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The Glad Shout
After a catastrophic storm destroys Melbourne, Isobel flees to higher ground with her husband and young daughter. Food and supplies run low, panic sets in and still no help arrives. To protect her daughter, Isobel must take drastic action.
The Glad Shout is an extraordinary novel of rare depth and texture. Told in a starkly visual and compelling narrative, this is a deeply moving homage to motherhood and the struggles faced by women in difficult times.
The Glad Shout is an extraordinary novel of rare depth and texture. Told in a starkly visual and compelling narrative, this is a deeply moving homage to motherhood and the struggles faced by women in difficult times.
320 pages, Hardcover
First published February 26, 2019
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930 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 116 reviews
May 6, 2020
The Glad Shout
is a book about motherhood. It’s set in a near-future version of Melbourne, in a world ravaged by climate change. Despite the speculative premise this is, at all times, a literary novel about mothers and daughters.
When a super storm devastates the city, surviving residents take refuge in a sports stadium. Here we meet Isobel and her three-year-old daughter Matilda. Through flashbacks, we learn of Isobel’s relationships with her own mother and grandmother, as she was growing up during a time of worsening climate change. The effects are gradual at first, then accelerate into total economic collapse by the time Isobel comes into adulthood. Then: flooding, food shortages, violence… and the calamitous storm which leaves them with nothing.
By imagining a (frighteningly plausible) period of rapid societal upheaval, Robinson lets us view the role of motherhood through very different frames, with each generation of women taking on that role in totally different social contexts. For Isobel, terrified and faced with having to protect her daughter through such adversity, her sense of her own identity as a mother is galvanised and its tensile limits tested to an almost unbearable degree. This test really is the core of the book.
While Isobel and Matilda are clearly in grave danger throughout, as a reader I never really believed that any harm would come to them, so the stakes felt weirdly low. The overall pacing and structure also felt a little bit off, but it did come together in the final chapters, which delivered the tension and drama that had been lacking earlier. So, a slightly patchy read for me, but still a solid 3.5 stars.
When a super storm devastates the city, surviving residents take refuge in a sports stadium. Here we meet Isobel and her three-year-old daughter Matilda. Through flashbacks, we learn of Isobel’s relationships with her own mother and grandmother, as she was growing up during a time of worsening climate change. The effects are gradual at first, then accelerate into total economic collapse by the time Isobel comes into adulthood. Then: flooding, food shortages, violence… and the calamitous storm which leaves them with nothing.
By imagining a (frighteningly plausible) period of rapid societal upheaval, Robinson lets us view the role of motherhood through very different frames, with each generation of women taking on that role in totally different social contexts. For Isobel, terrified and faced with having to protect her daughter through such adversity, her sense of her own identity as a mother is galvanised and its tensile limits tested to an almost unbearable degree. This test really is the core of the book.
While Isobel and Matilda are clearly in grave danger throughout, as a reader I never really believed that any harm would come to them, so the stakes felt weirdly low. The overall pacing and structure also felt a little bit off, but it did come together in the final chapters, which delivered the tension and drama that had been lacking earlier. So, a slightly patchy read for me, but still a solid 3.5 stars.
March 10, 2019
A horrifically plausible book about the climate apocalypse and the ways families try to survive it. Awful but brilliant. I was less captivated by the alternate chapters that told the family backstory than the breathless chapters set amidst the disaster, but the broader themes of motherhood and family cut across both sections strongly.
May 13, 2019
*spoilers*
Only mothers know what it means to truly love.
They also have a monopoly on deep loss and suffering which those who haven’t pushed a baby out of their uterus can never understand.
This is spelled out clearly in this extract about Isobel's brother Josh and his abrupt departure:
“You won’t get this at all Issy. Why would you? You have your who life ahead of you. But my baby is gone.”
At the time Isobel had been offended by the inference that she was limited in scope, too immature and narrow-minded to comprehend the full magnitude of Luna’s pain. The word that sprang to mind was barren; she was childless, Luna seemed to be saying, and therefore even if she wanted to, she couldn’t grasp what it was to be without the person one loved most.
Seen now, from the brutally expansive vantage point of her own motherhood, she knows in her bones that Luna had been right; she hadn’t grasped what Luna meant at all. She understands now, though. She does!
Yes, the author actually uses the ‘b’ word.
This is ostensibly a book about ecological devastation, but it’s also about mothers and motherhood (how fitting that I’m writing this review on Mother’s Day).
The connection between the two is clear, as the treatment of Mother Earth has brought humanity to the brink of annihilation. The descriptions of the encroaching ecological disaster are the strongest parts of the book. The rising waters and slow breakdown of society are believable and well written, especially with recent news reports about Australian towns running out of water.
While the ‘cli-fi’ aspect of the book are timely and welcome (hence the 3 stars), the underlying story line and characters were average for me. Some sections, particularly the flashbacks and the ending were too drawn out.
The author obviously wanted to write about the ability of women to endure in the face of extreme hardship. The cataclysmic changes taking place are compared to giving birth. Unlike the strong women in the book, all the major male characters are deserters. Isobel’s father, brother Josh, husband Shaun and even Nonno walk out and leave the women and children behind.
Women are the survivors, but in the context of the book, their strength is reduced to the basest level, which is looking out for their own offspring at the expense of everything else. Isobel leaves her friend June behind at the chaotic camp on her own with five young children to care for, including a newborn she helped deliver. She makes only a token protest and doesn’t even have the decency to tell her where she’s going, instead pretending she’s hooked up with a young soldier for food.
