Me olemme susia

by Evie Wyld, Aleksi Milonoff (Translator)

Vuosisadat vaihtuvat, väkivalta pysyy

Nousevan kirjailijatähden tummasävyinen, voimakas romaani. Kolme aikakautta, kolme naista Skotlannin rannikolla, muuttumaton taistelu sortoa vastaan.

1700-luvulla noidaksi syytetty tyttö pakenee vainoajiaan metsään. 1900-luvulla ahdistuneen kotirouvan elämästä määrää joku muu. 2000-luvulla masentunut nainen etsii ulospääsyä merkityksettömästä pimeästä. Palkitun nuoren kirjailijan vihaa ja valoa hehkuva romaani kertoo naisiin kohdistuvasta väkivallasta, jonka varjo tahraa aikaan ja paikkaan katsomatta. Lyyrinen kertomus iskee syvälle, mutta tarjoaa myös pelastuksen mahdollisuuden: alistetut voivat löytää voimaa toinen toisistaan.

Genres: Historical Fiction, Fiction, Historical, Literary Fiction, Scotland, Feminism, Gothic

423 pages, Hardcover

First published February 4, 2020

Reviews

[Paromjit · Rating 5 out of 5]

Evie Wyld's writes a ambitious haunting gothic novel set amidst the Scottish North Berwick coast, with its eerie wildness and the formidable presence of the Bass Rock, bearing witness through the ages of endemic misogyny and toxic masculinity, over which society operates a collective amnesia right up to our contemporary times. Running through the veins of this unsettling and disturbing novel is the barely suppressed rage of what has been done to women through history, the silencing of their voices, the gaslighting, the murder, the oppression, the physical, emotional and psychological abuse, the accusations of witchcraft and insanity. Set in three different eras, there are connections made and unrelenting echoes through time of women's experiences in their fight for survival in a indifferent and challenging world.

in the 18th century, Sarah is a teenager who finds herself having to go on the run with a priest and his son when villagers accuse her of being a witch who needs to be burnt. In the post-WW2 years, Ruth has just married Peter, a widower previously married to Elspeth, with two sons. Ruth has recently moved into the area, still grieving over the loss of her brother, Anthony, with a often absent Peter, trying to do her best to be a stepmother to his sons. However, she struggles with her marriage and is unable to fit in with the repressive locals. In the present, Viviane too is grieving, she has lost her father, and she has arrived to clear the house of her grandmother Ruth's things, only to find her little known family history and mystery slowly being revealed. With its artfully constructed structure, it has a disjointed narrative shifting from the past and the present, interspersed with the voices of other ordinary women. There is a stronger focus on Ruth and Viviane than Sarah, although the character of Maggie in the present with her local map of murdered women in the area undoubtedly brings her to the forefront again.

Wyld explores the dysfunctional male psyche that is at the heart of their flawed, violent and abusive behaviours in this engaging and riveting read. Here, the terrors that the supernatural might hold pales in comparison when it comes to the dangerous realities and nightmares that women face at the hands of a man, whilst all acknowledgement of their experiences are obliterated as if they never happened or are of little consequence. This is compulsive and unforgettable if dark reading, so beautifully written, imbued with a dark humour and wit, of a timely contemporary reality and theme that refuses to forget and highlights what has happened to women and continues to happen today. Highly recommended. Many thanks to the publisher for an ARC.

[Adina · Rating 3 out of 5]

I do not really know how to rate and review this novel. It is marketed as a gothic novel and in my opinion it fails to be one. On the other hand, it succeeds to be a good chronic of violence against women through history and of how badly they were treated if they dared to fight back.

The Author presents the story of three women, Sarah, Ruth and Viviane. In 1700’s, Sarah is accused of witchcraft and has to flea together with a family that helps her. The 2nd narratives takes place after 2nd WW2 when Ruth and her new husband move to Scotland. The husband marries Ruth mostly to have a nanny and does not seem to feel love towards her. The young woman accepts her role at first and when she begins to fight against the injustice she has to face, toxic masculinity comes forward and lot of horrible stuff happen. We follow the 3rd woman Viviane, who has a strange relationship with men and does some not very nice things in general. Their story is related somehow but you will have to read the novel to discover more.

I cannot go into detail why this book should be a gothic novel, but the introduction of a certain element to convey a feeling of mystery and darkness did not work well in combination with the tone of writing. Maybe the only part the novel does well it’s the condemnation of violence against women, in its many forms through history (femicide, rape, the risk to be taken in an asylum if you say the wrong things etc). The latter reminds me of Sarah Waters and the much better novel Fingersmith. Sometimes I felt the hate towards men was a bit too much. I understand there was an agenda and some points had to be proven. However, the women in this story were not perfect either and not all men are terrible.

I felt the writing was inconsistent. Sometimes it grabbed me and I could not stop reading, and at other times I wanted to give up.

[Violet wells · Rating 2 out of 5]

For me this novel was clumsy, overly contrived and consistently mistakes melodrama for dramatic tension. I couldn't help recalling Virginia Woolf's observations about Jane Eyre, how Charlotte's (feminist) anger had disrupted the artistic integrity of her writing at times. I think you can times that by ten here. Wyld seems a writer with the equivalent of road rage, so angry that it's often as if she's cataloguing masculine crimes rather than dramatizing them.

