Folk’s synopsis captured my attention from the start, with its premise that sounded so very original and right up my alley—a collection of stories about a mythical village on a remote island, Neverness, in which strange things happen. And, technically, Zoe Gilbert delivered on this promise, even enhancing this premise with clever and astute canniness that one wouldn’t expect from a debut novel.
Surely the most interesting feature of this collection is Gilbert’s ability to interweave her characters, each story focuses indeed on a different townsfolk, but previous protagonists peep round the pages constantly, forcing the reader to recall back to who they were and what their story was about (due to the sheer number of names and stories, this is not easy at all, and it crafts a wonderfully realistic sensation of being new in town and slowly getting acquainted with the villagers). It is especially interesting because, throughout the book, time flows back and forth in a very bumpy manner, taking the reader through different generations of families of Neverness; that is to say that, in one story, a character might be an adult, a mother, and two chapters later we might encounter them again, as a name of one of the children of the village. Time, roles and history alike are absolutely dynamic, flowing like the coming and going of the tide, just like Folk’s narration.
The writing, indeed, is incredibly inspired and evocative, with dazzling descriptions and imaginative creations. Gilbert’s pen is magical and skillful, introducing the right amount of tension and mystique at the right moments. Neverness is an island shrouded in fogs and gray, storm-tossed seas and that’s the only way I can think of describing this book. The ideas, too, are, as I’ve said before, wholly original, with a magical and fantastical streak to them that, in more than one occasion, veers wholly macabre. This, too, is a defining narrative trait of this collection, who keeps you on your toes with its nebulousness in aim.
Unfortunately, the aforementioned qualities aren’t enough to make this collection a fully effective one: despite the evident connection between the stories, everything feels somewhat disjointed and, unfortunately, purposeless. Folk reads indeed like a fairytale, with stories of crude parents, familial misfortunes, folkloric rituals and supernatural elements (in one, a villager is born with a crow wing as an arm, in another, a woman is born from the sea and mist) and of naive villagers being swept away by the strong magical pulls of beings, but that is merely something found on the surface level. I found that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t truly breach the distance between the beautiful atmosphere and writing and what was actually being written on the page. Furthermore, not only was the amount of stories almost overbearing, but I found myself waiting for them to properly take a direction and stick to it, but that never happened. This, too, is possibly due to Gilbert seeking the ultimate foggy, smudgy feel for her tales, but that unfortunately translated into a vapid end result.
If you were to ask me what Folk is about, then, I wouldn’t be able to ultimately give you a straight answer, because everything is lost in its indistinct vapors and this, I think, is either indication of a well-accomplished intention or an unsuccessful gamble. And I… don’t know, I’m not sure.
“Turn away from the heather slope, to the seaward side of the hill. Sniff the air, catch the smoke. The men and women are already lighting torches, passing them along the line. All the villagers of Neverness are here: fishers and farmers, shepherds and huntsmen, fowlmonger, fiddler, brewer and beekeeper, seamstress, midwife, miller and bard. Every year they gather, while the girls shoot their arrows and the boys hunt them out, racing in the gorse. They are hungry for fire and begrudge the wait, but custom is custom. When the youngsters' game is over, and boys and girls are paired for the night, one kiss for each ribbon, they will make their thorny Gorse Mother blaze.”