Shaun’s desire to help other people is portrayed in an extreme way to highlight his selfishness in not putting his family first. The problem is that people looking out for themselves first and disregarding the needs and suffering of others is exactly what has led to the current political, social and ecological mess. Only collective change can make a difference at this point.
The fetishisation of motherhood on display in this book has very conservative implications. Protecting one’s own young is a basic biological impulse. Caring for others who are not related to you is a higher-order trait that separates humans from animals. Reducing the struggle to survive in the book to a mother protecting her daughter weakened what could have been a great novel.
But as a ‘barren’ woman, what would I know about anything?
Only mothers know what it means to truly love.
They also have a monopoly on deep loss and suffering which those who haven’t pushed a baby out of their uterus can never understand.
This is spelled out clearly in this extract about Isobel's brother Josh and his abrupt departure:
“You won’t get this at all Issy. Why would you? You have your who life ahead of you. But my baby is gone.”
At the time Isobel had been offended by the inference that she was limited in scope, too immature and narrow-minded to comprehend the full magnitude of Luna’s pain. The word that sprang to mind was barren; she was childless, Luna seemed to be saying, and therefore even if she wanted to, she couldn’t grasp what it was to be without the person one loved most.
Seen now, from the brutally expansive vantage point of her own motherhood, she knows in her bones that Luna had been right; she hadn’t grasped what Luna meant at all. She understands now, though. She does!
Yes, the author actually uses the ‘b’ word.
This is ostensibly a book about ecological devastation, but it’s also about mothers and motherhood (how fitting that I’m writing this review on Mother’s Day).
The connection between the two is clear, as the treatment of Mother Earth has brought humanity to the brink of annihilation. The descriptions of the encroaching ecological disaster are the strongest parts of the book. The rising waters and slow breakdown of society are believable and well written, especially with recent news reports about Australian towns running out of water.
While the ‘cli-fi’ aspect of the book are timely and welcome (hence the 3 stars), the underlying story line and characters were average for me. Some sections, particularly the flashbacks and the ending were too drawn out.
The author obviously wanted to write about the ability of women to endure in the face of extreme hardship. The cataclysmic changes taking place are compared to giving birth. Unlike the strong women in the book, all the major male characters are deserters. Isobel’s father, brother Josh, husband Shaun and even Nonno walk out and leave the women and children behind.
Women are the survivors, but in the context of the book, their strength is reduced to the basest level, which is looking out for their own offspring at the expense of everything else. Isobel leaves her friend June behind at the chaotic camp on her own with five young children to care for, including a newborn she helped deliver. She makes only a token protest and doesn’t even have the decency to tell her where she’s going, instead pretending she’s hooked up with a young soldier for food.
Shaun’s desire to help other people is portrayed in an extreme way to highlight his selfishness in not putting his family first. The problem is that people looking out for themselves first and disregarding the needs and suffering of others is exactly what has led to the current political, social and ecological mess. Only collective change can make a difference at this point.
The fetishisation of motherhood on display in this book has very conservative implications. Protecting one’s own young is a basic biological impulse. Caring for others who are not related to you is a higher-order trait that separates humans from animals. Reducing the struggle to survive in the book to a mother protecting her daughter weakened what could have been a great novel.
But as a ‘barren’ woman, what would I know about anything?
September 29, 2019
3.5 stars
The Glad Shout by Alice Robinson: a bleak and somewhat dystopian tale about motherhood in a time of climate disaster. Robinson is great prose stylist and I resonated with many of her reflections on the tedium of motherhood, the gender politics of parenting and the general difficulties of caring for small children. I also found the book overall successfully created an atmosphere of doom and dread that has left me thinking (constantly, since I finished it) about what the future might look like for me as a mother, or more likely, for my daughter, if we don’t immediately and radically change the way we live and the way the world is run.
I did the find the pacing a bit out of kilter- we learn about protagonist Isobel through dual timelines - one in the future present, as she struggles to survive a catastrophic storm event with her daughter, and one in her own childhood. I found Isobel’s past storyline less relevant to the climate change theme than her her adult storyline, and so found those sections dragged for me. I also found all characters except Isobel quite underdeveloped which made it hard for me to invest in them, and sometimes Isobel’s own responses to emergency seemed less urgent than maybe I think they would have been in real life. That said, I have nevertheless been affected by this book, and look forward to what Robinson brings us next.
The Glad Shout by Alice Robinson: a bleak and somewhat dystopian tale about motherhood in a time of climate disaster. Robinson is great prose stylist and I resonated with many of her reflections on the tedium of motherhood, the gender politics of parenting and the general difficulties of caring for small children. I also found the book overall successfully created an atmosphere of doom and dread that has left me thinking (constantly, since I finished it) about what the future might look like for me as a mother, or more likely, for my daughter, if we don’t immediately and radically change the way we live and the way the world is run.
I did the find the pacing a bit out of kilter- we learn about protagonist Isobel through dual timelines - one in the future present, as she struggles to survive a catastrophic storm event with her daughter, and one in her own childhood. I found Isobel’s past storyline less relevant to the climate change theme than her her adult storyline, and so found those sections dragged for me. I also found all characters except Isobel quite underdeveloped which made it hard for me to invest in them, and sometimes Isobel’s own responses to emergency seemed less urgent than maybe I think they would have been in real life. That said, I have nevertheless been affected by this book, and look forward to what Robinson brings us next.
July 19, 2020
Climate change has hit. After years of steady rise in sea levels, a massive storm destroys the East Coast of Australia. Isobel flees to a refugee camp with her husband and young daughter and the processes of panic, violence, greed and human kindness float to the surface. In alternate chapters Isobel's life story is told with the relationship with her mother, her grandmother and between these two women at the forefront. And it is motherhood, relationships between women and between mother and child that is the essence of the book.