The Bass Rock is about male violence on women and how the ghosts of women harmed by men haunt our interactions with the world. It consists of three interlocking narratives. There's the girl accused of being a witch who has to flee into the wilds with a family who protect her. This narrative was so flimsy as to be wholly negligible. Many writers invest an impressive quantity of time and effort in recreating a period of history. Wyld's 1700s England reads like it was evoked from memories of a camping trip and flicking through a book on the medicinal properties of herbs. The second narrative is the story of Rose who has never recovered from the death of her brother in the Great War. She marries a man who essentially wants little more than a nanny for his two children. Soon we hear her husband is cheating on her. Then he hits her. Then he rapes her. Then he wants to section her in an asylum. Wyld doesn't appear to understand the concept of less is more. The problem is he's a wooden photoshopped character who never comes alive on the page. I found I was feeling no indignation at him, no sympathy for her because it's hard to respond emotionally to clichés except with irritation. I couldn't help remembering how odious Virginia Woolf made her doctor in Mrs Dalloway with just a couple of brilliantly chosen phrases and how much sympathy one felt for Septimus as a result. The third narrative is set in the modern day. Her modern female is fortyish, has no vocation, no qualifications, no romantic history except to sleep with her sister's husband and is a virtual alcoholic. In the brief time span we accompany her there's a man who jumps out from behind her car at night, a man who masturbates against her backdoor window, an unexplained crime scene close to her home, a violent sexual encounter with a man she picks up in a pub, and finally her sister's husband tries to attack his wife with a hammer at a funeral. It's verging on slapstick comedy and quite entertaining as such. Wyld shoplifts Ali Smith's free spirited female sprite to bring about the healing of her damaged narrator but the resolution of this bond, a chant to the goddess Diana, reads like sentimental new age claptrap. I had no belief whatsoever that after the novel finishes she wouldn't return to alcohol abuse and picking up unhinged men in pubs. And as if there isn't already enough violence in this novel, at the end of every part is an account of violence done to some anonymous woman. I didn't understand at all the purpose of these snapshots. It began to seem like Wyld enjoyed writing about violence inflicted on women. (Just as well this wasn't written by a man: except that should never be a criterion for evaluating the literary merit of a novel.)

Perhaps as light entertainment it works okay but for me it failed to impress or even register on any deeper level. A shame because I really liked her previous novel.

[Kylie D · Rating 3 out of 5]

The Bass Rock is an account of the lives of three women, separated by time, whose lives revolve around a small town in Scotland. The three timelines are woven around them, detailing their lives, but I found that they jumped about a bit too much and was sometimes confused as to where I was up to. The consequence of this was that I didn't feel a connection with any of the women, and I didn't receive a great deal of satisfaction from it. It's not a bad book by any means, just not my cup of tea.

My thanks to Better Reading and the publisher for an uncorrected proof in exchange for an honest review.

[Andy Marr · Rating 4 out of 5]

I loved and hated this book in equal measure: loved it because of its intelligent writing and excellent characters; hated it because it was just so fucking bleak.

There were other issues. For example, the earliest of the three stories describes a seventeenth century family travelling for weeks through a Scottish woodland, but the Lowlands of Scotland contained few trees during this time in history, and certainly no forests of the size invented here by Wyld. Meanwhile, the second story describes a train journey that took its passenger direct from North Berwick to London, but having grown up in East Lothian, I know that all trains from the town terminate in Edinburgh. I sound pedantic, I know, but I guess many more readers than me will know Scotland well and be similarly bothered by these anachronisms.

[Gumble's Yard - Golden Reviewer · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book was one of the most anticipated of 2020, written seven years after the author’s second novel, which like her first was a prize winner (in this case the Miles Franklin award) and received a number of prize short and longlistings.

Now published in paperback this too is a prize winner - the 2021 Stella Prize

Originally scheduled to be published in 2016 it was described on its acquisition by Jonathan Cape (Bookseller 21st June 2016) as telling the stories of three "distinct" women in three different times that will intersect and dramatise "why something ‘only being in your head’ is the most terrifying thing of all". The novel's characters include a woman from North Berwick in 1590, who stands accused of being a witch and is "frightened by her own mind"; a woman moves to a large house in a "haunted landscape" in North Berwick to take care of her new husband's two sons, both traumatised by the recent death of their mother; and a 21st century novelist travelling in the south of France to research a ghost story her parents told her when she was a child.

What I find interesting about this, is that although the kernel of the novel we are now reading is there, one of the stories (the modern day one) and the key theme underlying them all has changed – my understanding is that the author found in the #metoo movement that theme and a way to really bring together her narrative trends.

The book still tells three interwoven stories from different time frames, all now set in the area of West Berwick. Each section (named I think after Islands and other local features) is structured I, II, III, II, I ; with the I sections are set in the present day, II sections post-WWII and III sections several hundred years earlier.

The I sections are written in a deeply revelatory first person account by Vivienne. She lives alone in London, having recently suffered some form of nervous breakdown after the death of her Father, but has been asked by her family (and particularly her paternal Uncle) to assist with the inventorying (and then caretaking) of the old family home in Berwick while it is on sale.

The II sections are told in a much more measured, emotionally suppressed, third person point of view by Ruth living in the same house immediately post-war, having moved to it with her new husband Peter and his two sons. Ruth’s beloved brother was killed in the war, her reaction to this leading to her almost being hospitalised, whereas Peter lost his beloved wife to illness. Ruth is Vivienne’s paternal grandmother, Vivienne’s mother being, we quickly realise, the niece of Ruth’s housekeeper (Vivienne’s maternal grandmother having being sent to some form of mental asylum).

The III sections are in a third-party present told by a lad whose ex-preacher/now close to outcast Father breaks up the rape of a young girl Sarah who is accused of being a witch.

The artistic influences on the book seem strong.

The I sections, particularly the rather dysfunctional relationship the narrator has with her sister (as well as with men, including even an early relationship with a curate) seem to be heavily Fleabag inspired.

The II sections seem to draw on Sarah Waters gothic – for example The Little Stranger.

The III sections are a rather uninspired attempt at a Philippa Gregory novel – and suffer greatly, in my view, in a year when “Hamnet” and “The Mirror and The Light” writing far more convincing present-tense historic novels set in a not dissimilar period.

