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Saltwater
This “luminous” (The Observer) feminist coming-of-age novel captures in sensuous, blistering prose the richness and imperfection of the bond between a daughter and her mother
It begins with our bodies . . . Safe together in the violet dark and yet already there are spaces beginning to open between us.
From that first salty, viscous connection, through the ups and downs of a working-class childhood in northern England, the one constant in Lucy’s life has been her mother: comforting and mysterious, ferociously loving, tirelessly devoted, as much a part of Lucy as her own skin. Her lessons in womanhood shape Lucy’s appreciation for desire, her sense of duty as a caretaker, her hunger for a better, maybe reckless life.
At university, Lucy’s background sets her apart from her classmates and London, even as she struggles with the excruciating, slow separation from her mother. Her father goes missing just after she graduates; her shift into adulthood comes with the burden of choosing how much of her father’s trouble to take on. When her grandfather dies, she escapes to his tiny house in Donegal, a place where her mother once found happiness. There she will take a lover, live inside art and the past, and track back through her memories and her mother’s stories to make sense of her place in the world.
In “a stunning new voice in British literary fiction” (The Independent) that lays bare our raw, dark selves, Jessica Andrews’s debut honors the beauty, complexity, and mixed blessings of daughterhood. Intricately woven in lyrical vignettes, Saltwater is a coming-of-age novel about finding a way forward by looking back.
293 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 16, 2019
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 979 reviews
January 2, 2020
"It begins with our bodies. Skin on skin. My body burst from yours. Safe together in the violet dark and yet already there are spaces beginning to open between us. I am wet and glistening like a beetroot pulsing in soil. Fasting and gulping. There are wounds in your belly and welts around your nipples, puffy and purpling."
So begins Saltwater, a generic coming-of-age tale that flits around between the key events in the protagonist Lucy's life, growing up in Sunderland and Donegal before moving to London for university. With a focus on Lucy's relationship with her mother, there are chapters interspersed throughout the narrative where Lucy narrates directly to her mother from various stages in her life, beginning with this... colorful passage describing her own birth. (Why do authors do this.)
So quite literally from page one I wasn't getting on with this book. I don't necessarily believe there's such a thing as 'good writing' or 'bad writing' - taste is subjective. You may read these passages and be drawn to them and that is perfectly all right, but from my perspective, Andrews' prose was labored and contrived and overwrought and I hated every minute of it. Here are just a few passages I highlighted that had me rolling my eyes:
"Redness cracking. Fissures forming. You are falling towards us, rich and syrup-soft. Flesh roiling. Bones shifting. Tongues over bellies and fingers in wet places."
"My father is passed out in a chair and I am dozing on his lap in a mushroom of white lace."
"The sunsets are crisp and smell of cardigans."
"He smelled of leather, superglue and love."
"Sludge horrible delicious between my toes."
(I sent a couple of these select quotes to a friend who asked if the book was written by a random word generator. I thought that was so spot-on I told him I was going to steal that line for my review.)
But it wasn't just Andrews'... questionable word choices that bothered me; it was how she felt the need to bash the reader over the head with what she considered to be the book's salient themes:
"Bridges are in-between spaces and I was in between, too."
[regarding how Lucy would use the Shard as a landmark to orient herself in the city] "I feel an affinity with the Shard, even though it is a symbol of the wealth and status I am so far removed from."
Everything was just so painfully on the nose. There already isn't a whole lot of thematic variance amongst this sort of bildungsroman, so the need to shove these incredibly basic concepts down the reader's throat struck me as beyond unnecessary.
Anyway, moving past the atrocious writing, another thing that grated is the cruelly stereotypical portrayal of the Irish - regarding the narrator's grandfather's childhood in Ireland, after establishing that he slept in his aunt's barn, this paragraph is, quite literally, the only information we receive about that period in his life:
"Auntie Kitty rationed the hot water and made anyone who entered the house throw holy sand over their left shoulder, To Keep Away The Devil. Her husband was in the IRA and they housed radical members of Sinn Féin in their attic."
Poverty, religious fanaticism, and the IRA - there's only one stereotype missing here; oh, wait:
"I have noticed that many of the young men in Donegal have shaking hands. [...] I ask my mother what it is that makes them shake. 'It'll be the drink,' she says, sagely."
This wouldn't be a problem if it weren't the extent of Andrews' portrayal of Ireland, but there truly is nothing else there, despite Lucy spending long periods of her life in Donegal.
And therein lies the main problem: this is a book about carving out your identity in relation to the places you live, but the book itself has no sense of place. It jumped around a lot in chronology, which in and of itself wasn't a problem, but I would quickly lose track of whether Lucy was in Donegal or London or Sunderland, because the depictions of each felt the exact same. I've never read another book about place that's so devoid of atmosphere.
Finally (sorry, I bet you thought I was done) - Lucy's younger brother is deaf as a child, and then has a cochlear implant to restore his hearing. I already found this to be a bit of an odd narrative choice given the dearth of deafness representation in literature; I was hoping there would later be a bit of nuance to explain this decision by the author, but instead this subplot is pretty much dropped, barring an incredibly sloppy few pages in which she describes his transition from sign language to verbal speech:
"He wanted to dance to music and to enjoy the delicate nuance of spoken language. He learned the way that putting feelings into words and out into the world could ease the pressure inside, like letting air out of a balloon."
So... sign language isn't 'putting feelings into words and out into the world'? Ok then.
I started and finished this on January 1 and I'm predicting it's going to be my least favorite book of the year. Watch this space in 12 months.
Thank you to Netgalley and FSG for the advanced copy provided in exchange for an honest review. All quotes are taken from the ARC, not a finished copy, and are subject to change.
January 7, 2022
”It begins with our bodies. Skin on skin. My body burst from yours. Safe together in the violet dark and yet already there are spaces beginning to open between us.”
”For now our secrets are only ours. You press me to your chest and I am you and I am not you and we will not always belong to each other but for now it is us and here it is quiet. I rise and fall with your breath in this bed. We are safe in the pink together.”
This is a promising coming-of-age debut novel set partially in England, and partially in Donegal, Ireland. This is an author I know I will read again for her ability to pull me into her world, her story unflinchingly real, occasionally dark, heartrending, raw and honest, but oh-so lovely overall. Shared in what feels like a memoir-ish style, we follow her as she shares her memory of people and events that have shaped her life, the focus at the heart of this is on the bond between mothers and daughters. Friends, neighbors and family. Her mother, a mostly absent father, and a younger brother who was born profoundly deaf, which led to some life-changing moments for them all. A grandfather’s death that leaves her with a haunting memory. A grandmother that brings light and love to her life, she reminisces in her writing that ”Everything about her was silver; her voice as she sang along to the radio in the morning, the shiny fish scales caught on her tabard at the end of the day and the hole that she left in our lives when she died, edged like a fifty-pence piece.”