A couple of small things that I found annoying. Isobel's 3 year old talked like a teenager. And why use American words like bleachers and moonshine in a book set in Australia?
A couple of small things that I found annoying. Isobel's 3 year old talked like a teenager. And why use American words like bleachers and moonshine in a book set in Australia?
March 13, 2019
Grim. Visceral. I enjoyed the writing. Climate change is real so it wasn't difficult to get pulled into the story. Unfortunately, I found Isobel, very unlikable, to the point I wanted to punch her. And I don't think you were meant to feel that way about her. I felt sympathy for her mother Luna; I couldn't quite understand why Josh left the way he did. And poor Shauno. My heart just ached for him. I'm a mother of three; when I finished The Glad Shout, I couldn't help but think about readers that are not parents. I wonder what their take on this story will be.
May 27, 2020
Holy shit.
This book is brilliant. I wept and I sat constantly in between a space of awe and feverent jealousy for the writer's skills. She writes so seamlessly and beautifully, capturing the familiar with such fitting imagery. Having became a mother again recently definitely made this all the more gut wrenching and perhaps engaged me more. It was also terrifying as the climate catastrophe storyline is entirely plausible. But the quieter, familial moments hit me hardest. Just absolutely stunning. Will sit with me for a long time.
This book is brilliant. I wept and I sat constantly in between a space of awe and feverent jealousy for the writer's skills. She writes so seamlessly and beautifully, capturing the familiar with such fitting imagery. Having became a mother again recently definitely made this all the more gut wrenching and perhaps engaged me more. It was also terrifying as the climate catastrophe storyline is entirely plausible. But the quieter, familial moments hit me hardest. Just absolutely stunning. Will sit with me for a long time.
March 20, 2019
Here in Australia, our national broadcaster doesn't see fit to report on Cyclone Idai (https://www.theguardian.com/world/201...) ...
So it is left to fiction to tell the story of the fate of millions as climate change wreaks havoc around the globe. Alice Robinson's new book The Glad Shout tells the story of a storm which destroyed Melbourne, much like Cyclone Idai wrecking cities in Africa. The streets are flooded; houses have been destroyed; some people are rescued from their rooftops and others are not. When the story opens Isobel is in a relief centre set up in the cavernous space behind the stadium bleachers, where overpriced merchandise and greasy food were one sold during games. In a setting where every location is recognisable, Isobel Wilson is with her husband Shaun and her small daughter Matilda:
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2019/03/20/t...
So it is left to fiction to tell the story of the fate of millions as climate change wreaks havoc around the globe. Alice Robinson's new book The Glad Shout tells the story of a storm which destroyed Melbourne, much like Cyclone Idai wrecking cities in Africa. The streets are flooded; houses have been destroyed; some people are rescued from their rooftops and others are not. When the story opens Isobel is in a relief centre set up in the cavernous space behind the stadium bleachers, where overpriced merchandise and greasy food were one sold during games. In a setting where every location is recognisable, Isobel Wilson is with her husband Shaun and her small daughter Matilda:
Jostled and soaked, copping an elbow to her ribs, smelling wet wool and sweat and the stony creek scent of damp concrete, Isobel grips Shaun's cold fingers and clamps Matilda to her hip, terrified of losing them in the roiling crowd. The grounds of the stadium-turned-Emergency Relief Centre are still marked with turf paint. Within hours it will no doubt turn to mud, but for now, as families surge up through the bleachers, the playing field still looks pristine. Floodwaters have not yet breached the sandbags outside, but there is water in the street and it's rising. (p.1)
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2019/03/20/t...
September 20, 2019
3.5 *
Very readable. Read in one sitting. Compelling enough, but didn't knock my socks off. A good solid reading experience.
Very readable. Read in one sitting. Compelling enough, but didn't knock my socks off. A good solid reading experience.
December 16, 2019
Couldn't like this book, I'm summarise it, every conversation is some form of argument between every character, none of which you'll care about. I get their living in stressful time, but the selfishness of the main characters (and most of the other characters) become cliché after a while.
One thing I'll say is the language, descriptive narrative, and the central idea for the story are good, which is good probably why it's gotten good reviews on here. However, I really like character development in books but I came away feeling like I didn't know any of the characters except Isobel, and i didn't believe the majority of the dialogue and to be honest I couldn't wait to finish it.
One thing I'll say is the language, descriptive narrative, and the central idea for the story are good, which is good probably why it's gotten good reviews on here. However, I really like character development in books but I came away feeling like I didn't know any of the characters except Isobel, and i didn't believe the majority of the dialogue and to be honest I couldn't wait to finish it.
August 14, 2019
The Glad Shout (Affirm Press 2019) by Alice Robinson is a taut and tension-filled novel that combines both a compelling narrative with a tender exploration of the complexities of relationships. The book opens with Isobel, her partner Shaun and their three-year-old daughter Matilda, as they struggle to orientate themselves at an Emergency Relief Centre set up in a sports stadium in one of Australia’s capitals. A massive storm has caused havoc and disaster, with major flooding inundating the entire city. The place is in turmoil, with underequipped aid workers trying to manage the distribution of supplies of food, water and shelter, flimsy and overcrowded medical tents providing inadequate care to the sick and injured, long queues for the stinking latrines, and outside – almost breaching the high walls of the stadium – the relentless water, thick with death, decomposition, submerged hazards and water-borne pollutants.
