The Photographer’s Wife, the second novel by Suzanne Joinson, is a compelling read. The narrative is largely shared between Jerusalem in 1920 - where we meet Prue, an 11 year old summoned by her father but largely ignored by him - and the East Sussex coast in 1937, where Prue, now a successful artist but newly separated from her husband, is accompanied by her young son, who is quickly turning into a feral beachcomber.
The novel is populated by an extraordinary cast of characters, most of whom seem to be either searching for answers or else avoiding questions, or doing both simultaneously. Jerusalem in 1920 is fractious and there is hostility towards British rule. Prue, nicknamed ‘the little witness’ by staff of the hotel where she lives, is left largely to her own devices and spends a considerable amount of her time spying on the guests – watching, thinking, puzzling. She is befriended by the eccentric Eleanora, who is married to a well-known local photographer. Prue discovers that Eleanora’s husband is also a fervent, anti-British nationalist. The arrival of a childhood friend of Eleanora’s stirs the flames of jealousy from different quarters.
The dark colours and sepia tones used throughout the book are extraordinarily well rendered by Joinson who presents us with a whole troupe of troubled, haunted characters, who struggle to make sense of the times and the places in which they live. All the main characters are secretive and complex and are only partially revealed to us, as if we are not permitted to know them well. The glimpses we are given produce a photographic flash effect – sudden, very bright images lasting a moment, surrounded by impenetrable shadow. There is a dark thread of foreboding which runs through both narratives and one senses them gradually being drawn together, disentangling twisted relationships and hinting at answers to the questions that torment. The overall effect is darkly tinted, and deeply disturbing.
In this way, Joinson creates something of a page-turner and Prue’s curiosity is transferred to the reader as the complexities of the plots reveal themselves. I was particularly struck by the way that the author did not try to give neat, compact answers to all the dilemmas faced by her characters and, instead, sometimes left the reader in much the same state as they were – the same worries and anxieties. This adds to the sense of place, of being there, each left to be our own ‘little witness’ to the events unfolding.