There are no long chapters in this book, rather this is told in brief snippets, fragments of thoughts at times, other times longer thoughts, as these are years of change for her, of her determining which path she wants to follow. It wanders back and forth through time, from childhood on, the memories of a childhood in one place haunting her, and those memories against the life she has built in this new home. Her heart eternally divided between these two places.
There are elements of this that reminded me of the writing of Sara Baume, an Irish author that I love. The introspective nature of this, the more often than not internal dialogue that presents an almost enveloping feeling of solitude, and the simple, gorgeous prose made for a very moving, beautifully shared story about the complex nature of mothers and daughters, gathering the internal strength through our memories, allowing others to see us, as well.
Pub Date: 14 Jan 2020
Many thanks for the ARC provided by Farrar, Straus and Giroux
November 25, 2019
This novel is the story of Lucy from Sunderland, England told in short fragments instead of chapters, moving from past to present.. I enjoyed this style of writing.
Lucy has just graduated from college and has moved to her late grandfathers cottage in Ireland and trying to figure out her place in the world.
Lucy is the narrator throughout, tells the story of growing up with a close relationship to her mom, having a brother born deaf, an alcoholic father and descriptions of her neighborhood. Goes on to describe her college years in London.
The writing was very moving and poetic in regards to her feelings for her mother, and just really good writing throughout.
Thanks to Netgalley and Farrar, Straus, and Giroux for the ARC
Lucy has just graduated from college and has moved to her late grandfathers cottage in Ireland and trying to figure out her place in the world.
Lucy is the narrator throughout, tells the story of growing up with a close relationship to her mom, having a brother born deaf, an alcoholic father and descriptions of her neighborhood. Goes on to describe her college years in London.
The writing was very moving and poetic in regards to her feelings for her mother, and just really good writing throughout.
Thanks to Netgalley and Farrar, Straus, and Giroux for the ARC
March 2, 2019
This book comes lauded with acclaim about its freshness, voice and vision - but, you know, it's just that old, old story of a girl struggling to become an adult and to find her place in the world. There can still be mileage in this theme but this book hits all the predictable milestones : wayward bodies, boys, sex, struggling not to be objectified, pigeon-holed by class and accent, the push-pull of mother-daughter relationships, wanting to be separate and individual while wanting to belong.
What will make or break it for each individual reader is our response to the prose - for me, it's laboured, try-hard, pseudo-poetic that prioritizes pretty combinations of words over meaning; others may find it lyrical:
'I am wet and glistening like a beetroot pulsing in soil' (yeah but is beetroot wet when it's in the earth? I'd be pretty worried if it pulsed...)
'My life was cherry-flavoured' (what does that mean? Another iteration of the cliche of life as a bowl of cherries?)
'I came home from school with something bubbling beneath my blouse' (translation: I want a belly-button piercing - just weird articulation)
'Pleasure pools in my stomach like warm honey' (how many times have I read this cliche?)
'I rode the coloured snakes of the tube to parts of the city I'd read about' (coloured snakes? coloured snakes!)
So, not for me - but it's appearing on 2019 must-read lists.
What will make or break it for each individual reader is our response to the prose - for me, it's laboured, try-hard, pseudo-poetic that prioritizes pretty combinations of words over meaning; others may find it lyrical:
'I am wet and glistening like a beetroot pulsing in soil' (yeah but is beetroot wet when it's in the earth? I'd be pretty worried if it pulsed...)
'My life was cherry-flavoured' (what does that mean? Another iteration of the cliche of life as a bowl of cherries?)
'I came home from school with something bubbling beneath my blouse' (translation: I want a belly-button piercing - just weird articulation)
'Pleasure pools in my stomach like warm honey' (how many times have I read this cliche?)
'I rode the coloured snakes of the tube to parts of the city I'd read about' (coloured snakes? coloured snakes!)
So, not for me - but it's appearing on 2019 must-read lists.
July 16, 2021
4.5 stars
This is a debut novel and it won the Portico Prize earlier this year. The Portico Prize is biennial and is awarded to writers from the north of England. I have read a couple of the books on the shortlist (doesn’t have to be a novel) and they have been of a good standard. This one was no exception. It is a coming of age novel, but much more. There is a focus on mother/daughter relationships, but it is also about class. The protagonist Lucy is brought up in a working class area of Sunderland: she leaves to go to university in London. Some time after graduation she goes to spend some time in her late grandfather’s cottage in Ireland. The chapters are short, often very short and not entirely linear. At times this was a minor irritation, but no more. The novel is also about divided loyalties, feeling torn: North vs South, urban vs suburban vs rural, coping with an alcoholic father, trying to fit in. There are strong women characters here, often dealing with alcoholic and unpredictable men and it runs through generations, even Lucy’s grandmother:
“They walked around the streets in the cold, trying to stay wrapped up in the orange fur that pulsed from the street lights. When enough time had passed, my grandmother took them home and they crept up the stairs, being careful not to wake him as he snored on the settee with his mouth open.”
Class and gender are central and it is unusual to read a strong working class northern female voice. It is semi-autobiographical and parts of it mirrors Andrews’ own experience. Andrews looks at stereotypes and her own experience and the tensions growing up and moving on bring:
“When I was a teenager, you would go out in your little dress and your high heels with no coat and loads of make-up. But my more middle class friends didn’t wear make-up and is that a betrayal if you start to mould yourself in this other way of dressing or pressing yourself? It can feel like a betrayal of the women you’ve left behind.”
As Lucy says in the novel:
"I come from a line of immaculately turned-out women, experts in dusting make-up over their faces to conceal the tremors that ran through their lives."
It is set in the late 1990s and 2000s and captures some of the generational tensions:
“I would like to have something to believe in, but it is difficult. Everything my generation was promised got blown away like clouds of smoke curling from the ends of cigarettes in the mouths of bankers and politicians. It is hard not to be cynical and critical of everything, and yet perhaps there is an opening, too. When the present begins to fracture, there is room for the future to be written.”
The novel begins with Lucy’s birth, “It begins with our bodies . . . Safe together in the violet dark and yet already there are spaces beginning to open between us.”
Andrews deals frankly with youth, puberty, finding identity (and losing it), plenty of adolescent angst, but no wallowing in it.
