I've been thinking a lot about the current cultural zeitgeist and how it is shaping up around stories from disillusioned twenty-somethings who have lost sight of what they really want from life. I do really appreciate it, this new-fangled openness to the reassuring fact that many of us – seemingly most of us – are navigating our worlds feeling a little lost, a lot untethered. At the same time, the literary landscape seems rather saturated with these stories of anger, hunger, and youthful languishing, and I often find myself comparing it to how having lived through the worst of the pandemic, I feel no motivation to read fictional narratives about it. What I haven't yet lived through are my late-thirties, and I suspect that even those who are already there will find detaching from that tide and picking up this debut novel – which features the mid-life shambles of a 38-year-old Gwen – somewhat refreshing.
We first meet Gwen at her birthday dinner-by-herself, making a To-Do list while assessing the deliciousness of the sticky toffee pudding she is finishing off the night with. Newly made redundant from her PR job after having stuck out for her clients at a meeting, she feels quite a bit redundant herself – what with her fading friendships, her lack of a love life, and an increasingly strained, standoffish relationship with her parents, which, if I may add, wouldn't see any improvements with this new development.
Plagued with the standard milennial package of unhappy, tortuous questions – Should she have stayed in that long-ago long-term relationship? Can people see through her loneliness and consider it a failure? Are all her friends (married, cooped-up, privy to a life she doesn't care for or have access to) secretly having fun without her? – and overly conscious of all this time she now has on her hands, Gwen finds herself inclined to do some spring cleaning, to pack up the sad reminders of her unfulfilling life-so-far and drop them all off to a place where they can begin again. But the empty hours continue to stretch out ahead of her as she drops her donations off at the local charity shop, and so she – surprisingly, unexpectedly – signs up to volunteer there instead. What she hitherto perceived as a place where cast-offs turn to fly soon becomes a point of renewal, a space bereft of judgement where the hidden lives of other volunteers and preloved objects reveal themselves to her in all their richness, and where she, too, can find herself beginning to transform.
Engagingly written with sensitivity and humour, Preloved is a love letter to the so-called 'second-chance saloons' of London, and an honest exploration of that nagging state of rejection that comes with being aimless and alone. Here, Gwen's personal developments (which are, in a case of considerable annoyance to me, written in the third-to-first person point of view), are interspersed with vignettes about the stories behind the various items that find their way into charity shops, and the deeply personal histories that lead them there. Though touched, I initially found these stories rather gimmicky, stand-alone snippets that were mere emotional punctuations for Gwen's story. However, reading on, the delicate, poignant connections between the objects, their donors, and the characters in the book revealed themselves to me, bringing a sense of cohesion to the narrative and strengthening its message of the inherent connectedness of our lives, which I greatly admired.
I also presumed that this book was going in the realm of light-reading, and was pleasantly surprised to see how meaningfully it engaged with trauma, the anxieties of ageing, and the way these often tie together with a growing alienation from friends and family. I felt like I saw some of the more emotional aspects of the plot– such as the likelihood of Gwen was suppressing grief from a big personal loss – coming from miles away, but I was stunned by how smoothly and beautifully the author arrived at those points, revealed them to us, and engaged her characters with them. The resolution of the book was staggered and brilliant – less like the feel-good, made-for-TV-movie vibe I had been pinning it as, but more of a gentle, realistic story made memorable by its ostensible simplicity and tactfully revealed layers, and its well-crafted, multidimensional characters whose arcs played out against the backdrop of an accurately observed and authentic portrait of present-day London.
Overall, I quite enjoyed this book. It did not shake up my world, but not every novel has to. I was content to be living within its pages for a while.