Consent

by Annabel Lyon

LONGLISTED FOR THE WOMEN'S PRIZE FOR FICTION

'Blistering... The most truthful exploration of sisterhood I have enjoyed since Fleabag' The Times

'So, so clever and so concise yet just goes into the most profound issues in such depth' Vick Hope, Women's Prize for Fiction Judge 2021

'[A] gripping read about sisters, guilt, grief and revenge... I couldn't put it down.' Daily Mail

'Compelling... A brave, even dangerous book.' Preti Taneja, author of We That Are Young

Saskia and Jenny are twins, alike in appearance only: Saskia has a single-minded focus on her studies, while Jenny is glamorous, thrill-seeking and capricious. Still, when Jenny is severely injured in an accident, Saskia puts her life on hold for her sister.

Sara and Mattie are sisters with another difficult dynamic: Mattie needs almost full-time care, while Sara loves nothing more than fine wines, perfumes and expensive clothing, and leaves home at the first opportunity. But when their mother dies, Sara must move Mattie in with her. Gradually, Sara and Saskia learn that both their sisters' lives, and indeed their own, have been altered by the devastating actions of one man...

In turns razor-sharp, provocative and precise, Consent is a blistering novel of sisters and their knotty relationships, of predatory men and sexual power, of retribution and the thrilling possibilities of revenge.

Genres: Fiction, Contemporary, Literary Fiction, Canada, Audiobook, Mental Health, Family

224 pages, Paperback

First published September 29, 2020

About the author

Annabel Lyon was born in 1971. Her first book of fiction, the short story collection Oxygen (Porcupine's Quill, 2000), was published to wide acclaim, and was nominated for the Danuta Gleed and ReLit awards.

Her short fiction has appeared in numerous publications, including Toronto Life, The Journey Prize Anthology, and Write Turns: New Directions in Canadian Fiction. Lyon is also a frequent contributor to the Vancouver Sun and The Globe and Mail.

In addition to creative writing, Annabel Lyon has studied music, philosophy, and law. She lives in Vancouver, where she writes full time.

Reviews

[Jaidee · Rating 5 out of 5]

5 "jagged, twisted and oh so Canadian" stars !!

5th Favorite Read of 2022

My thanks to Netgalley, Random House Canada and the author for an e-copy of this novel. I am providing an honest review. This was released September 2020.

This is a literary psychological thriller that would give Moshfeigh and Slimani a run for their money.

Two sets of dysfunctional sisters, multiple layers of disability, entitlement, narcissism and dark twisted psychologies bring this foursome to a head while linked to a drifter. Revenge is best served in Parisian haute couture, Persian parfum and oodles of money in grey Vancouver.

A novel full of mirrors, endless narcissistic suffering and the darkness of women.

The prose ranges from uneven ugliness to surrealistic poetic imagery and lots of pretentious prattle that you can gorge on while it churns the stomach, hardens the heart and keeps you away from accessing empathy for these most undeserving of maidens.

Read this and feel the creep ! A literary Canadian grotesquerie of the most earthbound kind !

Come on I dare you !

[Rachel · Rating 5 out of 5]

Well, this was a weird one and its relatively low Goodreads rating is hardly a mystery; what I’m finding more difficult is talking about how brilliant I thought it was. Due to its title I was expecting Consent to be a book about sexual violence, which seems like a reasonable expectation, so I think it’s good to say upfront that it’s not at all — instead it’s a sort of domestic drama about two sets of sisters, Sara and Mattie (Sara is older and cares for her intellectually disabled younger sister) and Saskia and Jenny (twins).

I’m not going to say anything about the plot, because reading the summary gives away a good chunk of the book, which I found sort of odd. It does take quite a while for Annabel Lyon to get to ‘the point,’ so to speak, but to summarize what happens at 20% is to do a huge disservice to the preamble, which, far from being irrelevant, is a wonderfully mesmerizing and offbeat introduction into these characters’ lives. This was one of the most pleasurable books I’ve read in ages; Lyon’s writing goes down easy but there’s also something acerbic just below the surface. The story itself twists and turns, but it’s still more literary than thriller; the mystery aspects are almost window dressing to the darker, weirder thing living at this book’s center.