It isn’t dialogue driven and focuses on Lucy and her interior journey. The interiority doesn’t grate because of Andrews’s descriptive powers, which are excellent. Some of the memories may resonate with those of a certain age (much younger than me!) This is a good debut and I will certainly look out for the next novel.
This is a debut novel and it won the Portico Prize earlier this year. The Portico Prize is biennial and is awarded to writers from the north of England. I have read a couple of the books on the shortlist (doesn’t have to be a novel) and they have been of a good standard. This one was no exception. It is a coming of age novel, but much more. There is a focus on mother/daughter relationships, but it is also about class. The protagonist Lucy is brought up in a working class area of Sunderland: she leaves to go to university in London. Some time after graduation she goes to spend some time in her late grandfather’s cottage in Ireland. The chapters are short, often very short and not entirely linear. At times this was a minor irritation, but no more. The novel is also about divided loyalties, feeling torn: North vs South, urban vs suburban vs rural, coping with an alcoholic father, trying to fit in. There are strong women characters here, often dealing with alcoholic and unpredictable men and it runs through generations, even Lucy’s grandmother:
“They walked around the streets in the cold, trying to stay wrapped up in the orange fur that pulsed from the street lights. When enough time had passed, my grandmother took them home and they crept up the stairs, being careful not to wake him as he snored on the settee with his mouth open.”
Class and gender are central and it is unusual to read a strong working class northern female voice. It is semi-autobiographical and parts of it mirrors Andrews’ own experience. Andrews looks at stereotypes and her own experience and the tensions growing up and moving on bring:
“When I was a teenager, you would go out in your little dress and your high heels with no coat and loads of make-up. But my more middle class friends didn’t wear make-up and is that a betrayal if you start to mould yourself in this other way of dressing or pressing yourself? It can feel like a betrayal of the women you’ve left behind.”
As Lucy says in the novel:
"I come from a line of immaculately turned-out women, experts in dusting make-up over their faces to conceal the tremors that ran through their lives."
It is set in the late 1990s and 2000s and captures some of the generational tensions:
“I would like to have something to believe in, but it is difficult. Everything my generation was promised got blown away like clouds of smoke curling from the ends of cigarettes in the mouths of bankers and politicians. It is hard not to be cynical and critical of everything, and yet perhaps there is an opening, too. When the present begins to fracture, there is room for the future to be written.”
The novel begins with Lucy’s birth, “It begins with our bodies . . . Safe together in the violet dark and yet already there are spaces beginning to open between us.”
Andrews deals frankly with youth, puberty, finding identity (and losing it), plenty of adolescent angst, but no wallowing in it.
It isn’t dialogue driven and focuses on Lucy and her interior journey. The interiority doesn’t grate because of Andrews’s descriptive powers, which are excellent. Some of the memories may resonate with those of a certain age (much younger than me!) This is a good debut and I will certainly look out for the next novel.
August 20, 2020
Technically 4.5 or 4.75/5 stars if I'm being nit-picky (which I am when it comes to rating books, let's be real), but yes, I looooved this. This book has the kind of writing that seems to reach out to you directly to tug at your heartstrings — at least that's what it did to me. Jessica Andrews' writing is visceral and immersive and I found myself underlining passage after passage. She weaves together three narrative strands in this novel — Lucy looking back on her childhood, teenage and university years, Lucy in present-day at her grandfather's house in Ireland and one sequence that explores the relationship between Lucy and her mother. These narrative strands are broken up into short alternating vignettes, but it's structured so cleverly that everything flows quite effortlessly. Saltwater depicts Lucy's coming-of-age, describes her exploring her sexuality and trying to navigate the class barrier she becomes aware of as she leaves Northern England to go to university in London. At the centre of it all lies Andrews' beautiful exploration of the relationship between Lucy and her mother. I loved the descriptions of the bond they shared, their deep love for one another, but also all the other complicated emotions that come with being this intrinsically linked to another human being. It was so well done. My only gripe is that it ended a bit too abruptly for my liking, I guess I wanted more resolution at the end. Apart from that, it was a truly stunning read and I'll 100% be reading whatever Jessica Andrews publishes next.
January 26, 2020
I have been utterly, utterly spoilt with my January reads, and it’s not over yet! This was my FIFTH five star read of the month if you can believe it (out of around 16 so far), and I for one hope the good times will keep on coming! And clearly they will for Jessica Andrews as this book WON the Portico Prize!
.
I said in my initial thoughts on Goodreads that were I to rate this ‘objectively’ I’d probably give it 4 stars, but then I checked myself and thought, who the fuck rates and reviews a book objectively? It’s all about how it makes you feel and how you connect with it personally, and this book felt like it was written for me and so it gets ALL THE STARS! Plus, the writing is absolutely stunning.
.
A lot Saltwater is reflected in Andrews’ own life. Like her protagonist, she grew up in working class Sunderland and felt like she wanted something else (not more, just else), and then spent time living in London and Donegal, as she has Irish roots. Lucy muses on what home means to her, especially when she doesn’t feel at home in London at uni but when she comes back up North she no longer feels at home there either. That’s when she decides to explore her Irish roots and moves to her grandfather’s cottage in a tiny town by the coast. When I spoke to Andrews for an interview, she said she’s since learned that home is inside of us, something we carry around wherever we end up, and I just loved that.
.
The style is experimental and poetic, and across two pages we might have sections from Lucy’s childhood in the North East, her grandmother’s adolescence, her time at uni, and her Irish present. The non linear timeline works very well, but it’s clearly split into sections so it doesn’t get too overwhelming and you can always centre yourself in the narrative.
.
It’s raw and heartbreaking and gutwrenching, and reading about Lucy’s childhood was often like reading about my own. Jessica also said in that interview that when she was younger she didn’t feel like her life was ‘worth much’ coming from the North East, and she wanted to show that there is poetry in everyone’s story, even if you dare to hail from outside of London. LOVED. IT.
.
I said in my initial thoughts on Goodreads that were I to rate this ‘objectively’ I’d probably give it 4 stars, but then I checked myself and thought, who the fuck rates and reviews a book objectively? It’s all about how it makes you feel and how you connect with it personally, and this book felt like it was written for me and so it gets ALL THE STARS! Plus, the writing is absolutely stunning.
.
A lot Saltwater is reflected in Andrews’ own life. Like her protagonist, she grew up in working class Sunderland and felt like she wanted something else (not more, just else), and then spent time living in London and Donegal, as she has Irish roots. Lucy muses on what home means to her, especially when she doesn’t feel at home in London at uni but when she comes back up North she no longer feels at home there either. That’s when she decides to explore her Irish roots and moves to her grandfather’s cottage in a tiny town by the coast. When I spoke to Andrews for an interview, she said she’s since learned that home is inside of us, something we carry around wherever we end up, and I just loved that.