And there are elements of Ali Smith and Sarah Moss there also.

The book opens with a brief but horribly striking prologue in which the young Vivienne comes across a suitcase stuffed with the body of a dead woman. Each section then ends with a brief section (which move over time) setting out a tale of a woman being assaulted by a man – the last chillingly with a story we realise is the prologue to the book’s opening.

And this sets out the book’s central theme – the way in which women have suffered repeatedly over the year’s from the toxic impact of masculinity. This theme is most clearly articulated by Maggie (a part time sex worker and drifter, who first befriends Vivienne by saving her from a man crouching behind her car) and who considers that female victims of male violence are effectively the victims of one, centuries old but still unchecked serial killer and not in any way the isolated and anomalous events that male-dominated society likes to portray them as.

And the subject of each of the sections suffer from male violence – violence delivered both in a aggravated possessive way by those close to them; and in a more detached but equally violent way by those not so close .

Vivienne’s section includes: a series of encounters with a creepy (and at least to me, rather oddly unbelievable) boyfriend whose first sexual encounter with her ends roughly (in what starts as uninvited tickling and becomes much rougher) and who becomes possessive; the man behind the car and another who seems to masturbate on her window; a possessive and then near murderous husband of her sister.

Ruth’s relationship with Peter moves through subjugation, infidelity denied gaslighting style, marital rape and attempted sectioning. At the same time she is subject to the attentions of an a very odd Vicar (again a rather to me unbelievable character) and to rough assault (similar to aggrevated tickling) in a bizarre traditional hide and seek game.

And Sarah is only just rescued from murder and rape (with the tickling of witches) – and then subject to the aggressive possessive instincts of the narrator as the story progresses.

And that list I think misses out a number of other attacks. At times it feels like the Maggie character is taking over the writing of the book and turning into more of a catalogue of male abuse than a novel.

Some of the circular cause/effects of toxic masculinity are examined – in particular war, boarding schools, the idea of a stiff upper lip.

And the sections (particularly I and II) are shot through with a series of recurring images: the Bass Rock itself (as I think a silent witness of the years of male violence; a ghost of a young girl; recurring images of foxes and wolves (the former seen I think as more female friendly, the latter as more male dominated and also dominating – part of the toxic influences of masculinity on men themselves); the decay of bodies – of animals, humans and fish (with an early image of a rotting shark beached – which I think also relates to Wyld’s graphic memoir “Everything is Teeth” about her childhood obsession with sharks); fungi (particularly stinkhorn).

There is a lot to like in this book and it is a memorable one.

I do think that the Sections are uneven – I did not really think Section III added to the book and may even detract from the overall impact as written; I felt many of the male characters were not really convincing and came across as more like caricatures; and the book can feel over the top in terms of its theme with a relentlessness which while, I think, is very deliberate, runs the risk of leaving the reader numbed rather than, correctly horrified at what is a devastating account of misogynist violence not as aberration but as a repeating pattern.

3.5*

My thanks to Random House for an ARC via NetGalley.

[Melissa ~ Bantering Books · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Bass Rock has been sitting on my NetGalley shelf for three years, and I’ve no clue as to why I've never read it before this last week. Other books got in its way, I suppose. But now I’m mad at myself for not reading it sooner, because Evie Wyld has written quite a good book, and I missed out on it for far too long.

The novel tells the story of three women, centuries apart, living in Scotland near the Bass Rock, whose lives have been broken by controlling men. Sarah is accused of witchcraft, Ruth is newly married and living in the aftermath of World War II, and sixty years later, Viv is staying in Ruth’s house and cleaning out Ruth’s belongings after her death.

All three women have suffered, albeit in different ways, at the hands of men. The story is not an easy read – we witness rape, physical violence, gaslighting, threats of mental institutions – and it’s maddening to think that for so long, for so many years, women have been subjected to this abuse without much ever changing.

Through her writing, Wyld is unapologetic in her feminism and fierce in her attack of men. And while I can usually get behind that, some of the male characters are too quick to turn to evil ways. They start out as seemingly good guys, and then a switch is flipped and they’re committing the worst of worst behavior. I wasn’t entirely sold on it and wish there had been earlier hints to their true nature.

I hope Wyld writes another book one day, though. I’m curious to see what she comes up with after such a compelling novel. Me thinks I need more Wyld in my life.


My sincerest appreciation to Evie Wyld, Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group – Pantheon, and NetGalley for the digital review copy. All opinions included herein are my own.

[Phrynne · Rating 2 out of 5]

By the time I reached the end of this book I felt I deserved a medal. The author could not have made it more difficult to read if she had tried.

Three separate timelines, too many characters and constant jumping backwards and forwards meant I was constantly having to remind myself who was who and where we were. It also never gave any individual character chance to become well rounded enough to matter, although since most of them were distinctly unpleasant I guess that did not matter.

The unpleasantness of the characters, especially Viviane, sank to whole new depths towards the end of the book and I was glad when it was all over. Two stars because I did finish it although I was not rewarded with a conclusive ending.

Obviously not my kind of book - I know many, many people loved it.

Thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for the opportunity to read and review this book.

[Carole · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Bass Rock by Evie Wyld takes place over several hundred years. This is the story of three women: Sarah, Ruth and Vivianne. Young Sarah is being persecuted by men who suspect her of being a witch. Many years later, after the end of WWII, Ruth is newly married to a widower, has become the stepmother of two young boys and has relocated with her new family to an unfamiliar part of Great Britain. Sixty years later, upon Ruth’s death, Vivianne has been tasked with sorting through her house in order to put it on the market. All three storylines are linked in several ways but the main similarity is the way women are treated by the men in their lives. Nothing seems to have changed from the era of witchcraft to modern times. The Bass Rock presents the reader with three interesting and well-developed female roles. There is food for thought here. Highly recommended. Thank you to Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group and the author for the e-ARC in exchange for an honest review.

