I absolutely loved Nadin’s last book, The Queen of Bloody Everything, and so was a little apprehensive about reading The Talk of Pram Town. How could it possibly compare? Well. Having just closed the back cover, cheeks slippery, and with a stomach-crunching pain - a concoction of resolution and loss (for the end of the read and the fate of a character) - I can honestly say I loved this as much. Possibly more?
It’s the day of Charles’ & Di’s wedding when Connie Holiday dies suddenly. A single mother, a singer and a dreamer living hand-to-mouth, she leaves little to show for her short, disappointing life – a string of failed relationships, and her one great achievement, Sadie. Now eleven and motherless, where will Sadie go? Her father is an unknown and her only living kin are the estranged grandparents, Jean and Bernard Earnshaw, still living in the Essex ‘new town’ that her mother escaped age 17, when she fled Harlow for a ‘loaded-gun’ life anywhere else. So back there, where it all began, is where Sadie will, temporarily, be cared for. But judgemental Jean isn’t the warmth that Sadie longs for, and ‘the Child’, with her Leeds upbringing – coarse manners and excruciating dialect – piques Jean, reminding her of Connie and shame. But, as truths about Connie come to light, Jean is forced to re-evaluate everything she thought she knew, about her daughter and herself, and ‘the Child’.
The story flits between 1981 and 1969, a relay between Connie, Jean and Sadie, settling on one side of the story before being flipped to land on another – a detail of scorched truth or uncooked expectation revealed with each toss. The characterisation is genius, deftly, economically conjured with the raise of an eyebrow or the rustle of a newspaper, snippets of dialogue and observations so sharp they take your breath away. And the characters, flawed and fabulous, all. Sadie’s wise naivety is delightful, Connie’s ambition so achingly familiar, the porcupine Jean recognisable. And the secondary characters are no less thought-out. Each one sings. Fits his or her role perfectly. Actual people, not place holders.
Much of it funny (some hilarious), the writing is light and quick. But like a skimmed stone, it touches down and creates ripples in the deep, and the crafting of it all is as tight as a wire; there’s a sense that you’re in the safe hands of a master story-teller. As with The Queen of Bloody Everything, Nadin plays with tense so cleverly you’re unsure if it’s first person or third person, or something altogether new; you are inside the action but still observing it; in some places it’s gritty, in others it’s light entertainment; in every scenario, you are in the room, under the bed, in the back seat of the car, feeling every heart-beat. In fact, everything about this book is alive, and, if you’re as old as me, you’ll also feel the steady pulse of nostalgia (which, intentional or not, triggers your own sense of time lost, misspent, of regret even); from the television programmes to the haircuts to the newspaper headlines, the cultural references are researched and remastered in high-definition.
The Talk of Pram Town is a page-turning tale of mothers and daughters, communication and expectation. Essentially, it’s about love and loss and redemption; it’s about life. And it’s wonderful.