.
The style is experimental and poetic, and across two pages we might have sections from Lucy’s childhood in the North East, her grandmother’s adolescence, her time at uni, and her Irish present. The non linear timeline works very well, but it’s clearly split into sections so it doesn’t get too overwhelming and you can always centre yourself in the narrative.
.
It’s raw and heartbreaking and gutwrenching, and reading about Lucy’s childhood was often like reading about my own. Jessica also said in that interview that when she was younger she didn’t feel like her life was ‘worth much’ coming from the North East, and she wanted to show that there is poetry in everyone’s story, even if you dare to hail from outside of London. LOVED. IT.
May 31, 2024
From the very beginning it is obvious this book has been written in a unique style. It is made up of very short chapters, although I’m not sure you would call them chapters, but it is made up of a multitude of short segments that when put together make up a powerful story.
These short fragments wander back and forth in time; from childhood memories to her life now. Her heart divided between time and place. In some sense it is a coming-of-age novel as we experience Lucy’s life from a growing child both in age and bodily sense of the word. As she grows the segments of writing share a deeper story than once was.
Personally, I found the most interesting part of the story was when Lucy’s grandfather sadly passed away, she packed up her things and headed back to his old stone cottage in the remote setting of Co.Donegal, Ireland. There she must confront her past and possibly find a future. Lucy is lost and has been for quite some time; living in shiny London hasn’t helped that.
This is an incredibly raw and intimate story of one girl/woman’s life. She shares deep truths of which we all experience growing up, but maybe don’t voice. The poetic nature of the writing makes it all the more moving.
From dissecting frogs in biology class at school, to long, to running through the fields of wild Ireland…dive head first into Lucy’s life and get a true sense of what it is to be a female in this day in age living between East London and Co.Donegal. Lucy slowly begins to find her true self in various meanings of the word…
“Sometimes at night I dance in the kitchen. It is a new kind, the sort of dancing that I can only do alone. it is my body welcoming me back. I have missed you, she tells me, sliding her feet across the tiles.” 💃
A fabulous debut and piece of art by Jessica Andrews.
These short fragments wander back and forth in time; from childhood memories to her life now. Her heart divided between time and place. In some sense it is a coming-of-age novel as we experience Lucy’s life from a growing child both in age and bodily sense of the word. As she grows the segments of writing share a deeper story than once was.
Personally, I found the most interesting part of the story was when Lucy’s grandfather sadly passed away, she packed up her things and headed back to his old stone cottage in the remote setting of Co.Donegal, Ireland. There she must confront her past and possibly find a future. Lucy is lost and has been for quite some time; living in shiny London hasn’t helped that.
This is an incredibly raw and intimate story of one girl/woman’s life. She shares deep truths of which we all experience growing up, but maybe don’t voice. The poetic nature of the writing makes it all the more moving.
From dissecting frogs in biology class at school, to long, to running through the fields of wild Ireland…dive head first into Lucy’s life and get a true sense of what it is to be a female in this day in age living between East London and Co.Donegal. Lucy slowly begins to find her true self in various meanings of the word…
“Sometimes at night I dance in the kitchen. It is a new kind, the sort of dancing that I can only do alone. it is my body welcoming me back. I have missed you, she tells me, sliding her feet across the tiles.” 💃
A fabulous debut and piece of art by Jessica Andrews.
December 2, 2020
I’ve been listening to fine detective novels by Henning Mankell when I run because, though I like them quite a bit, I am glad that I rarely feel as if I had to stop and highlight a word or phrase. The story is often enough for me. But debut novel Saltwater, by Jessica Andrews, is all (in the first half or so, at least) about language, words, words, words, visceral language, sharply described issues of home, and while very little surprising happens in the way of plot, everything happens to make the world of her mother and father and little brother Josh come alive, through the sounds and smells of Sunderland, where Andrews herself grew up, then more briefly in London where her main character Lucy goes off to school, and finally, even more briefly at her departed Grandfather's cottage in Donegal. When I feel like I want to highlight or underline a sentence in almost every paragraph as I did in the first several pages of this book, I can't just listen to the book as I do with detective novels. I need to slow down as the book slows down and cherish the words as it does.
This is a first person coming-of-age story of Lucy, who becomes curious at a young age at how “language might capture emotions.” There's the few words of grief as her loving but alcoholic father fails to return for months at a time. She marvels at the way two or three words from a boy might suddenly paralyze her with desire. Then there are the times when she experiences the inexpressible, when words are not enough, no matter how she reaches for them.
Many of the words return again and again to her body, as she grows, and her body in relation to her mother’s body, as that is the central relationship in the book.
“It begins with our bodies. Skin on skin. My body burst from yours.”
Sound becomes important, too. Her much younger brother Josh is born with a heart defect and is also profoundly deaf; so when they fit him with a cochlear implant Ma makes up for all the boy has missed that the house is full of sounds: all manner of whirly toys, laughing clowns, and rock rainfalls (pebbles in a glass tube that when turned upside down sound like rainfall).
Saltwater is about a young girl’s evolving identity in relation to place, class and the body. It’s about women and limitation (Ma, who is left home with Josh when alcoholic Dad leaves home all the time), women and possibility (Lucy, off to London and school and reading and writing), about disability (Josh) and on every page, class, as Lucy and her working-class family are clearly not the posh folks with whom she goes to school. And home, which for her will always be the north, never the south and the big city.
“. . . all this north deep in my soul,"
“. . . that safe, yellow space of bedtimes and steamy kitchens.”
The narrative is fairly straightforward, and nothing really dramatic happens externally in Lucy's life, but internally, where identity happens, things come alive. The story is more told than shown, in reflection, in memory, with little dialogue, and with some chapters running only one or two sentences. The writing is lyrical and sometimes as fresh as a slap or warm as a hug. As I said, I especially liked in Sunderland when the images and language are sharp and sometimes surprising, as when Lucy is pre-teen-- “Girls with orange cheeks in push-up bras brushed past us, smelling of the future”--as things happened more slowly, but as things get a little faster, as in London, the language seems less sharp. That makes sense because London is not deeply visceral for her in the way Sunderland or Donegal are.
There are many boys in the pretty and clever Lucy’s life,
“I want it and I do not want it. I want to be visible and I want to be invisible, or perhaps I want to be visible to some people and not to others.”