I can imagine what the critiques of this book look like: unfocused, joyless, slow, unresolved, odd. It’s not for everyone. It has no interest in answering the reader’s questions. But still it’s a striking, affecting examination of obligation and shame and guilt. I don’t really see it advancing to the Women’s Prize shortlist, but it’s one of the smartest and most confident books I’ve read in a while and destined to be one of my personal favorites off the list.

[Gumble's Yard - Golden Reviewer · Rating 3 out of 5]

I read this book due to its longlisting for the 2021 Women’s Prize.

Ostensibly it is the stories of two sets of siblings. Sara and Mattie, and the somewhat younger twins Sakia and Jenny, their sisterly relationships and how that changes in the light of time and contingency.

But I have to say it was a wild ride – both much darker and odder than I had expected.

Take a line like “champagne … probably caviar too and cheese veined with edible gold and pâté of brandy and prune and human baby, to be nibbled on water crackers”

Take the inclusion of two fictionally famous brothers: one a photographer famous first for his photos of a famous designer-dress designed by a reclusive designer turned fractal geometer, and then infamous for photographing his murder victim half-wearing it; the second the composer of challenging avant-garde music, whose music forms part of an elaborate revenge by a wife on her husband’s ex-mistress.

The book is effectively a combination of:

- A feminist rewrite of Dostoevsky’s “Crime and Punishment”

- An exploration of “locked in syndrome” (think “The Diving Bell and The Butterfly”)

- A homage to radical haute-couture

- A celebration of high-end perfumers and their olfactory compositions

All of which is used to explore the moral and ethical dilemmas of consent in a very wide sense

- The ability of mentally incapacitated people to consent to marriage and to sex, but also to the way they are treated by their families and the decision their families make on their behalf;

- The ability of ”locked-in” victims to consent to anything – from what books should be read to them, to their families views to decisions about their medical care and ultimately their end of life, as well as (in one of the book’s bizarre moments) to consent to sexual relations;

- How addiction and reduced moral responsibility affects consent and decision making;

- The consent of a wife to the affairs of her husband and what implicit rights that gives her;

- The consent to succumb to family or society expectations about care for your siblings and parents;

- Consent in professor/student interactions;

- Consent in BDSM relations in real life and in literature;

- Consent between a photographer and his models;

- Consent in a mutual suicide pact

And all of it wrapped in the trappings of a conventional thriller – complete with a Chekhovian (if not entirely coherent) cellphone and a book-changing twist and reveal which pulls two parallel stories together.

Quite a lot to distill into 200 pages and I have to say not entirely successful for me (the fashion and perfume references in particular were of no interest to me at all) – but certainly an interesting addition to a fascinatingly varied longlist. I had thought that Ali Smith and Dawn French were at opposite ends of a spectrum – this is on more of a different axis altogether.

[Ari Levine · Rating 4 out of 5]

This begins as a domestic drama set in Alice Munro-land, but don't draw any conclusions from the cover. Two pairs of sisters grow up in upper-middle-class comfort in lily-white Vancouver, surrounded by the trappings of adult femininity: designer dresses, French perfume, heirloom jewelry. But Lyon quickly starts to destabilize the narrative by playing tricks with abrupt time-shifts within individual chapters, and bouncing between two separate points-of-view along parallel tracks.

Sara, a professor of medical ethics and high-functioning alcoholic, is responsible for caring for her mentally disabled sister, Mattie, who has married the local handyman. Saskia, a dowdy and long-suffering grad student in French literature, lives with her glamorous and impulsive twin sister Jenny, whose mental illness and high-risk behaviors land her in life-threatening danger. Lyon deftly explores the concept of sisterly responsibility, and the meanings of consent: medical power of attorney, BDSM between consenting adults, a parent-surrogate's duty of care, impairment under the influence of drugs and alcohol, manipulation and deceit in close relationships.

When Lyon collided these two threads, the reveal was shockingly unexpected. The novel's second half pulls the reader into some noirish and disturbing places. This was finely-observed psychological realism, and completely satisfying.

Thanks to Alex Kerner for bringing this to my attention! And thanks to Netgalley and Knopf for providing me with an ARC, in exchange for an honest review.

[Krista · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sara had refused the sherry her mother had offered her – though she wanted it – because it was sherry, and because it implied permission. The tiny glass of blood in her mother's hand looked good now, though.