[Beverly · Rating 3 out of 5]

Fierce feminist tale of how the lives of women are taken and crippled by the violence of men, The Bass Rock (a real rocky island off the coast of Scotland) s a symbol of the indifference and cruelty practiced in our society against its weakest members, women and children. This is hard to read, not only because of the brutality, but also because of the way the author jumps back and forth between stories and characters. I had to start over from the beginning, because I thought I had missed a clue or link, but it turns out that is just the writer's style.

I feel that this writer has a gift of setting a scene and making you care about her women, but I like a tighter story arc. The dispersiveness of this way of writing tends to scatter my thoughts and I can't hold onto the story line. When I was finished, I actually forgot I had finished the book and reached for it the next night.

[Marchpane · Rating 5 out of 5]

Winner of the 2021 Stella Prize

[Marianne · Rating 5 out of 5]

“There is such stillness in that small wood where my grandmother died that it catches my breath, I feel I am looking up into space or into a deep high-ceilinged crevasse. ‘Hello!’ I call, just to hear if my voice echoes back. It does, three times.”

The Bass Rock is the third novel by award-winning British-Australian author, Evie Wyld. In post-war Britain, newly-married Ruth Hamilton finds herself in an oversized house in a village in North Berwick, Scotland. She tries, when they are home from boarding school, to connect with her step-sons, and to please her demanding, frequently-absent husband, but measuring up to the beloved wife and mother whom they lost proves discouraging.

It’s a far cry from her existence in London, and she still sorely misses the brother who perished in the war. Ruth finds the village claustrophobic and its traditions less than wholesome. Is the vicar simply a harmless, overenthusiastic lunatic? The person she can best relate to is the house-keeper she inherited with the house. Ruth senses a presence in the house, a feeling shared by her housekeeper’s niece.

Decades later, Viviane Hamilton is conducting an inventory so that her grandmother’s house can be sold. As a favour to her uncle, she stays on to keep the place looking lived in. As she sorts through her grandmother’s possessions, she uncovers traces of the woman about whom her own mother has been frustratingly reticent. Viv, too, senses a presence, although she can’t be sure if it’s part of her own mental problems.

In early eighteenth-century Scotland, Sarah has been branded with the taint of her mother’s unconventional lifestyle. When harvests fail and livestock sickens, the villagers, convinced she is a witch, want to burn her. Their priest and his son rescue her and flee through the woods towards the coast.

The three clearly distinguished main narrative strands are arranged in a nested format and these nests are interspersed with short, anonymous pieces that graphically illustrate the fate of women who sometimes make poor choices but are often simply at a disadvantage due to their gender.

This tale of murder, mental, physical and sexual abuse, domestic violence illustrates the ongoing powerlessness of women and children in a patriarchal society. But there is also love and loyalty and friendship, and it highlights the resilience of women who support each other and don’t accept the old lie: that mentality that encourages male privilege without challenge. And a certain odious character does meet a deserving fate.

Echoes of each narrative appear in the others. Viviane’s inner monologue and her conversations are often a source of dark humour. Wyld’s prose is often exquisite: “It rains through the night and all day, but it is not cold. The air is heavy, in the early parts of the morning, like a blanket weighing on us. The loud patter of drops on leaves and the way it moves the scrub around us, jumping off the spring-green growth, weighing down the branches, makes me think of us moving across the belly of a gigantic scaled beast, warmed by its blood.” This is a brilliant read and fans of this talented author will not be disappointed.
This unbiased review is from an uncorrected proof copy provided by Better Reading Preview and Penguin Random House Australia

[Rebecca · Rating 5 out of 5]

While it ranges across the centuries, the novel always sticks close to the title location. Just as the louring rock is inescapable in the distance if you look out from the Edinburgh hills, there’s no avoiding violence for the women and children of the novel. It’s a sobering theme, certainly, but Wyld convinced me that hers is an accurate vision and a necessary mission. The novel cycles through its three strands in an ebb and flow pattern that seems appropriate to the coastal setting and creates a sense of time’s fluidity. Although there are distinct connections, this is not a puzzle novel where everything fits together. Instead, it is a haunting echo chamber where themes and elements keep coming back, stinging a little more each time.

This is far and away the best 2020 novel I’ve read, memorable for its elegant, time-blending structure as well as its unrelenting course – and set against that perfect backdrop of an indifferent monolith. It may well end up as my novel of the year. Especially if you’re a fan of Claire Fuller (especially Our Endless Numbered Days), Sarah Moss (Ghost Wall) and Lucy Wood (Weathering), it’s a must-read.

See my full review at Shiny New Books.

[Carolyn · Rating 5 out of 5]

Bass Rock off the North Berwick coast, stands dark and brooding through the ages, looming over the humans nearby who live their lives, loving and hurting each other before passing on.

This novel tells of the lives of three women and their treatment by society and particularly by men. In the 1700s there is Sarah, a teenage girl accused of being a witch and therefore blamed for all the misfortunes of the village. After being raped and abused she must then flee from her home to escape being burnt at the stake. In the late 1940s there is Ruth, who has recently married a widower with two sons, who still worships his dead wife, goes away for days when home gets too much and has no love for Ruth. And in the present day there is Ruth’s granddaughter Viviane, who is unanchored, grieving the death of her father and living in her dead grandmother’s house while it is listed for sale. Maggie, a homeless woman befriended by Viviane, circles the narrative neatly back to Sarah’s story as Maggie, always mindful of men lurking in the dark, keeps a map of murders of local women and is something of a modern day witch.