The chapters alternate between this scene of post-disaster survival, and Isobel’s memories of growing up with her family: her cold, judgmental and exacting mother Luna; her wild and beloved grandmother Karen; and her brother Josh, troubled and distant, who – as we learn early in the story – has disappeared from their lives for some reason.
The author very cleverly drip-feeds the circumstances of the setting of this story so that at the beginning, we believe the novel could be set today, or at least in the not too distant future. Climate change is obviously an issue, and the destructive storm and the chaos of its aftermath seems like an event that could plausibly happen to this generation. It doesn’t have the usual feel of an apocalyptic or dystopian narrative. But gradually, as the story progresses, we learn more about the setting and the time as the author drops hints about the prevailing circumstances – it may only be a casual line or a quiet phrase, but it is enough for us to realise that the world in which this novel is set is quite different from what we at first imagine, and the magnitude of the disaster is much greater than we at first suspect. To say too much about this would be to spoil the effect, but suffice to say that the structure is a sophisticated blend of this new world order and Isobel’s memories of her past, such that like a frog placed in cold water and boiled gradually, the precariousness of the situation creeps upon us without us even noticing, until we realise just what a predicament faces the characters.
There is a message in the novel about the fragility and temporariness of things; that houses, possessions, treasured belongings and memorabilia all are easily lost, and what then? It questions the value we place on stuff that is, in the end, transient and insignificant; it reminds us of the contrast between our collection of ultimately inconsequential things, and the endurance of developing relationships.
But the real strengths of this novel are twofold. Firstly, the author communicates a nuanced portrayal of the effects of climate change and of the issue of people displaced, whether through environmental reasons or because of political reasons or civil unrest. It reminded me of that SBS show ‘Go Back To Where You Came From’ because it places the familiar characters – people with whom we can identify – in situations that today face much of the world’s population, and gives us an opportunity to reflect on how we would react if presented with the same circumstances. The plot seems entirely believable and real and it is easy to imagine ourselves having to make the same untenable choices. Secondly, the book is a complex exploration of relationships between mothers and their children, between lovers, and between strangers caught in tragic situations. But mostly the focus is on the complexities of love, loyalty, betrayal, sacrifice, jealousy, reliance and interdependence between children and parents; the bitter sting of ungratefulness, the unfathomable pull of belonging, the never-ending tug-of-war between family trying and often failing to be to each other what they need.
And the book champions the role of women – their hidden strengths, their persistence in the face of insurmountable hurdles, their unbreakable bonds with each other.
One passage that I particularly loved in the book was this: ‘The value of a child can’t be in their sure provision of lifelong joyous milestones – a graduation, a wedding, a grandchild – because anything less than that will feel so manifestly unfair, as though what was promised has not been delivered. Isobel doesn’t want to live with that kind of grief and disappointment, if things go wrong. Things can go wrong. Not all children live to adulthood. People leave. Disappear. Given this, Matilda’s worth to Isobel must come from her experience of Matilda in the now, and nothing more.’ I found this profound, and also inexpressibly sad.
The narrative pace of this novel is compelling. The author skilfully ends each chapter on a note that leaves the reader hungry for more, and this is heightened as the final chapters are revealed, the tension becoming almost unbearable. These are characters we care about deeply, and we hold our breath waiting to discover how – or if – the situation will resolve.
I so enjoyed Alice Robinson’s first book Anchor Point but I love this one even more.
The chapters alternate between this scene of post-disaster survival, and Isobel’s memories of growing up with her family: her cold, judgmental and exacting mother Luna; her wild and beloved grandmother Karen; and her brother Josh, troubled and distant, who – as we learn early in the story – has disappeared from their lives for some reason.
The author very cleverly drip-feeds the circumstances of the setting of this story so that at the beginning, we believe the novel could be set today, or at least in the not too distant future. Climate change is obviously an issue, and the destructive storm and the chaos of its aftermath seems like an event that could plausibly happen to this generation. It doesn’t have the usual feel of an apocalyptic or dystopian narrative. But gradually, as the story progresses, we learn more about the setting and the time as the author drops hints about the prevailing circumstances – it may only be a casual line or a quiet phrase, but it is enough for us to realise that the world in which this novel is set is quite different from what we at first imagine, and the magnitude of the disaster is much greater than we at first suspect. To say too much about this would be to spoil the effect, but suffice to say that the structure is a sophisticated blend of this new world order and Isobel’s memories of her past, such that like a frog placed in cold water and boiled gradually, the precariousness of the situation creeps upon us without us even noticing, until we realise just what a predicament faces the characters.
There is a message in the novel about the fragility and temporariness of things; that houses, possessions, treasured belongings and memorabilia all are easily lost, and what then? It questions the value we place on stuff that is, in the end, transient and insignificant; it reminds us of the contrast between our collection of ultimately inconsequential things, and the endurance of developing relationships.
But the real strengths of this novel are twofold. Firstly, the author communicates a nuanced portrayal of the effects of climate change and of the issue of people displaced, whether through environmental reasons or because of political reasons or civil unrest. It reminded me of that SBS show ‘Go Back To Where You Came From’ because it places the familiar characters – people with whom we can identify – in situations that today face much of the world’s population, and gives us an opportunity to reflect on how we would react if presented with the same circumstances. The plot seems entirely believable and real and it is easy to imagine ourselves having to make the same untenable choices. Secondly, the book is a complex exploration of relationships between mothers and their children, between lovers, and between strangers caught in tragic situations. But mostly the focus is on the complexities of love, loyalty, betrayal, sacrifice, jealousy, reliance and interdependence between children and parents; the bitter sting of ungratefulness, the unfathomable pull of belonging, the never-ending tug-of-war between family trying and often failing to be to each other what they need.
