I would be more sympathetic if books of this type dealt with the real problems in this world and not an 18-year-old's self-inflicted difficulties. It is very hard to take someone (fictional or real) seriously when they are a mother at 18 years of age. Feminism is not about proscribing young girls from doing this or that but about teaching them ways to be free and successful in this world. Having a child when you're a teenager is definitely not one of these ways.
May 13, 2014
I won this book in the Goodreads Giveaways. Fantastic book! I read the book at every opportunity i had and struggled to put it down. The story is so well written, you feel like you are with Hayleigh every step of the way through her life changing week, it make you feel and care for her and genuine worry if she and her son will be alright. Highly Recommended.
May 12, 2014
All the pace of a thriller, but with a social message as well. The world of lap dancing is painted in vivid, believable detail while the plot really pulls you along. I enjoyed this book and would recommend it as an alternative to ‘happy hooker’ stories like Belle de Jour.
May 8, 2016
Authentic and honest, Haleigh/Layla's descent is beautifully documented with a perfect pace, with tantalising glimpses of her life 'before' Layla offering a reason, without excuses, for her situation.
September 21, 2017
No word of a lie, this book would have been an easy four stars had it been written in first-person. Or even third-person. The second-person perspective is horrible and put me off the entire novel.
I loved the story, but I hated how it was written.
I loved the story, but I hated how it was written.
April 10, 2014
de la Mer's best novel to date by a mile and a truly absorbing read. Await this great novelist's next offering eagerly!
September 1, 2018
A young lap dancer/a mother separated from her child trying to find her way back. This book is a good read but it won't be for everyone
May 22, 2015
Loved it! Original, thought provoking and real. Really liked the narrative style and would definitely read something else by this author.
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