The three women’s stories are interwoven throughout the book, highlighting some of the similarities through the ages of men’s treatment of women and the ability of society to turn a blind eye to it, even today. There are instances of abuse, both physical and psychological, infidelity, pedophilia, violence and murder. The novel has an almost gothic feel with its dark themes and the black mass of Bass Rock, a symbol of power and timelessness hanging menacingly over it all. Through her elegant and poetic prose, Wyld plays homage to the women’s ability to survive the violence and abuse dealt to them by men and to the strong sisterhood that binds and protects them in the face of trauma. I found this to be a very provocative novel which had me questioning whether society will ever evolve to stamp out misogyny.

With many thanks to Doubleday Knopf and Netgalley for a digital ARC to read

[Kali Napier · Rating 5 out of 5]

In many ways this book should not have ticked all the five-star boxes for me -- it is a multi-period novel where I was much less invested in one strand, eager to get back to the other two.
Yet every page belongs.
Even the pages that weren't part of Stories I, II, II. They were almost more powerful in their non-identification, their ghostly vagueness. They are stories embedded in the places the characters in Stories I, II, III tread. Where we all tread. The reason I give this 5-stars is because it succeeds where I think Charlotte Wood's 'The Natural Way of Things' didn't -- it exposed the truth of what men perpetrate (and have been allowed to) in a way that built my rage, rather than having it made explicit in the writing.

I read this through the night, gave up sleep, because every single page resonated. Every single page built a giant accusation that the brutality perpetrated by men upon women has not diminished with time. Women are called things other than witches now. Women are dealt with in other ways than burning and drowning, though that still happens too. It has not gone away, maybe it has increased because now men are being told 'no' more.
And the violence is not just upon women, but also on those viewed as 'lesser' / without voice, as this novel shows.
This book dredged up so much personal anger against the NotAllMen hashtag. Because how do we fucking know? What are the identifiers? Perhaps if a man doesn't drown or burn? Even so-called good men are a thin veneer of civilisation away from their wolf nature (as we all are, and I am being binary in this review as I think it can be assumed what 'man' as perpetrator/wolf means here). I can count on fewer than the digits of one hand the good men I have known throughout my entire life. (Grandad, who was the best of them.)
This is why I no longer date -- because my first filter is 'do they look like a serial killer?', which is okay for a first sweep, but not adequate enough. (Perhaps a better filter is to say 'no' to something they want/expect as their due. But that is often far far too late.)
There has to be so much change in gender relations, beginning with men no longer viewing women as having a use-by date, as their entitlement, as being disposable.
This review may not seem like it is specifically about Evie Wyld's book. But it really really is. This rage is the purpose of the book. It is a five-star read.

[But_i_thought_ · Rating 3 out of 5]

This novel reads at times like The Girl on the Train meets Rebecca.

[Blair · Rating 4 out of 5]

(3.5) The Bass Rock is a small island off the east coast of Scotland, uninhabited but for a large colony of gannets; the three intertwined stories in this book are not about the rock but rather take place in its shadow. In the 17th century, a small group leave their community in order to protect a girl accused of witchcraft. In the 1940s/50s, Ruth struggles to adjust to life as a housewife and stepmother. 60 years later, Ruth's granddaughter Viviane volunteers to clear out her house, which is now on the market. Ruth and Viviane, in particular, are deftly sketched; Ruth's story has the emotional resonance, Viviane's the black, bitter humour. What the main characters we have in common, we come to understand, is their poor treatment at the hands of men, and how this influences the path of each of their lives. Certain experiences echo uncannily through the decades (look out for the tickling).

For whatever reason (lest we overlook the message?), the main narratives are intercut with scenes depicting violence against anonymous women. Others may think them powerful; I found it unhelpfully dehumanising to reduce abused women to faceless figures in an endless parade of victims. Surely nobody reading this is so dense that they need the point hammering home so forcefully? The Bass Rock compares unfavourably to another recent read, Kirstin Innes' wonderful Scabby Queen, which I found much more effective – not least because it's more subtle – as both an unapologetically feminist novel, and a story about how a woman's life can be shaped by the ways in which men perceive and treat her. Overall, I didn't like this book as much as Wyld's memorably unsettling sophomore novel All the Birds, Singing, but the light touch of the prose, plus excellent characterisation (especially in Ruth's case), make it work.

I received an advance review copy of The Bass Rock from the publisher through Edelweiss.

TinyLetter

[Renee Godding · Rating 2 out of 5]

Oh dear, unpopular opinion incoming...
I was so ready to love The Bass Rock but it just left me completely cold. Although Evie Wyld is undoubtably an incredibly talented author, the characters, the jumpy narrative and the heavy handed themes just didn’t do it for me. Despite the strong and almost oppressive atmosphere (which is a compliment to the author for conveying this so well) I didn’t find myself caring about the characters at all and reading about them became a chore.
For the life of me, I couldn't get into the story. Despite wanting to love it for its themes and atmosphere, and almost gaslighting myself into believing that I was loving it, I just didn't feel it...

[ReadAlongWithSue recovering from a stroke★⋆. ࿐࿔ · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is paced over three time lines and can become a little confusing. I really had to sit quietly with this book to be in tune with it all.

Although it’s called The Bass Rick it’s nothing about a rock, it’s around the area of Scotland.

It has a gothic feel to it because of the first story about Sarah in the 1700’s being accused of being a witch.

You later realise it’s also based around a house.

It’s very cleverly done with eerie feels if wonderment.

In the beginning though you really need a quiet place to “get into it”.

The oppression of women, women’s voices in a man dominated world.

[Jennifer (JC-S) · Rating 4 out of 5]

‘In the memory, which is a child’s memory and unreliable, the eye blinks.’

This novel is set in North Berwick, a small town on Scotland’s Firth of Forth, south-west of the Bass Rock. This is a coast with history, with both beauty and violence. A perfect setting for Ms Wyld’s novel.