And she is in London, in the pubs with a lot of these guys, all these bodies, but they are all forgettable, as the central body and soul in her life is her mother:
“I would forever be in her orbit, moving towards her and pulling away while she quietly controlled the tides, anchoring me to something.”
This is a really fine book about a working-class girl growing up to be a woman, in the place she needs to be grounded.
This is a first person coming-of-age story of Lucy, who becomes curious at a young age at how “language might capture emotions.” There's the few words of grief as her loving but alcoholic father fails to return for months at a time. She marvels at the way two or three words from a boy might suddenly paralyze her with desire. Then there are the times when she experiences the inexpressible, when words are not enough, no matter how she reaches for them.
Many of the words return again and again to her body, as she grows, and her body in relation to her mother’s body, as that is the central relationship in the book.
“It begins with our bodies. Skin on skin. My body burst from yours.”
Sound becomes important, too. Her much younger brother Josh is born with a heart defect and is also profoundly deaf; so when they fit him with a cochlear implant Ma makes up for all the boy has missed that the house is full of sounds: all manner of whirly toys, laughing clowns, and rock rainfalls (pebbles in a glass tube that when turned upside down sound like rainfall).
Saltwater is about a young girl’s evolving identity in relation to place, class and the body. It’s about women and limitation (Ma, who is left home with Josh when alcoholic Dad leaves home all the time), women and possibility (Lucy, off to London and school and reading and writing), about disability (Josh) and on every page, class, as Lucy and her working-class family are clearly not the posh folks with whom she goes to school. And home, which for her will always be the north, never the south and the big city.
“. . . all this north deep in my soul,"
“. . . that safe, yellow space of bedtimes and steamy kitchens.”
The narrative is fairly straightforward, and nothing really dramatic happens externally in Lucy's life, but internally, where identity happens, things come alive. The story is more told than shown, in reflection, in memory, with little dialogue, and with some chapters running only one or two sentences. The writing is lyrical and sometimes as fresh as a slap or warm as a hug. As I said, I especially liked in Sunderland when the images and language are sharp and sometimes surprising, as when Lucy is pre-teen-- “Girls with orange cheeks in push-up bras brushed past us, smelling of the future”--as things happened more slowly, but as things get a little faster, as in London, the language seems less sharp. That makes sense because London is not deeply visceral for her in the way Sunderland or Donegal are.
There are many boys in the pretty and clever Lucy’s life,
“I want it and I do not want it. I want to be visible and I want to be invisible, or perhaps I want to be visible to some people and not to others.”
And she is in London, in the pubs with a lot of these guys, all these bodies, but they are all forgettable, as the central body and soul in her life is her mother:
“I would forever be in her orbit, moving towards her and pulling away while she quietly controlled the tides, anchoring me to something.”
This is a really fine book about a working-class girl growing up to be a woman, in the place she needs to be grounded.
November 15, 2019
3.5 stars
It was a unique look at a young woman finding her stride in the world. I particularly loved the way Lucy expresses her relationship with her mother in raw images, flashes of memory and secret gestures. It’s a nice change to read a book where the mother daughter relationship is not overtly toxic but just complex – like in real life.
The same goes for Lucy’s relationship with herself.
The writing was raw, haunting and poetic (even if at times a little purple). Had I read this instead of listen to it I know I would have underlined many many passages. It had the feeling of a memoir rather than a work of fiction.
The timeline jumps around a lot but I never lost the essence of what the author wanted to convey. The chapters are also very very short but I soon got used to it.
This is one of those books demands your full attention while you are reading it.
I can highly recommend the audio narrator but on the other hand with a book like this you may want to have an actual book to be able to re-read passages.
This type of book will not be everyone’s cup of tea as it has the potential to feel disjointed with slightly overblown descriptions but I thoroughly enjoyed it.
It was a unique look at a young woman finding her stride in the world. I particularly loved the way Lucy expresses her relationship with her mother in raw images, flashes of memory and secret gestures. It’s a nice change to read a book where the mother daughter relationship is not overtly toxic but just complex – like in real life.
The same goes for Lucy’s relationship with herself.
The writing was raw, haunting and poetic (even if at times a little purple). Had I read this instead of listen to it I know I would have underlined many many passages. It had the feeling of a memoir rather than a work of fiction.
The timeline jumps around a lot but I never lost the essence of what the author wanted to convey. The chapters are also very very short but I soon got used to it.
This is one of those books demands your full attention while you are reading it.
I can highly recommend the audio narrator but on the other hand with a book like this you may want to have an actual book to be able to re-read passages.
This type of book will not be everyone’s cup of tea as it has the potential to feel disjointed with slightly overblown descriptions but I thoroughly enjoyed it.
March 27, 2019
This may be another coming of age novel in a sub-genre that is quite over-saturated but I really enjoyed Saltwater - Jessica Andrews' debut novel is a nuanced and well observed portrayal of growing up as a young woman in the UK 00s/10s. We follow Lucy from her childhood into young adulthood as she moves from her hometown of Sunderland to London and later rural Ireland. The novel focuses on Lucy's internal self, her family (her close relationship with her mother, her alcoholic father and her temperamental younger brother). At times poetic, which doesn't always work for me but I liked the style a lot here. Recommended, and an author to watch for sure.
Thank you Netgalley and Hodder Stoughton for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.
Thank you Netgalley and Hodder Stoughton for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.
February 10, 2024
Saltwater follows Lucy, who after the death of her grandfather, returns to her childhood home in Ireland. It is amidst her childhood memories that she pieces together her history, hoping to be able to find some purpose and direction in life.
This book was written a little differently to how the majority of novels are written. It was split into four parts, and is told in short fragments rather than chapters. And this really worked for this novel, in a weird way, meaning I don’t think it would have worked if this was any other kind of story. It’s a little hard to put into words. When I first started reading it, I thought the experience was going to be jarring and I wasn’t going to be able to connect with the story, because the fragments are not in chronological order so they flit from different time periods in Lucy’s life to the present. But I found that I was able to follow it quite well and I actually really enjoyed the way it was written and structured. I don’t think I can picture this novel being written in a traditional way because I don’t think the story would have fit into a normal sort of structure. By choosing to structure it this way, the story defines itself.