And the book champions the role of women – their hidden strengths, their persistence in the face of insurmountable hurdles, their unbreakable bonds with each other.
One passage that I particularly loved in the book was this: ‘The value of a child can’t be in their sure provision of lifelong joyous milestones – a graduation, a wedding, a grandchild – because anything less than that will feel so manifestly unfair, as though what was promised has not been delivered. Isobel doesn’t want to live with that kind of grief and disappointment, if things go wrong. Things can go wrong. Not all children live to adulthood. People leave. Disappear. Given this, Matilda’s worth to Isobel must come from her experience of Matilda in the now, and nothing more.’ I found this profound, and also inexpressibly sad.
The narrative pace of this novel is compelling. The author skilfully ends each chapter on a note that leaves the reader hungry for more, and this is heightened as the final chapters are revealed, the tension becoming almost unbearable. These are characters we care about deeply, and we hold our breath waiting to discover how – or if – the situation will resolve.
I so enjoyed Alice Robinson’s first book Anchor Point but I love this one even more.
May 14, 2019
The Glad Shout is a slap-in-the-face call to curb our excesses before the earth says “enough” and turns on us; and it’s a story about the extremes that a mother will go to, to protect her child.
Isobel, Shaun and their three year old daughter Matilda are fleeing a virtual tsunami that has swamped Melbourne. Together with thousands of other survivors, they find themselves barely surviving in an overcrowded camp, with food and water fast becoming scarce. In the camp, Isobel sees “that the trappings of their humanity are not immovable foundations, but a thin veneer, like wallpaper. It is a terrifying thought.”
Robinson skilfully weaves the stories of three generations of mothers: Isobel, her mother Luna and her grandmother Karen. Through the backward glance of these personal dramas, we are also shown the ever-increasing impacts occurring to the world as climate change effects every aspect of life as we now know it. Isobel comments to another survivor “I really don’t understand how this could have even happened here - not in a country like this. Surely someone had time to warn us?” I think we are getting plenty of warning, but choosing to ignore it, to our peril.
There is a strong ecological message in The Glad Shout, but the novel is much more than that. It is a meditation on motherhood, in all its messiness, harshness, and exhaustion, beauty and ferocity. It is shockingly honest, and any mother reading it will find themselves cringing and nodding in agreement as these women traverse the minefield of being a mother. Isobel realises that “the weight she feels for Matilda is so heavy…so all-consuming that [she] feels hollowed by the burden.”
There are so many thoughts and musings about mothers and daughters in this book, I could make a list of quotable quotes, so will only share some highlights. There is a moment in the midst of the horror and deprivation, where Isobel shares a laugh with another mother and she thinks “There’s something about being mothers, primal and binding… Women were probably laughing together conspiratorially in the earliest caves….Some things don’t change.” Another time, when her daughter Matilda asks Isobel if she is going to die, Isobel thinks “So much of the work of motherhood seems to reside in the space between what she can explain easily and what she can live with having failed to properly impart.” There is a terrible moment when a young mother’s baby dies, and “Isobel wonders if a mother is still a mother, even without her child. Children without parents are orphans, but there is no word in English for the opposite, the yawning absence of a missing child across a life.”
The Glad Shout is a terrifying glimpse into a plausible global catastrophe and a homage to mother-love, in all its complexity.
Isobel, Shaun and their three year old daughter Matilda are fleeing a virtual tsunami that has swamped Melbourne. Together with thousands of other survivors, they find themselves barely surviving in an overcrowded camp, with food and water fast becoming scarce. In the camp, Isobel sees “that the trappings of their humanity are not immovable foundations, but a thin veneer, like wallpaper. It is a terrifying thought.”
Robinson skilfully weaves the stories of three generations of mothers: Isobel, her mother Luna and her grandmother Karen. Through the backward glance of these personal dramas, we are also shown the ever-increasing impacts occurring to the world as climate change effects every aspect of life as we now know it. Isobel comments to another survivor “I really don’t understand how this could have even happened here - not in a country like this. Surely someone had time to warn us?” I think we are getting plenty of warning, but choosing to ignore it, to our peril.
There is a strong ecological message in The Glad Shout, but the novel is much more than that. It is a meditation on motherhood, in all its messiness, harshness, and exhaustion, beauty and ferocity. It is shockingly honest, and any mother reading it will find themselves cringing and nodding in agreement as these women traverse the minefield of being a mother. Isobel realises that “the weight she feels for Matilda is so heavy…so all-consuming that [she] feels hollowed by the burden.”
There are so many thoughts and musings about mothers and daughters in this book, I could make a list of quotable quotes, so will only share some highlights. There is a moment in the midst of the horror and deprivation, where Isobel shares a laugh with another mother and she thinks “There’s something about being mothers, primal and binding… Women were probably laughing together conspiratorially in the earliest caves….Some things don’t change.” Another time, when her daughter Matilda asks Isobel if she is going to die, Isobel thinks “So much of the work of motherhood seems to reside in the space between what she can explain easily and what she can live with having failed to properly impart.” There is a terrible moment when a young mother’s baby dies, and “Isobel wonders if a mother is still a mother, even without her child. Children without parents are orphans, but there is no word in English for the opposite, the yawning absence of a missing child across a life.”
The Glad Shout is a terrifying glimpse into a plausible global catastrophe and a homage to mother-love, in all its complexity.