The novel opens with a small girl finding the body of a woman in a suitcase on the beach. Her mother tells her to come away, but the girl has already seen inside the suitcase. The girl we meet as a woman, Viv, will tell one of the three stories contained within the novel. Three stories: Sarah’s story in the 1700s, during the time of witch burning, a time of poverty and famine; Ruth’s story after World War II; and Viv’s story in the present. Viv’s story and Sarah’s story are told in the first-person, while Ruth’s is in third person.

‘What is must be to move through life without caring what it thinks of you.’

It’s uneasy read: violence against women and hints of the supernatural are unsettling. The story shifts between past and present: Viv is clearing out the old family home for sale, dealing with her own life as she revisits the past. The house she is clearing was her grandfather’s, Ruth was his second wife.

There are seven parts to this novel. While I think that four parts are named after natural features in the area (The Lamb, St Baldred’s, The Law, and Fidra), I’m not sure about the other three. And always present is the Bass Rock, which has its own history: it was once a refuge for Christians, later a fortress and a prison.

‘Anything is possible.’

Clearing out the house gives Viv a purpose, and an opportunity for reflection. She is befriended by Maggie, a self-confessed witch, who carries a map with crosses denoting women murdered in the region during that year. Women may no longer be murdered as witches, but they are still murdered. Each part of the novel carries a scene of violence against women.

I found this novel a disturbing and constant reminder of violence against women. Versions of the same story repeated over (in this novel) four centuries. Unsettling, and not just fiction. Unsettling, and not just confined to the past. How many women have already been murdered this year?
This is neither a quick read, nor an easy one. The writing is superb, the subject matter disturbing.

Jennifer Cameron-Smith

[Ends of the Word · Rating 4 out of 5]

Evie Wyld’s The Bass Rock is a powerful indictment of male violence against women, a denouncement of misogyny and male toxicity in all its forms, whether it is the “everyday sexism” women have to put up with on a daily basis or, in its most extreme incarnation, rape and femicide.

The novel’s message is conveyed through three interlocking narratives. In the early 18th Century, Sarah, a young woman suspected of being a witch, is on the run from the men who want to kill her. In the years after the Second World War, Ruth marries widower Peter and they move to their house in North Berwick. Ruth struggles to get used to her role of surrogate mother to her stepchildren Michael and Christopher, as Peter becomes increasingly engrossed with work and longish business trips to London. Six decades later, Ruth and Peter’s house is put up for sale – Viviane, mourning the loss of her father, is asked to take care of the property until a buyer is found. The Bass Rock stands as an impassive sentinel, its silent presence providing a link between the fate of the three characters caught in a seemingly inescapable cycle of male violence.

Throughout this novel, I felt myself in the company of a confident writer. The three narratives are related, but very different in style and execution. Sarah’s story is recounted in the first person by Joseph, the teenage son of a down-and-out vicar who saves Sarah from the clutches of her pursuers. The narrator of the present-day segment is Viv – cynical, sweary and often darkly funny. Ruth’s story is written in the third person, although clearly from the perspective of the protagonist. Wyld keeps tight control over these disparate narratives through the use of a highly formalised, quasi-ritualistic structure. The novel is split in a prologue and seven parts. Each part is made up of five palindromic chapters (helpfully numbered I – II – III – II – I), with the Sarah segment at the centre bookended by Ruth’s story and, at the outer ends, Viv’s narrative. Interspersed in the narrative are brief impressionistic vignettes, portraying stomach-churning violence against women.

Traditional writing tips suggest that a story or a novel should immediately provide a clear setting of the narrative, to ensure that readers quickly get their bearings. Wyld’s approach is more challenging. Many details come into focus only after a gradual process of discovery. Slowly, the links between the different narratives become clearer.

There is no denying that The Bass Rock is a strong and assured novel. Until around half-way through I even considered it a clear five-star read, one of my favourite books of the year. Then doubts started to set in. I have three main reservations. The first (which is – admittedly – not entirely the author’s fault) is that the novel has been touted as a Gothic novel. It does, in fact, have some supernatural elements but these are limited to vague “presences” in the house and some “witchy” shenanigans in the Sarah and Viviane segments. Ruth’s story also has some tropes of the “sensation novel”, the Gothic’s close cousin – but they are scant basis to consider this a work of Gothic fiction. My second reservation concerns the 18th Century chapters – they start out promisingly, but the setting remains sketchy and vague, and Sarah’s character is never really fleshed out.

My third reservation however is more central to the novel’s approach. As The Bass Rock progresses we discover that most of the featured male characters are monsters. Not insensitive, not chauvinistic but actual criminals. Abusers, stalkers, rapists, murderers. The only male characters who are spared the novel’s rage are Christopher and Michael – but that’s because they are, like all the novel’s women, victims of male power games. Of course, I do understand that this is in keeping with the declared feminist stance of the novel. I equally understand that in the face of the male violence which still shamelessly stalks women all around the world, it is ok for a novel to double as an angry, polemical manifesto. But I also tend to believe that readers’ intelligence should not be underestimated and, just as they are able to tease out the intricacies of structure and plot, they can also fathom and embrace a novel’s message without it needing to be driven home with a mallet.

But don’t get me wrong. Despite my reservations, there is much about this novel that I loved. Indeed, I am tempted to eventually revisit it as, with the benefit of hindsight, some of the details in the earlier chapters will likely take on an added significance.

https://endsoftheword.blogspot.com/20...

[lucky little cat · Rating 4 out of 5]

Much buzzed about, and worth reading. Smart and engrossing multi-century narrative of the many women groomed, wooed, brutalized, discarded, locked away, murdered, and occasionally rescued* on one Scottish shoreline estate.

Wyld's women try to save themselves by being canny or caring, hiding in the wardrobe, taking the high road, carrying lucky hare's teeth, or just plain old staying sozzled all day long. Sisters, brothers, a stepmother, a housemaid, and one very mystical itinerant sex worker intervene and support as much as they're able.