I had read Annabel Lyon's The Golden Mean and The Sweet Girl (semi-related books about Aristotle and his daughter Pythias) before I joined Goodreads, so I thought I kind of knew what I was in for with Consent. But this is something totally different – not historical fiction, and if I'm remembering them correctly, this is way more accessible – and while Consent doesn't feel as hefty as those earlier books, it's certainly relevant to today's world and gave me plenty to think about. A story about family and responsibility and the limits of what we can consent to, this finely written novel would be a great book club choice; there's just so much to discuss. I purposefully chose an opening quote that doesn't give away anything of the plot (while kind of riffing on the book's title, and certainly its cover), but everything that follows could be considered ever so slightly spoilery (but less so than the publisher's blurb; glad I didn't read that first), so: fair warning to anyone who'd like to go into this book cold, as I did. (Note: I read a digital ARC from NetGalley and passages quoted may not be in their final forms.)

Consent is the story of two pairs of unrelated sisters, and in each pair, there is one sister who is considered “the responsible one” and who is expected to take care of the other. In one storyline, Sara is an academic, a professor of ethics, and although she has spent her adult life trying to distance herself from her family, when their mother dies, Sara finds herself solely responsible for her intellectually delayed younger sister, Mattie. And Sara is horrified to discover that in the time it took to bury their mother and get all of the details of Mattie's future care sorted out, Mattie has gone and married her mother's recent handyman; a recovering drug addict with a long rap sheet:

“I could have brought the police with me today. That would have been my right. It was recommended to me, in fact.”

“Jesus.” He shook his head. “Why?”

“Why? Because she has the capacity of a child. She can't consent to any of this, not legally. Not to marriage. Not to – ”

Although this Robert had been acting as a very sweet and respectful caregiver for Mattie, Sara has the marriage annulled – because of course she did, even if it broke Mattie's heart. In the second storyline, Saskia and Jenny are twins: Saskia is an academic, in grad school studying comparative literature, and is forever being asked by her family to rein in her more wild sister – a hard partying interior designer whose impulsivity disorder calls into question her own ability to consent to what she engages in. When Jenny is in a car accident, it is Saskia who stays at her hospital bedside as she starts to recover from a coma; Saskia holding an alphabet board while Jenny blinks out her end of a conversation:

At first, Saskia's conversations with Jenny were frustrating. She had to learn not to try to finish words for her sister, to distinguish purposeful blinks from eye-clearing blinks, not to rush through the alphabet, not to ask her too many questions at once. Some days Jenny refused to cooperate, and in the hallways the nurses would whisper to her that Jenny was depressed. On those days, Saskia would hold up books and magazines until Jenny blinked her consent, and then she would read to her.

There are many parallels between the two stories (perfumes, alcoholism, French literature), but as the two pairs of sisters are from different generations and the bulk of their stories aren't happening at the same time, I was surprised when their paths do cross:

“Do you ever wonder about consent?” Sara would ask, and Saskia would repeat the things she'd read about safe words and the psychology of the submissive. “But in the car, that text,” Sara would say and Saskia would shrug. What must Jenny have been thinking in that moment?

“Do you think Mattie was happy with him?” Saskia asked. Sara looked at the bar; nodded at the bar.

Consent in a sexual relationship is the way we're most likely to use the term today (and is the way that it is most obviously used in this book), but consent is explored in other ways, too: To what can you consent while under the influence of alcohol or drugs, and what responsibilities do you bear while so impaired? Why should family bonds force us to be responsible for others without our consent? Characters make presumptions (wrapping up purchases before the buyer has agreed to the sale), do things for another's “own good” (removing belongings that might be upsetting), manipulate, deceive, and take advantage; all without consent. All of this is churning behind the scenes, and in the foreground, a surprising (and surprisingly satisfying) narrative unspools to its inevitable conclusion. Unpredictable, smartly observed, and leaving me with so much to think about, what's not to like here?

[Hugh · Rating 3 out of 5]

Longlisted for the Women's Prize for Fiction 2021

I thought this would be one of the more interesting books on the Women's Prize list, and I did like elements of it, but overall it isn't really to my taste - I have no interest in fashion, perfumes or the lifestyles of the rich, so the parts about Sara in particular bored me, apart from one brief but entertaining foray into contemporary serious music.

I also found much of the plot a little too contrived, though the characterisation is quite impressive. The consent theme is explored in quite an interesting way, as are different forms of caring and sibling relationships.