The novel explores a lot of themes such as love and finding where you belong in the world, and how your experiences as a child will almost always influence the way you behave as an adult. But the most important thing that Saltwater explores and what I believe was always at the forefront of the story is the relationship between a mother and daughter. And I absolutely loved the depiction of this relationship. Lucy’s relationship and feelings towards her mother felt so raw and realistic and I really enjoyed reading about it. The way Lucy depicts her mother in this god like way really resonated with me because I see my mother in the exact same way. Throughout the whole book, and especially as a child, Lucy just wants to stay close to her mother and know her in every single way and I just related to that on so many levels, which is one of the main reasons I think I enjoyed the novel so much. One thing that I had a problem with though was that throughout the book, Lucy feels like something is missing in her life and that’s a feeling that is consistent and is mentioned throughout the book but then I feel like it wasn’t resolved all that much in the end. In the last few chapters, there’s some sort of resolution, but it just felt really rushed to me and that was the only thing about the book that took me out of the story and I would have liked to see more of an improvement on.
The writing was beautiful. At times I feel like it took a few sentences too many to get to the point that it was trying to make, but for the most part, I really loved the way this book was written. It was poetic, and colourful and very visceral as well. There were times I read passages out loud because the sound of some of the words when read together was just really pleasing to my ears. There was a certain sort of aesthetic to the writing and the overall story which was done really well and remained consistent throughout the book. Now the writing isn’t for everyone and I can understand how some people could find it a bit much, but personally, I really enjoyed it, although I don’t think I could read every single novel Jessica Andrews writes if they’re all going to be written like that.
Overall, Saltwater was an interesting book with really beautiful writing. Lucy’s story was very realistic and visceral and the depiction of the relationship between a mother and daughter was really well done. I look forward to seeing what Jessica Andrews chooses to write next. Also, can we talk about how absolutely beautiful that cover is? I have a soft spot for pretty skies and sunsets on book covers.
“I felt confused by love; the way it could simultaneously trap you and set you free. How it could bring people impossibly close and then push them far away. How people who loved you could leave you when you needed them most.”
This book was written a little differently to how the majority of novels are written. It was split into four parts, and is told in short fragments rather than chapters. And this really worked for this novel, in a weird way, meaning I don’t think it would have worked if this was any other kind of story. It’s a little hard to put into words. When I first started reading it, I thought the experience was going to be jarring and I wasn’t going to be able to connect with the story, because the fragments are not in chronological order so they flit from different time periods in Lucy’s life to the present. But I found that I was able to follow it quite well and I actually really enjoyed the way it was written and structured. I don’t think I can picture this novel being written in a traditional way because I don’t think the story would have fit into a normal sort of structure. By choosing to structure it this way, the story defines itself.
“I was an astronaut, the room was a galaxy, and gravity pulled everything towards the biggest and brightest planet, stardust caught in her hair and the moon reflected in her bottle of beer. I would forever be in her orbit, moving towards her and pulling away while she quietly controlled the tides, anchoring me to something as the universe expanded further and further away from us.”
The novel explores a lot of themes such as love and finding where you belong in the world, and how your experiences as a child will almost always influence the way you behave as an adult. But the most important thing that Saltwater explores and what I believe was always at the forefront of the story is the relationship between a mother and daughter. And I absolutely loved the depiction of this relationship. Lucy’s relationship and feelings towards her mother felt so raw and realistic and I really enjoyed reading about it. The way Lucy depicts her mother in this god like way really resonated with me because I see my mother in the exact same way. Throughout the whole book, and especially as a child, Lucy just wants to stay close to her mother and know her in every single way and I just related to that on so many levels, which is one of the main reasons I think I enjoyed the novel so much. One thing that I had a problem with though was that throughout the book, Lucy feels like something is missing in her life and that’s a feeling that is consistent and is mentioned throughout the book but then I feel like it wasn’t resolved all that much in the end. In the last few chapters, there’s some sort of resolution, but it just felt really rushed to me and that was the only thing about the book that took me out of the story and I would have liked to see more of an improvement on.
“I am so drawn to difficult things. I am always travelling far away from the people I love. I am constantly searching for something that I cannot articulate, uprooting and disappearing based on an abstract feeling in the pit of my belly. What if it was not the right thing to leave London? What if this is not the right way to live? Perhaps it is better to want tangible things, like bodies and objects. Everything I want is invisible. Do invisible things have worth?”
The writing was beautiful. At times I feel like it took a few sentences too many to get to the point that it was trying to make, but for the most part, I really loved the way this book was written. It was poetic, and colourful and very visceral as well. There were times I read passages out loud because the sound of some of the words when read together was just really pleasing to my ears. There was a certain sort of aesthetic to the writing and the overall story which was done really well and remained consistent throughout the book. Now the writing isn’t for everyone and I can understand how some people could find it a bit much, but personally, I really enjoyed it, although I don’t think I could read every single novel Jessica Andrews writes if they’re all going to be written like that.
“At first, I thought that a reluctance to relinquish the past was a refusal to acknowledge the passing of time. Now I understand it more as a symbol of temporality and a reminder that there are layers of lived experience crisscrossing the surfaces of our lives, invisible to us. There is room for everything here. There are traces of the past in the present and there is space for the future, too.”
Overall, Saltwater was an interesting book with really beautiful writing. Lucy’s story was very realistic and visceral and the depiction of the relationship between a mother and daughter was really well done. I look forward to seeing what Jessica Andrews chooses to write next. Also, can we talk about how absolutely beautiful that cover is? I have a soft spot for pretty skies and sunsets on book covers.
May 9, 2021
Ich verneige mich vor der besonderen Sprache dieses Buches, es ist echte Kunst. Leider bin ich trotzdem den Figuren nicht nahe gekommen, sondern habe sie eher mit Ehrfurcht aus einer gewissen Distanz betrachtet.
November 21, 2019
Disappointing. It reeks of MFA in Creative Writing. This not a bad this per se - it's only bad insofar as it produces writing of this type. Overdoing adjectives does not a 'stunning new voice in British literary fiction' make! It's a vaguely coming-of-age (autobiographical?) novel that flirts with the idea of making a point about the Meaning of Life without actually doing so.
I've noticed a trend for this style of writing - the kind to be placed closest to the door at Waterstones or Blackwell's. I hope it goes out of fashion soon!
I've noticed a trend for this style of writing - the kind to be placed closest to the door at Waterstones or Blackwell's. I hope it goes out of fashion soon!
May 19, 2020
“Acqua salata” è l’esordio editoriale di Jessica Andrews.
Sebbene la Andrews scriva da anni per tante riviste e insegni scrittura creativa, è in realtà molto giovane.
Questo romanzo (che si intuisce essere un po’ autobiografico) ha in sé tutto il dolore di chi non ha avuto una vita facile e ce l’ha messa tutta per riscattarsi e per ricostruirsi. È duro e al tempo stesso poetico.
La scrittrice usa la prima persona e all’inizio non si capisce chi sia il “tu” a cui si rivolge: lo si capirà man mano che si andrà avanti nella lettura.