Parts of it, unsurprisingly, are grim. But Wyld's a strong writer and she's careful to reveal her heroines' considerable strengths as well. We get to know each one, or at least what became of her.

Mild-ish complaints that are spoilers:

All the disappeared women are white, white, white, a problem in 2020 when minority women are victims so much more frequently now and historically. And talked about so very little.

Could we have male characters w/ more than two dimensions? Peter's so predictably a shit that it's a shame he takes up so much page bulk doing exactly what we expect him to. And all the other men are milksops, boors, deviants, or dead saints.

I'm just not buying the figure of Maggie the mysterious magical healer-woman badass sex worker who can make a hammer-wielding madman disappear just by whispering in his ear. Not a workable solution for the rest of us. Also, recalling mysterious stranger-witch Sarah before her, I kept waiting for Maggie to turn around and devour the family (but only to ensure her own survival). On second reading, I finally picked up on the cues that Maggie is Sarah. Which explains why Sarah hums rock tunes and Maggie's so comfortable with the family and so prepared to thwart male violence.

Minor characters are hard to keep track of on a first reading. But on a second reading, Alistair & Pauline & John, all aging cousins are an endearing family chorus. Here's a cheat sheet on the family tree:


Alice is a sister in the past (Ruth's), Katherine is the sister in the present (Viviane's).




Go read Wyld's All the Birds, Singing, it's an even stronger book.

*they are, necessarily and appropriately, rescued by other women

[Claire Fuller]

Wonderfully subtle and magnificently savage. The Bass Rock follows the stories of three woman on the North Berwick coast: Sarah who in the eighteenth century has been pronounced a witch and is running away; Ruth, grieving for her brother dead in the war, and struggling to make a new life for herself, with a new husband, step sons, and the presence of a ghostly girl in her house; and Viviane, who in the present day has come to the house to clear it of her dead grandmother's belongings. The novel opens with Viv remembering when she found a woman's body washed up in a suitcase on the beach. The book goes on to catalogue the trauma and violence inflicted on women by men. The women jostle to tell their stories, interspersed with other unnamed women, but Wyld, with her beautiful writing, trusts us to keep up and asks us to bear witness.

[Michael Livingston · Rating 4 out of 5]

A powerfully bleak book about men's violence against women. Wyld flits across three time frames, with strong links between the most recent two - it took me a while to join all the dots, but everything clicked in the end. It's a really grim book - there's barely a hint of hope or happiness amidst a steady stream of male brutality that ripples across generations.

[Dominique Wilson · Rating 1 out of 5]

A disappointing book. There is no doubt that Wyld can write beautiful descriptive sentences. However, whilst I normally enjoy stories that fluctuate between different timelines or different points of view, I found the constant back and forth between the timelines of this novel at first confusing, then tedious and irritating. As a result, I did not connect with any of the characters except Betty, and could not remember from one day to the next what I had read previously. A self-consciously clever novel that, for me, demanded too much effort for too little reward.

Thanks to Better Reading and Vintage for this ARC

[John Banks · Rating 4 out of 5]

Winner Stella 2021 Prize

A remarkable book, deeply haunting and confronting.

Evie Wyld's second novel, All the Birds, Singing won the Miles Franklin award and was shortlisted for the Costa prize. The Bass Rock more than lives up to the potential shown in All the Birds. Like All the Birds, Bass Rock has those dark, haunting gothic tones and texture. Wyld draws on our familiarity with gothic devices and archetypes to wonderfully evoke all the elements of setting, place (rugged Scottish West Berwick coast), character and theme. Her technical mastery and deftness of touch here is just so assured. She also manages to draw this together across three independent but loosely connected narrative sections. This is a structurally sophisticated work.

Filled with carefully crafted passages I knew I was in good hands from early on. For example, as one of the central characters, Ruth, settles into the house she moves to with her new husband Peter and his two sons, now her stepchildren, also still grieving over the loss of her brother, Anthony, killed during WWII:

"The sun had almost gone from the sky while she had been in the boys' room. From the landing, through the stairwell window, she had a perfect view to the beach. She watched the last orange gleam on the horizon, thought, as she always did in moments of beauty, of her brother's last breaths, the seconds before and the seconds after. From the corner of her visions, she caught movement, turned, expecting to see Betty, embarrassed to have been found in the dark with a sherry glass in her hand. Nothing again but the soft fluttering of a crane fly thrumming at the window." Then over the folowing few pages a scintilating, measured building up of imagery leading to: "She opened the door. The room was empty. She did not see the girl standing by the window. She did not see her red hair and white face and the dark hollows of her eyes, or the rags she was dressed in, her bare angular feet and the bones of her hands protruding like sticks. But she could imagine a girl just like her, one she had never seen before, she could imagine her strongly but knew her eyes could not see her. Just like she knew there was no reason at all that she could not move, that it was some trick of her brain preventing her from doing so".

Wyld draws powerfully on gothic imagery to build a seething, fierce anger at the violences inflicted on women and also children by men. The three narrative sections of the book all work well together to provide different perspectives and voices on these themes. The somewhat contemporary first person account of Vivienne, who travels to the family house on the Scottish coast of West Berwick to tidy it up and caretake as it is put up for sale. It emerges that she has suffered something of a breakdown in the wake of her father's death. The second section belongs to Ruth (Viv's grandmother) and my earlier quotations are taken from this section. The gradually built sense of a suffocating, indeed manipulative marriage with Peter is just so well done. This account of the costs of patriarchial abuse for her and the boys are powerful and will remain with me. The final narrative thread or section reaches back centuries into the 1700s of this Scottish region and is told through an I of a young boy who flees from his village with his father, as the father had sheltered a young woman, Sarah, victimised (raped) after being accused as a witch by fellow villagers who are ready to burn her ('They say they have a witch. They mean to burn her.').