May 29, 2019
This book absolutely wrenched my heart, many tears were shed. It not only encapsulated the precise embodiment of motherhood SO beautifully, but also covers the brutally dire situation we may find ourselves in if we don’t address climate change once and for all. This better win a prize!! My book of the year and perhaps favourite book ever now :)
August 22, 2023
im speechless/ sickened/ but also smiling coz its the best book ive read in AGES. damn.
August 30, 2019
A terrifyingly believable story about the human toll of climate change. Thankfully, the leaders of the world's major economies are making rapid changes as I type, hence this would never happen in real life.
I found the lack of specificity regarding where and when incredibly frustrating. My mind kept wandering away from the page trying to work it out. Initially I thought mid 2040's after a runaway greenhouse effect and the stadium is Docklands. But surely that would be swamped first? So, the MCG then. But that doesn't have a roof and isn't much more above sea level. So we put a roof on the 'G somewhere in between now and then right? Or possibly built a wall around Princes Park to keep the hipsters out? Maybe a completely new stadium on higher ground somewhere near the CBD? Where the fuck would that higher ground be, then? Then a revelation that Issy has only seen satellite photos in old books belonging to her grandmother! As our race has obviously lost satellite technology at least three generations ago, that brings us to forward to the 22nd century at a slower rate of global warming. And if we can't put a satellite in the sky at that point, it's pretty unlikely we'll be embarking on giant infrastructure projects like putting roofs on or building walls around fucking stadiums. Absolutely not the point of the book, of course, but fuck me it drove me crazy.
The actual point of the book (apart from the earth getting hotter thing), it would seem, is to advise us all of the fact that men do absolutely nothing when it comes to child rearing. In fact, men pretty much do nothing of use at any time at all. I resented this. Quite a lot. It's also possible that I completely imagined the I hate men undertones. Possible because I was otherwise occupied trying to work out where this fucking stadium was, and you know what they say about a man's ability to do two things at once.
I also have a gripe with Issy's final realisation that the earth is still beautiful. Oh, come on! Two pages earlier was a description of Bass Strait completely polluted with plastic. Beautiful if you're a polyethylene junkie but probably not for anybody else, I say.
So. That's a lot of whining about a book that I'm still giving three stars to. Imagine if someone wrote an end-of-the-world-due-to-global-warming book without vagueness, rampant misandry or contradictions!?
I found the lack of specificity regarding where and when incredibly frustrating. My mind kept wandering away from the page trying to work it out. Initially I thought mid 2040's after a runaway greenhouse effect and the stadium is Docklands. But surely that would be swamped first? So, the MCG then. But that doesn't have a roof and isn't much more above sea level. So we put a roof on the 'G somewhere in between now and then right? Or possibly built a wall around Princes Park to keep the hipsters out? Maybe a completely new stadium on higher ground somewhere near the CBD? Where the fuck would that higher ground be, then? Then a revelation that Issy has only seen satellite photos in old books belonging to her grandmother! As our race has obviously lost satellite technology at least three generations ago, that brings us to forward to the 22nd century at a slower rate of global warming. And if we can't put a satellite in the sky at that point, it's pretty unlikely we'll be embarking on giant infrastructure projects like putting roofs on or building walls around fucking stadiums. Absolutely not the point of the book, of course, but fuck me it drove me crazy.
The actual point of the book (apart from the earth getting hotter thing), it would seem, is to advise us all of the fact that men do absolutely nothing when it comes to child rearing. In fact, men pretty much do nothing of use at any time at all. I resented this. Quite a lot. It's also possible that I completely imagined the I hate men undertones. Possible because I was otherwise occupied trying to work out where this fucking stadium was, and you know what they say about a man's ability to do two things at once.
I also have a gripe with Issy's final realisation that the earth is still beautiful. Oh, come on! Two pages earlier was a description of Bass Strait completely polluted with plastic. Beautiful if you're a polyethylene junkie but probably not for anybody else, I say.
So. That's a lot of whining about a book that I'm still giving three stars to. Imagine if someone wrote an end-of-the-world-due-to-global-warming book without vagueness, rampant misandry or contradictions!?
July 1, 2020
Australia's coastal cities are being ravaged by sea erosion caused by climate change. The Australian Federation is fragmenting and Tasmania has declared independence, with Western Australia soon to follow suit. A massive flood takes out central Melbourne and makes refugees of the people living there. The lucky ones, including Isobel, Shaun and their daughter Matilda, make it to a temporary refugee camp at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. Far from being a safe haven, this soon turns into a dog-eat-dog place that Isobel desperately wishes to escape.
Dystopian fiction is certainly an appropriate genre for the world that we are living in now, and even more so when the setting is your own home town. The Glad Shout had great resonance for me due to the familiarity of the places it describes, and the very real thought of just how precarious our existence here is.
Dystopian fiction is certainly an appropriate genre for the world that we are living in now, and even more so when the setting is your own home town. The Glad Shout had great resonance for me due to the familiarity of the places it describes, and the very real thought of just how precarious our existence here is.
May 31, 2019
A novel of mothers and daughters set in a near future climate dystopia. This was a slow burn for me, initially I found the alternate chapters that focussed on the back story more compelling but about mid way through the present day narrative grabbed me and then I couldn’t put it down. It’s real and raw and the scenario it presents is completely plausible and very scary.
My only major gripe is that I found the character of Shaun to be unlikeable and kind of superfluous.
My only major gripe is that I found the character of Shaun to be unlikeable and kind of superfluous.
April 6, 2020
I think this one will stick with me for a while. I didn't rush to read it, and it took me a bit longer than it usually would to read a 300 page novel but at the end I feel drained and thoughtful. What a poignant story. Hit a few truths and was scarily accurate about motherhood ( for me ) and about family relationships ( for me )
Would recommend.