“Possiamo essere insieme solo in questo tempo e in questo luogo particolari. Siamo come le pozze che si formano di pomeriggio tra gli scogli. Sappiamo che la marea ci porterà di nuovo al largo eppure per il momento siamo qui, insieme a gamberetti e anemoni di mare. Le cose che abbiamo fatto ci appartengono e saranno sempre qui, racchiuse nell’umidità di questo posto.”
È un libro aperto alla speranza: nonostante tutte le sofferenze inflitte da chi doveva prendersi cura di lei, la protagonista, Lucy, ad un certo punto del racconto, non naufraga, ma trova in sé la spinta per rinascere.
“Quando il presente comincia a sgretolarsi, c’è spazio per scrivere il futuro”.
Tra 4 e 5 stelle: si perde un po' a metà della seconda parte.
Per il resto è un gran bel libro!
Sebbene la Andrews scriva da anni per tante riviste e insegni scrittura creativa, è in realtà molto giovane.
Questo romanzo (che si intuisce essere un po’ autobiografico) ha in sé tutto il dolore di chi non ha avuto una vita facile e ce l’ha messa tutta per riscattarsi e per ricostruirsi. È duro e al tempo stesso poetico.
La scrittrice usa la prima persona e all’inizio non si capisce chi sia il “tu” a cui si rivolge: lo si capirà man mano che si andrà avanti nella lettura.
“Possiamo essere insieme solo in questo tempo e in questo luogo particolari. Siamo come le pozze che si formano di pomeriggio tra gli scogli. Sappiamo che la marea ci porterà di nuovo al largo eppure per il momento siamo qui, insieme a gamberetti e anemoni di mare. Le cose che abbiamo fatto ci appartengono e saranno sempre qui, racchiuse nell’umidità di questo posto.”
È un libro aperto alla speranza: nonostante tutte le sofferenze inflitte da chi doveva prendersi cura di lei, la protagonista, Lucy, ad un certo punto del racconto, non naufraga, ma trova in sé la spinta per rinascere.
“Quando il presente comincia a sgretolarsi, c’è spazio per scrivere il futuro”.
Tra 4 e 5 stelle: si perde un po' a metà della seconda parte.
Per il resto è un gran bel libro!
March 4, 2021
”It begins with our bodies. Skin on skin. My body burst from yours. Safe together in the violet dark and yet already there are spaces beginning to open between us.”
3.5 stars rounded up to 4 because of the wonderful narration by Natalie Jamieson. This book with it's short chapters, and journal-like entries about everyday coming of age experiences feels very much like a memoir. The writing is absolutely exquisite, I don't think I've ever read anything like it.
I started listening to this last year just as we went into lockdown, and couldn't concentrate on anything. I only managed to get back to it now, and if it wasn't for this interrupted reading/listening this would definitely have been a 5 star for me. I hope she writes another book soon.
June 13, 2022
Η Λούσυ, μεγαλωμένη σε μια επαρχιακή πόλη της Ιρλανδίας, μετακομίζει στο Λονδίνο, όπου της αρέσει να μετακινείται με το ποδήλατο. Όμως, η πολύβουη πόλη, δεν της ταιριάζει και επιστρέφει στην αγροικία του παππού της.
Εκεί, ξεκινά μια αναδρομή της ζωής της από όταν ήταν πολύ μικρή και παράλληλα της σχέσης της με τη μητέρα της. Από τη γνωριμία και τον γάμο των γονιών της, τη γέννηση της, τις οικονομικές δυσκολίες, τον αλκοολισμό του πατέρα της, τον ερχομό του αδερφού της μέχρι την εφηβεία της και τις δικές της επαναστάσεις.
Με μικρά κεφάλαια, εναλλαγές ανάμεσα στο παρόν και στο παρελθόν χωρίς συγκεκριμένη χρονολογική σειρά, η συγγραφέας γράφει μια ιστορία ενηλικίωσης, που επικεντρώνεται στην προσπάθεια της ηρωίδας να βρει τη θέση της στον κόσμο, ενώ την ίδια στιγμή, αναλύει την κάπως πολύπλοκη σχέση της με τη μητέρα της. Η γραφή της έχει ωραία πρόζα και γίνεται λυρική σε κάποια σημεία.
3,5 αστέρια
Εκεί, ξεκινά μια αναδρομή της ζωής της από όταν ήταν πολύ μικρή και παράλληλα της σχέσης της με τη μητέρα της. Από τη γνωριμία και τον γάμο των γονιών της, τη γέννηση της, τις οικονομικές δυσκολίες, τον αλκοολισμό του πατέρα της, τον ερχομό του αδερφού της μέχρι την εφηβεία της και τις δικές της επαναστάσεις.
Με μικρά κεφάλαια, εναλλαγές ανάμεσα στο παρόν και στο παρελθόν χωρίς συγκεκριμένη χρονολογική σειρά, η συγγραφέας γράφει μια ιστορία ενηλικίωσης, που επικεντρώνεται στην προσπάθεια της ηρωίδας να βρει τη θέση της στον κόσμο, ενώ την ίδια στιγμή, αναλύει την κάπως πολύπλοκη σχέση της με τη μητέρα της. Η γραφή της έχει ωραία πρόζα και γίνεται λυρική σε κάποια σημεία.
3,5 αστέρια
July 16, 2019
Like Bluets for the Sally Rooney generation. This book gave me the same disoriented feeling of scrolling my Instagram feed for too long: intimate, glimpsed fragments of other worlds papier-mached onto my own/Lucy's idea of self.
April 28, 2020
Jessica Andrews can certainly write and has a vivid eye for language and style but this didn't hit the spot for me. It's a bildungsroman (thinly veiled memoir?) about Lucy from Sunderland who is struggling to find her identity (and escape her working class past?) as she moves to London to study and to Donegal where her grandfather hails from.
She is strongest as a writer when she tackles her family. I love how she wrote about them all, it's beautiful and really rings true. The same about her romance in Donegal. There's a haunting authenticity here.
However a lot of the writing is light, lacks direction substance and reads like excerpts from a pretentious student's diary. I think this would have worked much better as a memoir , novella or a poetry collection rather than being branded as 'literary fiction'.
She is strongest as a writer when she tackles her family. I love how she wrote about them all, it's beautiful and really rings true. The same about her romance in Donegal. There's a haunting authenticity here.
However a lot of the writing is light, lacks direction substance and reads like excerpts from a pretentious student's diary. I think this would have worked much better as a memoir , novella or a poetry collection rather than being branded as 'literary fiction'.