All three sections have distinctive voices and styles. For me one of the literary strengths of this book is how Wyld moves us among these registers deftly shifting space, time and narrative perspective to build the gothic haunting tone and the burning anger and fury at the various forms of violence inflicted on women across these periods. For the most part it did not feel contrived or forced. It carries the themes superbly. I do though note, as some other reviewers and readers have commented, that in the wake of recent works such as Hamnet and Mirror and the Light the more historically distant sections are perhaps not quite as well done as those featuring Ruth and Vivienne.

The book foregrounds the strength and resilience of the female characters (especially for me Viv) as they face down the inisidous impacts of these violences on their daily lives and their well being, (from boyfriends, partners, even casual acquaintances etc.) who through their possessiveness and need to control don't even see or acknowledge the violences that they inflict through their toxic masculinity. The passages that convey the sense of a societal gaslighting are especially memorable and made me reflect deeply on the terrible ongoing costs of this.

This book is significant and it works well to haunt and unsettle us with the violences men inflict upon women. At moments I felt some of the male characters were becoming caricatures and lacking complexity or nuance, except perhaps for Ruth's stepsons (Christopher and Michael). But as I read this book, here in Australia yet another horrific case of a man killing his partner (stabbing) in front of their chldren was reported. Earlier this year a terrible case of a man incinerating his separated former partner and children in their car here in Brisbane. Bass Rock screams back with fury at these violences and uses the broadly gothic form so well to achieve this. I think it important to portray this masculinised violence directly and in all its uglyness, even if at times this risks simplifying the male characters. And perhaps that is also the point, such misogynistic violence and the social / historical factors shaping it, also diminish what men can be. I would though have liked to see some of these male characters developed and revealed a little more.

An important and unsettling read.

[Miriam Smith (A Mother’s Musings) · Rating 4 out of 5]

Evie Wlyd’s latest novel “The Bass Rock” combines the fate of three women, set across the centuries to present day. Located in the East of Scotland in the Firth of Forth, Bass Rock stands silently in the sea, watching out at the land, casting no judgement on the violence against women that it witnesses in the story.
Having drove past Bass Rock myself on several occasions, it was easy to imagine the location of the book. Standing like a white iceberg due to the colour of the rock, it’s the closest bird sanctuary to a mainland. Knowing that this rock has stood sentry for many centuries and was once inhabited by humans, including Saint Baldred in 600AD, this just added to its incredible ambience of the haunting and gothic style tale.
This is not a book to dip into or pick up now and again. Due to the three connecting stories/time lines but with the same characters at different ages, it’s best to read this story in as least sittings as possible. It wasn’t until after I’d finished reading it and looked back over the chapters, that I began to exactly comprehend how it all linked together. This may sound unusual but once you’ve started reading this book you’ll understand my meaning. Possibly having clearer chapter headings could have helped, instead of having titles I, II and III mixed throughout, as until you’ve adapted to each of the three timelines it can be confusing. Added to that, at the end of each batch of chapters there is a short independent story of various women tomented at the hands of men and it’s not till the end, you realise that the last story relates to the prologue. Confusing yes but very clever and Edie Wyld is obviously a very talented author to devise such a layout and still have me as intrigued and engaged as I was, in the women’s lives.
- 1700’s and teenager Sarah is accused of being a witch but is saved from near death by a priest and his son who then go on the run. Post WW2 and Ruth is struggling with her marriage to Peter as his second wife and trying to be a good stepmother to his two children. In the present day, Viviane is clearing her grandmother Ruth’s belongings. Having recently suffered from a nervous breakdown and still grieving from the death of her father, she befriends an eccentric woman called Maggie, who is cataloging murdered women in the area.
The central theme is misogynistic violence and the treatment and abuse on women by men both physically and mentally and society’s blind eye, no matter what the year. However, the author does focus on the strengths of the women and their inner power to survive, despite the trauma inflicted on them. All in all, I found “The Bass Rock” to be a very profound, gripping read with characters that will resonate with many women.

4 stars

[David · Rating 3 out of 5]

audiobook. To me this is the never ending oppression and abuse of women caused by the unhealthy and dangerous side of masculinity. Men are toxic. Bleak reading.

[Chavelli Sulikowska · Rating 4 out of 5]

A modern gothic revival, minus the romance. Not much romance to be found here on an isolated stretch of rugged Scottish coast. Wyld's eerie tale is reminiscient (although darker) of Du Maurier's Rebecca.

This is a sombre, multi-period novel of violence against women. There are no rogueishly handsome men in this story, no maidens being swept off their feet. There is rape, murder, emotional and pyschological abuse, madneses and mysogyny. Wyld's language fearlessly renders this violence with shocking clarity.

Compelling reading, despite the bleak themes. However, I felt the characters were somewhat constrained, or lacking in dimension. For some reason, I was missing in the empathy I thought this story would and should evoke. I have mused that this may have been due to the fact that all my reading energy was being directed with anger towards all the vile male characters!

Wyld is certainly a talented writer. Her language and style is both evocative and gutsy - I would be interested in reading something lighter in tone but no less profound from her.

[Olivia (Stories For Coffee) · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Bass Rock is such a harrowing yet beautifully composed novel following the lives of three women and how the historic violence against women courses through their worlds. It's heartbreakingly relatable and shined a mirror to my own experiences while also highlighting other mistreatments that women face on a daily basis from loved ones and complete strangers. This was a wonderous character study of three women from very different walks of life whose worlds are interconnected through the darkness they must face.

I wish I had read it physically instead of on audiobook to highlight passages that spoke to me.





TW: Assault, domestic violence, gaslighting, miscarriages