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

I mean it starts out as a story of family. Saskia is the frumpy, studious one, her twin Jenny the wild child narcissist. Meanwhile we have Sara, the sensual academic, caring for her mentally delayed sister Mattie. It's the push and pull of family and the love and labour between these sisters. But then tragedy visits both families and suddenly we're veering into unexpected territory. The sleepy interiority of familial musings turns into a mystery that leans into thriller.

Lyon is having a blast here keeping the reader guessing. It's an erudite K-drama that isn't afraid to take sharp left turns. You never know where you're going to end up and given the distance of time and reflection it's frankly wild how it managed to hold itself together. A Coles Notes version of this book with names and places stripped away would read like the plot of a modern day Telenovela. What can I say, I like me some literary crazy.

[nastya · Rating 3 out of 5]

What a strange little book it is. For such a little page count Annabel Lyon packed in a lot of plot. The writing was very confident and you felt yourself in an experienced hands. I'm not sure about the ending and didn't buy one character's motivation. As far as I can see it was about shifting your guilt and self-flagellation onto another human being and punishing them for your sins. And sometimes even that's not enough. The story lacked a tidy resolution, but maybe it was the point, the way destruction never satisfied and you're caught in the cycle.
I've found this book because it was nominated for a Women's prize longlist and I love finding these gems.

[Erin Clemence · Rating 3 out of 5]

Special thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for a free, electronic ARC of this novel received in exchange for an honest review.

Expected publication date: September 29, 2020

Saskia and Sara are two seemingly unrelated women; Saskia is a former university student, who has moved back home after her twin sister was in a tragic car accident, leaving her in a permanent vegetative state. Sara is a successful businesswoman, who is starting her life over again after the death of her parents, now taking over the primary caregiver role of her developmentally disabled sister, Maddie. Both women find common ground after their sisters’ pass away, bonding over their grief, and together, they seek revenge on the one man who they believe is at the root of their sisters’ troubles.

“Consent” by Annabel Lyon is a story about grief, loss, vulnerability, and the strong bond of sisters. Both Saskia and Sara go above and beyond to protect their sisters’ from harm, even after they have passed on.

I am new to Annabel Lyon, although she is highly regarded and award winning (and Canadian at that!). Her nods to Canadiana were appreciated, although she had far more French-language speakers in her characters’ world than I’ve ever even met (outside of Quebec anyway).

I found Lyon’s sentence structure to be difficult, with short, choppy sentences that added nothing to the story. Beyond that, Lyon’s writing style was pretentious (although her characters’ were also, so perhaps it was not Lyon’s writing itself that is at fault), and she seemed to skip over a lot of the interesting plot points, instead focusing on modern art, fashion and classical music (on these, she dwelled on for much longer than I would’ve liked, and not because I am uncultured or classless, but merely because they were not as relevant to the story as Lyon wants us to believe).

Maddie was a great character, and I appreciated the honesty with which Lyon depicted her. The relationship between the sisters was genuine, full of jealousy, honesty and dysfunction- there was definitely a lot of realism depicted here. I really got into the novel at the end, as Sara and Saskia came together and forged their plot. The ending itself was satisfying, and it brought a nice conclusion to the plotline.

Overall, this novel had an easy to read format, with lots of paragraph breaks. I enjoyed the characters of Jenny and Maddie, but Sara and Saskia took me longer to adjust to (although I did eventually). Lyon creates the bond of sisterhood in a hauntingly realistic way, and that kept me invested in the novel to the end.

[Bookworm · Rating 4 out of 5]

Stories that take place close to home are always fun to read. I seem to better understand the framework that binds the plot and characters. I enjoy personally knowing the settings where the characters live and interact. Jumping into this story based in Vancouver Canada was like opening my blinds and watching through my window.

The plot itself ran deep, with layers built upon layers all circling back to the title of the book. Consent. What does that mean in relationships...between family, between partners, even within ourselves? Where is the line drawn? What is “right” and what is “wrong”? If this sounds somewhat cryptic I think that’s because the story itself was complex and explored this concept from various perspectives and definitions of the word. It was a personal journey of sorts and I suspect readers will come away with vastly different experiences in this one.