Would recommend.
August 1, 2021
A fiction disaster story, focusing on climate change and its devastating consequences on our future world...
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April 13, 2020
Not a good choice to read in the middle of a pandemic...the novel opens with 30 year old Isobel and her husband Shaun seeking shelter inside a stadium following a horrific storm, their 3 year old daughter Matilda their priority. A novel about motherhood, climate change and human nature, this was an easy and engaging read that portrayed human relationships and choices with sensitivity and care. The chapters alternated, with odd numbered chapters in the present recounting the disaster survival story and even number chapters chronologically telling Isobel’s story from birth. This was particularly jarring at the beginning of the novel when the disaster story line was running at a frenetic pace and the story of Isobel’s childhood was languid. A fine read but not a strong recommendation from me.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
November 27, 2021
Stunning book on the beautiful traumas of motherhood and all those unsaid things only mothers know.
Set in a climatic disaster (after the storms we’ve had in Melb lately… perhaps not too far fetched), this book was gut-wrenching at times.
I even highlighted a few passages as I was so moved.
Didn’t give it 5 stars as it was a little disjointed at times and took a while to hit it strides.
Set in a climatic disaster (after the storms we’ve had in Melb lately… perhaps not too far fetched), this book was gut-wrenching at times.
I even highlighted a few passages as I was so moved.
Didn’t give it 5 stars as it was a little disjointed at times and took a while to hit it strides.
May 2, 2019
This was interesting – and timely. Climate change is a real concern at the moment, even if certain people currently in charge of this country (and others?) don’t seem to really think so. Given Australia has such a large coastline and something like 90% of us live along that coast, rising sea levels are an issue that will impact us greatly in the coming years. And then there are violent storms and changing weather patterns, which is something that this book addresses. A catastrophic storm/flood has destroyed Melbourne (and presumably, other parts of Australia but communication seems to be gone) and those residents that can have fled to a “local sports stadium built on a hill” that seems to be the MCG as a refuge point. It’s basically chaos – food is rationed, hygiene is questionable. The location wasn’t built to house that amount of people permanently. There’s no sign of the floodwaters abating and slowly society starts to disintegrate. Main character Isobel knows she needs to get out with her 3yo daughter. Interestingly, Tasmania has become a place of desirability, due to it’s mountainous interior and they’ve closed their borders. It becomes the reverse of now – boat people come from the mainland of Australia, seeking shelter elsewhere.
I feel as though this book could almost be a warning for the not-so-distant future. It’s not too much of a stretch to believe that we could be decimated by something in this way and the way in which Robinson portrays a crumbling society is really interesting. We are all built to survive – in any way we see fit. In the absence of the usual societal structure and clear rules and laws, it takes little time for things to descend into violent anarchy. And I couldn’t imagine how much more difficult having a young toddler would make things in such a situation. I didn’t always like Isobel (and her family situation was a complete mess that got irritating after a while, when we went back in time to her childhood) but I really liked the story. And I’ve never been a doomsday prepper but I see the value in it now!
***A copy of this book was provided by the publisher for the purpose of an honest review***
I feel as though this book could almost be a warning for the not-so-distant future. It’s not too much of a stretch to believe that we could be decimated by something in this way and the way in which Robinson portrays a crumbling society is really interesting. We are all built to survive – in any way we see fit. In the absence of the usual societal structure and clear rules and laws, it takes little time for things to descend into violent anarchy. And I couldn’t imagine how much more difficult having a young toddler would make things in such a situation. I didn’t always like Isobel (and her family situation was a complete mess that got irritating after a while, when we went back in time to her childhood) but I really liked the story. And I’ve never been a doomsday prepper but I see the value in it now!
***A copy of this book was provided by the publisher for the purpose of an honest review***
March 31, 2019
This was a very disturbing read. It's the first time I've been really able to imagine what a climate catastrophe would be like. I like the duality of plot and back story. Reading about past events created a context of normality against which the disaster seemed more shocking. The very maternal concerns that underlay the book seemed quite convincing.
But at times it seems over-written. There were some details and connections that didn't need to be included. And I wanted the characters to reflect on what is happening more. No one seemed to ask "Why didn't we see this coming?".
An important read today.
But at times it seems over-written. There were some details and connections that didn't need to be included. And I wanted the characters to reflect on what is happening more. No one seemed to ask "Why didn't we see this coming?".
An important read today.
May 14, 2020
(3.5 stars)
There’s a languid pace to Australian end of the world novels centred around climate change that I find quite soothing. The Glad Shout is global catastrophe by increments, where rising sea levels combine with storms and flooding rain, seen from the city of Melbourne. Following the story of Isobel, this book is largely about women, their relationships (particularly with each other), motherhood and how these threads that bind, carry us through catastrophe: "She is reminded that there is something particular and special about women alone together. Why is such fierce attention paid to romantic love?"
In chapters that alternate between past and present, Isobel ponders her life, from her own childhood, to the childhood she is providing to her daughter, Matilda. At the beginning of the book, the chapters are a bit long, and feel disjointed between the two stories, but the novel picks up pace and makes greater interconnection as it moves toward a climax of sorts. Along the way Isobel makes some great observations that only become apparent through disaster: "Surviving in the stadium has narrowed their scope of vision. Now, looking out across the vast, chaotic seascape, she sees not the water but the absence of containment."