January 15, 2026
“Parte della nebbia si dissipò, lasciandomi spazio per leggere. Scoprii Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath e Susan Sontag e cominciai a sentirmi meno strana.”
March 17, 2021
4.5 stars. Raw and relatable, with beautiful writing! Full review to come.
Did Not Finish
July 23, 2020It just feels... a little (a lot) too much creative-writing-undergrad-class and I really couldn't get into it.
January 2, 2021
Poesia, ricerca linguistica e una struttura simile a un diario, in cui però i fatti non seguono un ordine cronologico, ma vengono raccontati sull’onda di emozioni e ricordi, questa storia di caduta e di rinascita è secondo me soffocata da un eccesso di lirismo. È comunque un romanzo d’esordio estremamente interessante.
July 11, 2024
A positive from this book is that I found a deeper appreciation for my own mother after reading it. I liked the exploration of mother and daughter relationships, Lucy’s relatability in her struggle to fit in and belong during and after her time at university, and her own internal monologue of thoughts. At times I was finding myself unable to attach fully to this book, I think it was due to the constant use of small chapters with some being around 6 sentences long. Sometimes, due to this shortness, it failed to fully demonstrate the emotional disconnect Lucy is feeling in her life at certain moments. Whilst it was interesting to read a mix of timelines from her adolescence, to the present day in Ireland, to her journal like entries seemingly addressed to her mother it wasn’t my ideal layout for prose.
May 21, 2022
Saltwater is an introspective story told in poetic prose and fragmented thoughts. It weaves together the story of Lucy, past and present. In coming of age, Lucy feels a bit out of place in her home, her city, her relationships and her body. Saltwater is millennial nostalgia. It is beautiful in its simplicity. It envelops you in a slow, quiet, honest story that takes your breath away.
Reading this book was the most visceral reading experience I have ever had. I felt Saltwater in my bones. I left this novel with a blank expression and tears in my eyes, desperate to dive back in. Not only to put the pieces of this story together, but also to be seen, to be understood, to remember. Remember feeling like too much and not enough simultaneously. Piecing together my identity with the shards of other people. Aching for a relationship with my mom. The desire to stay here, but also leave. For something else, not more.
”’I’m going to take up dancing,’ I declare to the man sitting at the bar...
‘What kind of dancing?’ he asks, eyebrows raised.
‘I don’t know. Something very physical, without many rules.’ He frowns. ‘I don’t live in my body enough,’ I tell him. ‘You know?’ I want something that takes me out of my head and brings me back into myself.’ He looks at me blankly. He cannot understand. His mind and his body are so united that he can’t imagine ever having to bring them back together. He has never felt that fracture inside.”
Pretty sure this is my favorite book of all time.
Reading this book was the most visceral reading experience I have ever had. I felt Saltwater in my bones. I left this novel with a blank expression and tears in my eyes, desperate to dive back in. Not only to put the pieces of this story together, but also to be seen, to be understood, to remember. Remember feeling like too much and not enough simultaneously. Piecing together my identity with the shards of other people. Aching for a relationship with my mom. The desire to stay here, but also leave. For something else, not more.
”’I’m going to take up dancing,’ I declare to the man sitting at the bar...
‘What kind of dancing?’ he asks, eyebrows raised.
‘I don’t know. Something very physical, without many rules.’ He frowns. ‘I don’t live in my body enough,’ I tell him. ‘You know?’ I want something that takes me out of my head and brings me back into myself.’ He looks at me blankly. He cannot understand. His mind and his body are so united that he can’t imagine ever having to bring them back together. He has never felt that fracture inside.”
Pretty sure this is my favorite book of all time.
March 14, 2020
This was so nostalgic for me. So many instances where I saw myself in the narrative. From what Lucy was having for tea, to the what she was wearing to go out. Perhaps if you are not a similar age to me (mid twenties) and didn't grow up in the more Northern areas of the UK, then you might not 'get it'. Its so nice to see the way I grew up written in a novel which seems odd to say but I do feel like my class and childhood era seems rarely represented in UK fiction. I suppose books written by and about my generation are hopefully going to become more popular in time.
I'm going to give it 4 stars for now and see how it sits. I'm not doing half star ratings this year so a 4 for now, but i may well mark it up to 5 if it lingers for me.
Part of me is desperate to buy a physical copy and reread it so I can annotate all the bits I related to. I believe this won the Portico prize? At the very least I know it was on the shortlist. It definitely captured the spirit of the north for me and I'm so glad I picked it up as it was on a complete whim.
I'm going to give it 4 stars for now and see how it sits. I'm not doing half star ratings this year so a 4 for now, but i may well mark it up to 5 if it lingers for me.
Part of me is desperate to buy a physical copy and reread it so I can annotate all the bits I related to. I believe this won the Portico prize? At the very least I know it was on the shortlist. It definitely captured the spirit of the north for me and I'm so glad I picked it up as it was on a complete whim.
January 7, 2021
Hay mucho de mí en esta novela, de ahí que me haya calado tanto. Juzgándola con distancia, confieso que la narrativa a veces es algo cursi y peca de sobreadjetivar largas oraciones subordinadas que acaban por no decir nada. Sin embargo me gusta cómo se resuelve su estructura, cómo consigue intercalar toda la historia familiar; de manera que a través de fragmentos brevísimos, como vistazos escurridizos, espiamos los traumas, secretos y rencores que han llevado a Lucy a estar donde está en el tiempo presente. También me ha gustado mucho el hecho de que, a pesar de ser un texto esencialmente nostálgico, íntimo y arraigado en el dolor, también es veloz y voraz. Transmite muy bien ese nervio interno que llevamos todas las que nos hemos perdido a nosotras mismas en algún momento de nuestra vida (en particular: descubriéndonos mujeres, de clase trabajadora y con la carga heredada de los cuidados).
January 30, 2021
Saltwater really tickled some of my niche reading interests, and I liked it a lot more than I expected to. This is a very Rachel Cusk-esque, but through a more youthful lens kind of novel. Told in a series of non-linear vignettes, its a story that’s full of the introspective reflection about being young, leaving home, and the tension between responsibility and freedom. It won’t be for everyone but it was for me.
November 16, 2022
Could not finish this…it was just no good. It was rife with empty and overused metaphors. The way the story is told is jumping through memories and feels more akin to poetry (albeit bad poetry) rather than prose. I hate to be rude, but it felt like something someone in high school would write, and something a Rupi Kaur fan would love.
September 2, 2022
A bit repetitive at some points but it was the Sally-Rooney-ish book I always find myself in need of
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