Sarah Sasson’s debut novel, ‘Tidelines’, focuses on the Donohue family, through the eyes of its youngest member, Grub. Told in first-person narrative, Grub takes us from the early 2000s, through to 2012 as she recounts how her family was impacted by the actions of her idolised older brother, Elijah, and asks who, if anyone, is to blame.
The novel tackles the issue of mental health in a head-on manner, with writing that is crisp and emotional enough to draw the reader into the anxiety and dread that our main character feels. At other times, we feel nostalgia for the Halcyon days of childhood, even if it’s a depiction of a childhood we never experienced ourselves.
It’s a supreme strength of the novel that, while I wouldn’t call it slow burning, it eases through the moments of our characters lives, and draws us into them. Sasson crafts a neat trail of breadcrumbs for the discerning reader to follow as well – this gives the impact of the audience knowing more than the narrator. We are left not to determine what will happen, rather when it will happen and what the fallout will be.
The characters are clear and true. Grub and Elijah’s parents are defined almost exclusively by their passions – music for the mother, birdwatching for the father – and their differing styles of parenting both encourage and stifle their children at various intervals. As the novel progresses, it raises questions for Grub in particular who wonder if this parent had done that, or if the other had done something else, would things have been different.
The reader too finds themselves asking the same thing of various moments.
Grub is a compelling narrator – we are given a taste of her life from childhood to struggling (and recovering) adult, and it feels firmly authentic. All of the characters do, right down to the people Grub lists as she passes them in the street.
The same can be said for Elijah whose boyish charms in his youth present someone that we want to spend time with; we understand the desire to spend time in his stratosphere. The changes in his personality are dealt with subtly and gradually – it’s not suddenly rammed into a few pages that he has changed overnight because that’s not how it happens.
At times, Grub feels like Harper Lee’s Scout, recalling Jem’s heroics and actions; at others, she feels like Ky in Tracey Lien’s ‘All That’s Left Unsaid’, as she desperately tries to solve the puzzle that is Elijah.
The author has brought all of her professional experience to bear on the scientific and medical aspects of the novel – though perhaps a little too scientific in explaining Grub’s research profession, even though the symbolism of it is smart. But the other questions around mental health are dealt with in a non-sensational manner – with the story and atmosphere she has carved out, it would feel like a disservice to have taken that particular route with it.
The seeming catalyst for Elijah’s change is Zed, with whom the novel’s central duo strike up a friendship after a chance encounter at the beach. The friendship between the two older boys serves to stir up feelings of alienation within Grub, who is also going through teenage issues of her own. Again, these are addressed in a very real, honest way that overshadows the generic nature of them.
Zed is a character that we don’t learn an awful lot about, mainly because Grub doesn’t learn an awful lot about him – what we know, we know more from his omissions than anything that he says.
But perhaps that is the point that the novel wishes to convey – we all have choices and we are the ones who make them. While others may influence or advise, the decision remains in our own hands. It is something that Grub learns as well, albeit in far different circumstances.
Perhaps to know more about Zed would filter our understanding of this, draw us away from that idea, help to perpetuate a stereotype even.
I do think that the opening scene is left hanging for far too long; it bookends the novel and I did find myself wondering, as the finish line rapidly approached, if the author would return to it. I felt that maybe she should have returned to it more often, as a way of anchoring the different sections of the novel and as a way of ratcheting up some tension as to what may be about to unfold.
I think it would have served as an interesting anchor between the present and the past of the novel, further emphasising the impact of one on the other.
That said, I would highly recommend ‘Tidelines’ to anyone who wants to read a well-crafted and authentic story of a family as they deal with the best and worst that life can throw at them.
Thank you to Affirm Press for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are my own.