In a nutshell, it’s about the unspoken expectations that lie within families and between sisters. It’s about our own beliefs and self-expectations. And it’s about intimate relationships and the cloudy line of consent that may exist when there is vulnerability. I loved the cerebral slant of this book and the issues it raised. I also loved the twist at the end. There are layers of grief and loss, layers of emotion and layers of character depth and transformation. It is a slower paced yet highly contemplative piece of character driven women’s literary fiction.

[Sabrina Voerman · Rating 2 out of 5]

Eh, this one really was not for me. For a 211 page book, it felt like it was bloated with perfume and fashion, and only grazed over something resembling plot and never got into any character depth. It definitely glossed over anything that would have hooked me.
It took me a bit too long to read such a short book, but again, it had a narration I simply couldn't get into. There was just enough to make me think "Maybe there will be a good payout by the end", but I didn't feel that way when I hit the end.
Just not for me, both in style and content.

[Jerrie · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book is hard to describe. Two separate women lose their sisters in two seemingly unrelated tragedies. They are eventually brought together by this, but only briefly. It is about the relationships between sisters, how there can be both love and hate. It’s also about grief and guilt. The complexity of the relationships here is deftly navigated in what is a rather bleak, unflinching story about loss.

[Alex · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was really brilliant. I am kind of shocked it wasn't shortlisted for the Giller.

[Kelly (The Happiest Little Book Club) · Rating 4 out of 5]

My Rating: 4.5/5

I have been curious about this Giller prize longlisted book since it first came out in 2020. I started reading the physical copy, and it was great, but then needed to switch to the audiobook because I wanted to keep "reading" it but also had some things I had to get done at the same time.

The narrator's got a bit of deadpan tone but somehow it matches the mood of the book.

The consent piece of the novel was an exploration of permission but not in just a sexual connotation. I actually really appreciated that subtle observations delivered throughout the book, allowing the reader to form their own thoughts and opinions about boundaries and accountability.

I would say my feelings on this book ranged from loved (for the first bit) to really liked, hence the rating. It is unique and well written. I can confidently say that not everyone will enjoy this book, but I feel I know which of my book loving friends I could recommend this to. It was a tad confusing at times (because you are jumping between the stories of two sets of sisters), but overall I was able to follow along.

[Sarah · Rating 3 out of 5]

2.5 rounded up

Consent is a twisty, dark domestic drama which kept me guessing right to the end.

We first meet Sara, who becomes a carer for her sister Mattie who is intellectually disabled after the death of their mother. The sisters live together until one day when tragedy strikes.

Running parallel to this is the story of Saskia and her sister Jenny. Jenny and Saskia are polar opposites: one a studious undergraduate, the other a fashionable designer. Tragedy strikes their family, in a way which brings the surviving sisters together, somewhat inextricably.

This read very quickly, and if the plot sounds like something that might be up your street I'd suggest giving it a go as the novel is well written and very smart in places. Unfortunately for me personally Consent required a bit too much of a suspension of the reader's disbelief for me to be fully on board with what was going on.

Thank you Netgalley and Atlantic Books for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.

[Eric Anderson · Rating 3 out of 5]

“Consent” begins with interesting dynamics between two sets of sisters. Identical twins Saskia and Jenny have very different personalities. Where Saskia is studious and humble, Jenny is glamorous and thrill-seeking. Then there are Sara and Mattie who have a very different relationship with each other because Mattie's mental disability means she needs daily assistance. Though Sara enjoys fine wine and expensive clothes she must take on the more modest role of being a carer when their mother dies. Annabel Lyon alternates between the stories of these sisters over a period of almost thirty years. At first we're left wondering what the connection is between these two stories, but eventually a commonality is revealed which leads to a suspenseful conclusion. It's interesting how these women's contrasting stories give a different perspective on sisterhood and how challenging it is to form an individual identity apart from being a sibling. However, I felt it turned into too much of a thriller about revenge which prevented me from emotionally connecting with the plight of these characters.

Read my full review of Consent by Annabel Lyon on LonesomeReader

[Kavitha · Rating 4 out of 5]

Longlisted for Women’s Prize for Fiction 2021

What does consent mean to you when it comes from a developmentally disabled person? What does it mean in the context of a young family member who finds herself in a situation where she is forced to become the primary caretaker for the said developmentally disabled person? How often do we find ourselves in complex situations for which we haven't really consented to, like, for example, taking care of an older or a disabled family member?