This period of survival causes Isobel to question her beliefs: "Running the cloth over the backs of Matilda's sweetly dimpled hands, Isobel understands that the trappings of their humanity are not immovable foundations, as she has always believed them to be at home, but a thin veneer, like wallpaper." Alice Robinson's characters also question what sort of knowledge is important in a post-climate change world: "'Way I see it,' Josh says, 'we've been sold some kind of story about what makes a good life, but it's a story from another time.'"
You’ll like this novel if you liked Clade by James Bradley.
There’s a languid pace to Australian end of the world novels centred around climate change that I find quite soothing. The Glad Shout is global catastrophe by increments, where rising sea levels combine with storms and flooding rain, seen from the city of Melbourne. Following the story of Isobel, this book is largely about women, their relationships (particularly with each other), motherhood and how these threads that bind, carry us through catastrophe: "She is reminded that there is something particular and special about women alone together. Why is such fierce attention paid to romantic love?"
In chapters that alternate between past and present, Isobel ponders her life, from her own childhood, to the childhood she is providing to her daughter, Matilda. At the beginning of the book, the chapters are a bit long, and feel disjointed between the two stories, but the novel picks up pace and makes greater interconnection as it moves toward a climax of sorts. Along the way Isobel makes some great observations that only become apparent through disaster: "Surviving in the stadium has narrowed their scope of vision. Now, looking out across the vast, chaotic seascape, she sees not the water but the absence of containment."
This period of survival causes Isobel to question her beliefs: "Running the cloth over the backs of Matilda's sweetly dimpled hands, Isobel understands that the trappings of their humanity are not immovable foundations, as she has always believed them to be at home, but a thin veneer, like wallpaper." Alice Robinson's characters also question what sort of knowledge is important in a post-climate change world: "'Way I see it,' Josh says, 'we've been sold some kind of story about what makes a good life, but it's a story from another time.'"
You’ll like this novel if you liked Clade by James Bradley.
April 17, 2019
I loved this book. It managed to weave powerful themes in an incredibly beautiful and plausible way. The struggles of families, particularly motherhood are domestic yet at home in this apocalyptic setting. After reading so many dystopian male-centric apocalypse narratives, it was incredibly moving to identify with Isobel. At a time when our climate seems to be on the brink of disaster, the description of Isobel’s childhood is completely believable. A call to action or a spot light on our inability to act when threat is not immediate, the complexity is affecting.
December 3, 2021
I confess with guilt that I did not like this book at all. Unusually for me, I set myself the chore of finishing it simply because it had so many good reviews here (but chore is the right word !). I was certain at first that I must be missing "something" ;something vital ,that had appealed to so many other people ! It was obvious that I could only find out what that "something" was if I completed the book....alas what ever it was, I did not find it. In my opinion the story appeared so contrived that it read as if the author was hoping it would be made into a movie or a television series . The characters seemed wooden and cliche driven ;almost as if I had already seen them before in the stream of mediocre disaster movies my teenagers used to beg me to watch with them.
The dialogue often bordered on the ridiculous and I was astonished to discover she was the mother of 2 small children in real life because some of the conversations held between the main character Isobel and her 3 year old daughter ,Matilda were ludicrous beyond belief (page 278 in particular just had me gritting my teeth with annoyance). I have had children but I have also worked in Long Day Care Preschools for 14 years and the character of Matilda in general seemed to be based more of the idea of a child you might have, if you had never met one !
One of the biggest challenges for me ,was that I didn't like any of the characters and this is a first for me. This factor made it very difficult to engage with the story because I simply didn't and couldn't care what happened to any of them . Very Occasionally I did find myself moved or stirred by a few promising passages and I admit there were enough of these to drag me through the book, hoping to find more ,but there wasn't enough and by the time I turned the last page I felt nothing but relief that it was over and that I could find something else to read
The dialogue often bordered on the ridiculous and I was astonished to discover she was the mother of 2 small children in real life because some of the conversations held between the main character Isobel and her 3 year old daughter ,Matilda were ludicrous beyond belief (page 278 in particular just had me gritting my teeth with annoyance). I have had children but I have also worked in Long Day Care Preschools for 14 years and the character of Matilda in general seemed to be based more of the idea of a child you might have, if you had never met one !
One of the biggest challenges for me ,was that I didn't like any of the characters and this is a first for me. This factor made it very difficult to engage with the story because I simply didn't and couldn't care what happened to any of them . Very Occasionally I did find myself moved or stirred by a few promising passages and I admit there were enough of these to drag me through the book, hoping to find more ,but there wasn't enough and by the time I turned the last page I felt nothing but relief that it was over and that I could find something else to read
January 29, 2020
I enjoyed this book that I picked up on my vacation in Melbourne, Australia. I did, however, have a little trouble getting into it. I enjoyed the story, but I felt the author was assuming too much. I got what was going on, but would've appreciated more details and description of this apocalyptic world where climate change has so drastically affected the world that Australia is being flooded by constant violent storms. I loved the mother/child relations throughout, though perhaps mothers (I am not one) might be more moved and get more out of it than I did. And it wasn't just the four generations of Karen/Luna/Isobel/Matilda that centered the book, but June and her brood, Liz and her son, and the young mother and her baby were all captivating characters. The further I got into the book, the more it gripped me as Isobel tried so hard to save her and Matilda's lives by getting out of flood-ravaged Melbourne. I got more and more invested (less so by the back story) to the point that was I terribly anxious the author was going to completely betray me in the end. The ending made the story better than just "okay", though I admit I would've liked to have seen a bit more of a wrap-up.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
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February 23, 2022Thank god I don't plan on having children. Proper review to come.
March 28, 2020
I had high hopes for this, but it left me out in the cold. Completely disengaging, far-fetched storyline and soul sucking. Why did I persevere for so long.
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