I had wanted to give this four stars, with comments centred on ‘inconsequential’ in the same way that your life, dear reader of my review, is utterly inconsequential to me, and mine is to you, but each of ours is of life and death significance to ourselves. (Unless you’re a family member checking in on my reviews, of course). Because this is inconsequential, in the sense that this single day in the Thames Valley in the 1950s doesn’t impinge on my life in the slightest, and I think I would not be in the slightest changed if I had never read this. But the prose is languidly beautiful, gentle like the river running past the Swintons’ house, and losing yourself in a (significant) day in the life of irrelevant people in this short novel is well worth the investment.
But - and this is where JM QC loses a star - I sense everybody speaks in one voice, and what characters say and do doesn’t always ring true. For example - not a spoiler because it happens early on - a body is found and a tramp appears sleeping rough, and Julia Swinton doesn’t join the dots, because not joining the dots is vital for the narrative that follows. Which is a shame, but shouldn’t spoil what is a very enjoyable but minor piece.