Annabel Lyon's Consent poses all these questions. There are two storylines that intersect eventually and then the story turns a bit into a thriller from there on. Not a fast paced thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat, but more of a slow burning psychological thriller. Lyon plays well with timelines & shifting perspectives in this book. Her technique of narration came across as unique to me. Often the major events are downplayed and the minor details are magnified. It's only when the characters recollect those major events later that the enormity of them is brought out in the writing. I found this to be a bit confusing while I was it. It also didn't really sink in until I finished reading the book. I found myself turning back a few pages thinking: “Wait! What just happened?". I read later that the author was going precisely for this effect. If I think about it, that's how we go about our lives too. We tend to focus on the mundane minor details of our daily lives when those unexpected major events occur. It's only when we look back at those major events that we are able to fully grasp the enormity of them.

Overall, a thought provoking and sophisticated exploration of the complexities of consent. A very worthy pick for Women’s Prize Longlist. I really appreciated the angle of examining consent from the perspective of a developmentally disabled person. For me particularly, as someone who was raised with the Eastern values of duty, sacrifice and service, the exploration of consent in the context of caring for a disabled family member resonated well. I have not found myself in such a situation yet, but I've seen other family members go through this, often with a certain degree of resentment and guilt over such resentment. Where does consent come in when one is raised in a culture that downplays it in favor of duty, sacrifice & selfless service?

[DeB · Rating 4 out of 5]

Compelling, disturbing, dark... Two sets of sisters completely unrelated to one another and two complex families intersect.

The writing is lush, introspective and beautiful. The characters are elusive, remote - but for their relationships with their sisters, and even those are conflicted.

I feel as though I’ve inhabited Saskia’s and Sara’s minds, peering at the world through their limitations. Exquisitely uncomfortable...

Four stars...

A great book for a book club...

[Crystal · Rating 1 out of 5]

Two disabled women die tragically to enable character growth in their sisters and then it goes off into this weird revenge subplot involving the mentally ill addict responsible for their deaths. Oh, & be warned, there's sexual abuse of a paralyzed disabled woman by the same man.

[Anisha Inkspill · Rating 4 out of 5]

I borrowed this one from my library. What I liked about it the most is how it showed family relationships in a new interesting way.

The story is delivered in zappy, light tones with unlikeable characters. I didn’t mind the unlikable characters because it had my favourite kind of writing – not spelling everything out – and as I was piecing it together the realisation was unsettling and dark.

The novella is set around two separate families, both with two sisters: Sara and Mattie, and Saskia and Jenny. In both Sara and Saskia end up responsible for their sister, but relationships are tinged with jealousies and sibling rivalry, this leads to consequences which plagues them with guilt. A guilt that will lead to a darker twist.

This was longlisted for Women’s Prize for Fiction in 2021, which I’m not surprised by as the story style is refreshing and different. I’ll definitely be looking out for more works by Annabel Lyon.

[SueLucie · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a really interesting exploration of family dynamics. We have two sets of sisters and in each family one sister is deemed ‘the responsible one’ and is obliged or consents to look out for the other, who is considered ‘irresponsible’ through mental incapacity or fecklessness. Both find this a burden, but still they accept that burden and their role in their relationship with their sister, even when they no longer need to. Events I hesitate to describe for fear of spoiling the book for others bring the two women together and to an unexpected resolution of their personal dilemmas. An enthralling read, cleverly constructed so that my empathy switched continually between one character and another, and exploring some difficult questions, including self-determination for vulnerable adults and thrill-seeking taken to extremes. Highly recommended.

With thanks to Atlantic Books via NetGalley for the opportunity to read an ARC.

[Penny (Literary Hoarders) · Rating 4 out of 5]

Hoping to see this one on the Giller Shortlist for sure! Strange but oh so compelling reading.

[Darryl Suite · Rating 5 out of 5]

My, my, my. I loved this strange and dark lil thing. It took some twisty turns and traveled to disturbing territory. It was just so... different. And odd. And compelling. And unnerving. I became more and more obsessed with this book as I went along. Totally different than what I expected.

More to come.

