Acclaimed writer Saba Sams’s debut novel grew from her desire to read a convincing birth scene; it was while crafting that episode Sams came up with her narrator Jules who serves as witness to this birth. The rest of Sam’s book flowed from these images, a slice-of-life, short story that just kept going. Sams sets out to interrogate dominant concepts of motherhood, intent on questioning the narrowness of notions of what does or doesn’t make a family. For Jules family is synonymous with convention. She grew up in a suburb close to Brighton, experiencing her parents’ careful attention as close to smothering. Jules dreamt instead of having her own child, establishing a relationship where she’s the one in control. As an adult, Jules moves to central Brighton where she ends up working at a shabby nightclub Gunk. A dilapidated space that appeals to rich students intent on rebelling against their bourgeois origins. Gunk’s owner is an older man Leon who possesses a kind of sleazy charisma, Jules eventually marries then later divorces him but takes on running his club. It’s there Jules becomes entangled with the much younger Nim whose unexpected pregnancy will bind them together in entirely unanticipated ways.
Sams is drawing on aspects of her own life here, she had the first of her three children while still a student, and her family circle is opened up to friends and relatives, rather than locked down in nuclear family mode. A form that clearly no longer works for women, if it ever did. Sams is interested in mothering as a practice: who mothers, who’s mothered and how. She also wants to chronicle the essential messiness of everyday life: Nim’s feelings for Jules; Jules’s complicated emotions for ex Leon and so on. Sams’s novel unfolds at a languid pace, the claustrophobic world within worlds represented by Gunk underlined by the claustrophobic atmosphere that pervades her story. Sams’s accomplished prose is often direct and visceral, but it can also be lyrical and tender echoing elements of the tentative bonds being formed between Nim, Jules and the unnamed child – although sometimes that tenderness threatens to tip over into sentimentality.
Sams touches on external, social issues around mothering – such as the surveillance culture mothers are routinely subjected to – but I wanted her to dig deeper, to say more about the political and economic aspects of contemporary parenting. Instead, the primary focus here is on Jules and her evolving state of mind. And I just didn’t find Jules entirely convincing. I couldn’t fully comprehend what was driving her desperation to have and raise a child. It seemed so vastly removed from any consideration of the child itself and its potential needs. It felt, to me at least, as if Jules’s impulse was closer to yearning for some unobtainable object or commodity – an extension of consumerism. However, it transpired that this type of transactionality was very much part of what Sams was seeking to explore and undermine, it’s just that this aspect of her narrative came a little too late, and was a little too rushed, to satisfy. For all that this was a well-observed, absorbing read, likely to appeal to fans of authors like Gwendoline Riley.
Thanks to Netgalley and to publisher Bloomsbury Circus for an ARC