[Rebecca · Rating 4 out of 5]

(3.5) I’m always drawn to stories of sisters and this was an intriguing one, though the jacket text sets it up to be more of a thriller than it actually is. After their mother’s death, Sara, a medical ethicist, looks after Mattie, her intellectually disabled sister. When Mattie is lured into eloping, Sara’s protective instinct goes into overdrive. Meanwhile, Saskia, a graduate student in French literature, feels obliged to put her twin sister Jenny’s needs first after a car accident leaves Jenny in a coma. There are two decades separating the sets of sisters, but aspects of their experiences reverberate, with fashion, perfume, and alcoholism appearing as connecting elements even before a more concrete link emerges.

For much of the novel, Lyon bounces between the two storylines. I occasionally confused Sara and Saskia, but I think that’s part of the point (why else would an author select two S-a names?) – their stories overlap as they find themselves in the position of making decisions on behalf of an incapacitated sister. The title invites deliberation about how control is parcelled out in these parallel situations, but I’m not sure consent was the right word to encapsulate the whole plot; it seems to give too much importance to some fleeting sexual relationships.

At times I found Lyon’s prose repetitive or detached, but I enjoyed the overall dynamic and the medical threads. There are some stylish lines that land perfectly, like “There she goes … in her lovely coat, that cashmere-and-guilt blend so few can afford. That lovely perfume she trails, lilies and guilt.” The Vancouver setting and French–English bilingualism, not things I often encounter in fiction, were also welcome, and the last few chapters are killer.

Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.

[Note: there is a bad typo at the top of p. 75 in the Atlantic hardback. It says “Saskia’s room” where it should be Jenny’s, at the hospital]

[Maria · Rating 4 out of 5]

*3.5

Thank you NetGalley and Penguin RandomHouse Canada for the advanced digital ARC in exchange for an honest review!

I enjoyed this intense story about two pairs of sisters, and how their lives intertwine. The writing is strong, and I can definitely see why it’s longlisted for the Giller Prize!

Definitely a set of unlikeable characters, but understandable at the same time. I got where they were coming from, why they were doing the things they did. It was a good insight into dealing with death and the aftermath, feelings of guilt.

Keep this book on your radar, especially if you love literary fiction! This will make for some great discussions if you’re part of a book club!

[Erin · Rating 3 out of 5]

The novel meanders around developing the relationship between two sets of sisters until a tragedy around the 75% mark surprises us by demonstrating how the sisters are related by circumstances. At this point, the actions of one of the sisters are completely unbelievable—I was unable to suspend my disbelief. I just can’t imagine anyone acting the way she did under the situation at hand. From here, the novel gets very dark with a surprise ending.

The title refers to the ability of a woman to consent to a man under a myriad of situations—if she’s mentally incompetent, if she’s simply unstable, if the man is lying. It’s an interesting concept that Lyon handled really well.

Overall, I just couldn’t relate to the unlikeable characters and found the story too unbelievable to get much out of it.

[Shawna · Rating 2 out of 5]

I am incredibly disappointed in the judges if the Women's Prize for this one. While I enjoyed Lyon's writing, I hated everything else. Her flagrant use of racial and ableist slurs, to the extreme ableist main characters, to just their general nastiness (and I don't mind a terrible character but there needs to be a point beyond them just being a shit person or at least some balance). It is so awful makes me hope I never meet the nasty author.
#womensprizelonglist which is just such a bummer. I hope the judges hear and learn, and maybe expand the judges to a disabled person, or advocate because they obviously have a huge blind spot here.

[Rachel Louise Atkin · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was a really unique and thought-provoking book about our relationships with our family and death. It felt like a psychological thriller even though I would say it's more of a general fiction book. I loved how in the third section everything came together and you realize that the author has been leaving clues on how everything is connected from the start. Usually when there is a split perspective I gravitate towards liking one more but with this I found the lives of both sisters really intriguing and enjoyed reading about both. Would definitely recommend if you like psychological thrillers and keep going to get to the shocking bits at the end.

[Rachel · Rating 4 out of 5]

I loved the Golden Mean when I read it in 2011. I didn't even know this one had come out until it was nominated for the Women's Prize.

At first I was disappointed. The writing was great, but how did the two story lines connect? Then, these characters...they're not super likable huh? Then it went somewhere I was never expecting. I sort of want to read the last 3rd again to make sure I got it.

[Elaine · Rating 4 out of 5]

I liked the noir atmosphere and the spare but evocative writing of this book. Lyon got my attention from the first pages and held it. I was less sure about the plot, but the book was certainly original and the sensory feeling of certain scenes (eg, Paris) was very visceral.